The guys go to a classy event. Stupidity ensues.

A word about young Wall Street types. They spend so much time working, that they have a hard time meeting people outside of their office (aka, people they don’t hate). So, in order to meet people, they join charity groups that on the weekend help the community. The Banker is in one of these groups. His particular charity is connected to a larger charity group, which last night had a huge fundraiser. It had free booze. Game on.

The actual event is called “Taste of the Lower East Side”. Basically, you buy a ticket, and all the best restaurants in that area set up stands in a ballroom and serve some food or drink from their restaurant. It is as awesome as it sounds. I grab two tickets (steep, but hey, it’s Charity) and brought Bourbon along (I considered bringing a date, but then the sad fact that I am me hit me).

When we get there, we waste no time going to work, eating everything in sight and drinking whatever is available. Its clear that all the liquor is donated, so the beer is not great (I am fairly sure that I could get a keg of Brooklyn Lager donated to me for a Its-Tuesday-and-I-am-bored party), but apparently one of the sponsors is Grey Goose, so we make do. The Grey Goose table is easy to find, as it has a giant ice sculpture of the Grey Goose seal. A couple of cocktails from them (including a great Tom Collins, which is not really at Tom Collins with vodka, but screw it, it was tasty) and I was ready to keep eating.

We eventually met up with Banker and his buddy Spring roll, who were working the room. We grabbed them and headed deeper into the maze of amazing food stands. As we go further, I see a large sign for Tequilla, so I head over. Now, next to the tequila stall, serving some anchovies is none other than Mark from this season of Top Chef. We bug the hell out. Normally, I am pretty cool when running into celebrities, but for some reason this sighting was freaking me out. I try his anchovies, and tell him “I am probably the 100th dude to tell you this, and there will be 100 more, but you were the bomb on Top Chef”. He was very touched and thanks me for the support. Later in the night, I gave him a beer and toasted his awesomeness. That kiwi is the man!

We ran into some other people we knew. The Banker’s parents were there, and we caught up with them. Banker’s parents are quality people who do a great job of turning their back on what an alcoholic retard I am. I have one fond memory of crashing at Banker’s parents place right after college, and having an hour long conversation with Banker’s dad, while I was hammered and Banker was showering off his own vomit. Good Times. Eventually I ran into my old buddy Duke, who was there with a date. We caught up over a couple of drinks, and compared notes on the food/ Top Chef sightings. Duke is a great guy who I see too rarely.

We continued to eat anything in sight, and drink whatever was available. The highlights was a margarita, Tequila aged 18 months in whiskey barrels, a mushroom tart thing, Shrimp in a shot of mango juice, cupcakes, and a bunch of other things that I forget because I was eating and drinking too much. By the time the event began to wind down, I would just take a bite of something, and throw the rest of it away, not because it wasn’t good but because space in my stomach had become a precious commodity.

The evening got to the point where the lights came up and the music stopped playing. However, we are still buzzing on about a dozen different sugars, so didn’t want to go home. While Banker said goodbye to people, I decided the most logical thing to do is lick the Grey Goose ice sculpture. Bourbon captures the event on my IPhone, but is unable to get a good shot, so I have to lick the damn thing three times before an acceptable shot was taken (Good thing, because at shot three, people started to get wise to me).

We pop into a bar across the street, which appears to be slammed. I walk towards the back looking for a table, but find a staircase that leads to a basement bar about the size of my living room. Weird, but it was quiet, so we hunkered down and drank some Stellas. Eventually Hubris poped up, right around the time Banker and Spring roll remembered its Thursday, and should attempt sleep before work tomorrow. We finish our drinks, and debate a similar course of action. Then Teach called me, and said he would be out of work in ten minutes and wanted to grab a drink. At this point the night has gone pear shaped, so why not?

Teach works at Stout, which is a very nice midtown bar. We met him at the super generic Blarney Rock bar next store, which is not so nice. We order some drinks and I kindly grab a Sam Adams so the moment Teach arrives he will have a cold one. Teach does come by, but about at the end of the beer, I realize I need to get some sleep this night, and Bourbon looks like he has been stepped on by a giant. Hubris and Teach, who had not tried to eat and the drink the LES dry, opted to stay out, as we cabbed it back home in a stupor.

The next morning at work, I was unable to think about anything for more than 5 minutes. It was worth it though, and I am buying my tickets for next year tomorrow.