101Think about the most
memorable moments of your
life—your wedding,
40th birthdays, impromptu
summer backyard BBQs
that go late into the night.
Alcohol consecrates these
times like nothing else can.
I like a Bloody
Mary as
much as the next
line-waiting
bruncher.
But instead of
vodka, I ask for
gin, or better
yet, aquavit,
the Norwegian
spirit with a
distinct dill and
caraway profile.
It adds a bit
of backbone to
a rather
busy drink.were willing to talk to me and teach me:
cocktail illuminati like Audrey Saun-
ders, owner of Pegu Club, and historian
David Woodrich and former Rainbow
Room guru Dale DeGroff, who were
shaping the modern cocktail movement
that I was experiencing firsthand. I was
doing something more than just “going
out for a drink.” Soon I enrolled in “cock-
tail college” at the Times Square Mar-
riott Marquis, where DeGroff taught a
bartending class. There he told me two
things that shaped the way I drink to this
day: Always use freshly squeezed juices
in cocktails—it’s the easiest way to take a
drink to the next level—and if a bar is
using those eight-button soda guns, stick
to bottled beer. If you’ve ever had a flat
gin and tonic or lifeless whiskey and
soda, you now know why.
All these years later, I realize that I
went to Pegu Club for more than just
camaraderie or a well-crafted cocktail or
even a buzz. I kept going back because I
kept learning. And in the process, I found
my place in an industry that fascinated
me. Drinking was not just mindless enter-
tainment. It was about identity and com-
munity, about finding my tribe—one that
just happened to know how to stir up an
impeccable Sazerac over the most gor-
geous ice you’ve ever seen.
RULE 3Holy Matrimony
My wedding was a casual one—50 or so friends and family
gathered at a farm along the Maine coast. Still, it took weeks of
planning. There were the strings of lights that my soon-to-be
wife, Christina, and I hung from the rafters of the old barn.
There were the wildflowers we picked and arranged for each
table. There were the mini lobster rolls and hot-smoked whole
salmon and crackly porchetta on the menu that I’d spent weeks
planning with chef Melissa Kelly from nearby Primo restau-
rant. And there were the five cases of Falanghina white wine
and the A-ha–heavy playlist that I’d stressed over (to keep my
Norwegian bride happy, of course). But after all that, it was the
handle of Wild Turkey 101 whiskey that stole the show. And
nobody, not even me, saw that coming.
On his drive up from New York City, my friend and frequent
drinking partner, Adam Sachs, had stopped at a New Hamp-
shire state-run liquor store. I’m not sure if it was because he’s a
Kentucky boy or simply one of the world’s great enablers, but
he had the wisdom to fork out $35 for a bottle. As the night
unfolded, we passed the handle from person to person, from
grandparents to aunts and uncles to best friends, and back
around again. Norwegians and Southerners alike bonded over
that single bottle. It was the life of the party. At one point I saw
my bride, resplendent in her wedding dress, take a swig (yes, I
got a picture of that indelible moment). Even my new in-laws
commended the powerful effects of the “American brandy,” as
they sipped Wild Turkey from porcelain teacups. At around