Thursday, March 16, 11:50 p.m. I've found it, the answer to the age-old question, "Hey, where did our waiter go?" The third Thursday of every month, sommeliers, restaurant managers, servers and chefs gather at a well-known wine distributor's facility for Grapenuts, a late-night, invite-only, industry wine- tasting. A gourmet spread is laid out, the bar is thrown wide open and the wine reps go to town at a mile-long table, pouring their finest juice—both in the convivial spirit of Baccus and in the hopes of future sales. Depending on how you approach the situation, it can be a really long night or a really short one.
We arrive just before midnight and, as always, I feel like Charlie about to nervously step inside the chocolate factory; it's just too good to be true! Tonight, I'm the "plus one" for a local wine steward and enthusiast. Invites are stingily doled out, strictly monitored and must be presented in person, backed up with credentials and signed check-in sheets. We have our golden ticket and are guided to a table of tall, elegant glassware that bang together with an alluring "bong" whenever the door shuts.
Glasses in hand, we follow the sounds of chatter, clinking and carousing up the stairs to where the party is in full swing. In a small anteroom, bountiful mounds of food have been set out—each platter of bread, cheese, olives and sweets more decadent than the last—and all prepared with a wine lover's palate in mind. At the room's opposite end, another small space boasts an open bar and live entertainment and leads to an outdoor patio staffed with a two-man shoe-shine operation, complimentary, of course.
But the large main room is where it's at. Wide enough to accommodate a king-sized banquet table, yet narrow enough to inspire intimate conversation with your neighbors. This can be good or bad depending on how your neighbors hold their alcohol. Stain Stick, Wine-Out and Tide to Go can come in handy.
We begin with sake and I finally find a use for my knowledge of how degrees of rice-grain polishing affect the quality and flavor. I find a favorite and shield it greedily from the dump bucket. Then round and round and round we go, weaving through the crowd to do a vertical of four pinot noirs, a few Sauvignon blancs and then a tour of arid Spain. I linger with the organic producers and we bandy about thoughts on the French Paradox (you know, the one that lets them suck down triple-crème cheese while mainlining casks of Bordeaux and smoking unfiltered cigarettes well into their 90s). I swear, my cholesterol has improved since I substituted bottles of red wine for servings from other useless food groups.
I know this is not the typical Thursday night outing for many. And yet, while other servers and bussers head out after work to Thursday hot spots such as Tryst, Tao and Tabú, some have strayed from the pack, choosing grape juice over gin and juice.
Much to my dismay, the back room is closed. At my first Grapenuts, I was escorted to an ordinary break room with vending machines and tables. But by 1 a.m., those tables were strewn with coveted vintages, rare labels, legendary cuvees and fads. Here the serious wine folks sat and mulled thoughtfully over more than just a taste; little spat out after the obligatory swirling and sniffing. "Have you tried the Keller Estate Oro de Plata?"
Somewhere around 3 a.m., my internal alarm goes off, and on noodle legs and with watery eyes, I float out on a sea of pinot noir. It's hard for me to laugh at everyone's purple teeth and pruney lips when I know mine are in the same shape. What began as business-strength handshakes with esteemed colleagues has turned into hugs, Euro-kisses and exchanging promises to do lunch with new friends. Clearly, the "juice" one finds at Grapenuts is not limited to the sort in the glasses.
Xania Woodman thinks globally and parties locally. And frequently. E-mail her at
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