Orlando has a fairly burgeoning craft cocktail scene. Fairly means it’s happening, without curation, and to the detriment of it’s potential. I have more experience drinking than crafting cocktails, but the concept of craft is quite dear to me.
Craft is mastering a thing and sharing it with others. It’s the algorithm of human evolution, and the product is art and beauty. My craft is book making. I know a minuscule fraction of the history, the people, and the mystery to it. But I love it so dearly that I would metaphorically embrace any interested human, and tell them all I know, and ask what they see, afterwards. I only want to know more, and want to share it.
So why are these bar tenders so passionless if they care so much? What I see is an elitist, self important monster much as the one Steve McQueen encounters in Irvin Yeaworth’s The Blob. The scene is feeding itself, with very little consciousness.
There is magic and history and so much beauty in the alchemy of alcohol. Fermentation is an exquisite process. The neglect of sharing this with the drunk plebeians is a loss to our community’s potential.
I wish for a cultivation of our community and this is just one of the many ways I will tell people to go be passionless elsewhere. I fucking love Orlando, and I’m not leaving, yet. For now, I’ll be weeping over my copy of Amy Stewart’s The Drunken Botanist, sipping 1:1:1 red wine, soda water, ice through a straw.