After nigh on 15 years sailing around this landlocked port of call, it is rare, rare indeed that anyone can take me somewhere new, physically. But on Sat., Sept. 23, at the Warren in Virginia-Highland, someone did take me somewhere new physiologically.
I just felt left out. It was Rosh Hashanah and I didn't have anything to atone for, no really good resolutions. I'm not even really Jewish. But when Grey Martin -- an old friend, former neighbor and Atlanta Brewing Company sales manager extraordinaire -- invited me to have some cocktails and kawfee tawk, I figured maybe I could find something to regret.
The invitation in question was for a round or three of Whynattes, a drink that follows the Irish Car Bomb template, but replaces Guinness with a latte and a whiskey shot with Jägermeister. Don't believe me? Click on over to www.whynatte.com for the straight poop.
Also in the seven-person drink-pounding partay (seven is a Yahweh-favored number) was Jesse Altman, a creator of this illustrious libation. Born on a vacation from desperation and confrontation, the Whynatte was genius disguised as potentially combustible chemistry. In the past two years, it has chugged from Santa Cruz, Calif., to New York, New York. And it's entrenched in at least a half-dozen Atlanta bars (including the Warren, Apres Diem, the North Highland Pub, L5P'sFront Page News and Trader Vic's).
Honestly, the Warren was never my joint. Not that the surroundings aren't pleasant, but it's a membership club and as Groucho Marx said, I would never want to be a member of any club that would have me. Ha. Wisdom. Yet how could I pass up this opportunity? And once I was introduced to our waitress, Jenny, I recognized kindred spirits -- people who wanted to cure a cough and get wired all with one drink. Plus, it never hurts to be around hot-tays with Whynattes (and our little kosher clique was supernova).
Jenny made the medicine of the future with an alternate recipe featuring coffee and Bailey's, as this night a proper latte was not easily available for multiple rounds, and we wanted multiple rounds. Because every time someone does a Whynatte it's like Gene Kelly tapping (someone) in the street -- everyone's "Gotta DANCE!" Wow, my mom would be proud of that reference. I'm gittin' olde. Maybe it's more like Pringles, or German porn -- once you pop you can't stop.
Seriously, curiosity (among other things) was aroused. Whynattes were bought, eh (sheesh, I'm Canadian now). The legend spread. The only problem: I love eggs and bacon with coffee. And I won't repent! Man, I'd be a baaaaad Jew.
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