Lou's Official Testimony on THC Cocktails, Concepts, and the Podcast He Half-Listened to on the Subway
I am filing this formally. I want it on record. I went to a bar last Thursday and ordered what the menu described as a THC cocktail, and what I received was a ceremony. A production. A spiritual event. The bartender, who introduced himself as a "beverage architect," explained the concept to me for four minutes before he touched a single bottle. Four minutes. I timed it on my watch. My watch stopped in 2009 but I know what four minutes feels like and that was four minutes.
The concept, as far as I could understand it, was: whiskey, but thoughtful.
I paid thirty-two dollars.
The Concept Is Nothing
Here is what a concept is. A concept is an idea that has not been turned into a thing yet. A bar menu is supposed to be things. Drinks. Liquid in a glass. When I hand over thirty-two dollars, I am not investing in an idea. I am not a venture capitalist. I am a man who wants a drink before nine o'clock on a Thursday, and somewhere between the podcast this guy half-listened to on the subway and the twelve-ingredient list on the chalkboard, the drink got lost entirely.
The chalkboard said "smoked cardamom reduction." I do not know what that is. I do not know why cardamom needs to be reduced. I did not know cardamom was having a bad time. Nobody asked me if I wanted to be part of the solution.
The drink came out in a clay vessel. Not a glass. A clay vessel. Like I had ordered a drink from a civilization that had not yet discovered glassblowing. There was an herb on top. I do not mean an herb that did anything. I mean an herb that was placed there to mean something. The herb was decorative. The herb had a philosophy and I was expected to accept it without comment.
I left the herb. The herb did not notice.
Where the Concept Comes From
I know exactly where the concept came from. This kid, twenty-six years old, earbuds in, standing on the Q train somewhere between DeKalb and Atlantic, listening to a podcast called something like "The Future of Flavor" or "Drinking Forward" or "Palate Disruption," which is a thing people say now. He caught maybe forty percent of it because the train went underground and his signal dropped and he was also texting, but he got the part about "layered sensory experience" and "intentional bitterness" and he thought: yes. That is the bar I will run.
And now I am holding a clay vessel containing intentional bitterness and a decorative herb, and I am expected to be grateful for the journey.
I am not grateful. I am filing this complaint.
What a Drink Is Supposed to Do
A drink is supposed to be good. That is the entire job. You drink it, it is good, the night gets better. That is the complete list of requirements. Nobody ever sat down at a bar and said, "I hope this takes a while and involves a clay vessel." They sat down because their feet hurt and they wanted something that worked.
THC cocktails, when done correctly, do exactly that. You open it, you drink it, you feel better in about fifteen minutes, and you do not have to listen to a four-minute concept explanation first. No ceremony. No reduction. No podcast residue.
I drink Lou's Damn Right I'm Old Fashioned. Eight milligrams of THC. Classic old fashioned flavor. Bitters, orange, oak. It tastes like what it says it is. The name is the entire concept. The concept took two seconds. You are welcome.
There is no herb on top. There is no clay vessel. There is no beverage architect explaining his subway epiphany. There is a drink, in a can, that does what a drink is supposed to do. It loosens things up. The room gets a little funnier. You get a little funnier, which is the part your friends will argue about later but which is nonetheless true. Nano-emulsification means it actually hits, fast, clean, no drag. Eight milligrams is the right number. Not a microdose, which is nothing. Not a knockout, which is also nothing. The sweet spot. The one that makes the night actually go somewhere.
Herb will explain the terpene science to you in tremendous, self-congratulatory detail if you ask him. I am not asking him. I know it works because I have drunk it and the night was better. That is the only data I require.
My Official Ruling
You are done paying for concepts. You are done tipping on clay vessels. You are done having the origin story of a cardamom reduction explained to you by someone who caught forty percent of a podcast on the Q train.
If you want to try what a THC cocktail looks like when nobody ruined it with a concept, the Lou's Damn Right I'm Old Fashioned is in the fridge right now. So is Mary's M Train Double Espresso Martini if you are that kind of person. And the Variety Pack if you want to try all four and make an informed decision like an adult instead of standing at a chalkboard menu for eleven minutes.
Eight milligrams. No concept. No podcast. No herb with a philosophy.
Just the drink.
Damn right.
My watch says it is 7:14. My watch has said 7:14 since 2009. That is still more accurate than anything written on that chalkboard.
Lou's Damn Right I'm Old Fashioned contains 8mg hemp-derived THC per can. For adults 21 and older only. State laws governing THC products vary; know the rules where you live. This product has not been evaluated by the FDA and is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease or condition. Drink responsibly.
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