February 2011

legacy/dinner_table.jpg

I love tables. Big, high tables packed tight with chairs, round or square, it doesn't matter. Tables are amazing because they're socially brutal. Consider this, for a moment: A table is a setup that forces a person to face one direction for however long he or she sits, often staring directly at another person who is also forced to face in one direction. Turning away from whomever one is facing just results in making eye contact with a different, similarly stranded person. Isn't that a delightful arrangement? Seriously, people being nailed down, unable to make decent excuses to run away, compelled by the fear of supreme awkwardness to pursue conversation. This is why tables are some of the most honest places in society. Try as one might, personal affectations and little gestures of etiquette can't help but fail under such constant pressure. People sitting around a table for an extended period of time put their true character on display, whether they like it or not. Thus why liquor and wine come in large bottles.

legacy/sangria.jpg

When it comes to potables, I'm not a classicist. Wine, liquor, beer and the cocktails we make with them have only been improved with augmented recipes and more informed sensibilities. It was this lack of reverence that changed the Martini from the sour, vermouth-heavy concoction it was in the early 1900's to the crisp, subtle bar standard it is today. It's what transformed scotch from the mediciney rot-gut it was in the 1800's to the pinnacle of craftsmanship it became in the 20th century. Innovation is also what rescued beer from the one-note swill it had been for thousands of years and allowed it become a modern delight of variety and regional flare. That's why I'm not too keen on keeping sangria as close to the classic recipe as possible. Truth is, sangria can be either wonderful or awful and I happen to believe that it's at its best when the recipe gets fiddled with.