AWFF Red Hot @ Red Seven Part 1

Friday night American Wine and Food Festival started off with a rager called Red Hot @ Red Seven. Only in its second year, Red Hot is a celebration of red meat, alcohol, cars, and everything else that made this country great. An expensive but doable $150 guaranteed unlimited kobe beef and caipirinhas -- a definite bargain.

The event was subdued at a fashionably late 8pm, made a little later by road construction and aggro drivers frustrated by the road construction. A host of servers immediately proffering Fiji water, cocktails, and all manner of bites and doots mellowed everyone out so everything was relaxed by the time we hit the patio.

Soon meat was flying off the grill and liquor was flowing. The well-dressed crowd, which ranged from 20-somethings to 80-somethings was friendly and ready for a good time. When the band started off a set with These Boots were Made for Walking, then slid into Bowie's Man Who Sold the World we knew it was going to be a rocking night. By 11pm, when the chefs were packing up, stragglers were still lounging around on comfy ottomans, and a lone roaming lothario was pedantically observing, "There are some great wines coming out of Argentina right now..." it was obvious Red Hot @ Red Seven had been a hit. Red lighting may have made it feel a little bit like partying in hell, but the food was pure heaven.
Part 2.

John Cuevas of the Montage gave the kobe flat iron steak a run for its money with "28-day dry-aged coffee-crusted New York strip Fourme d'Ambert cheese, and wild arugala, bourbon-caramel" The first bite is shocking, like taking a spoonful of coffee grounds, then they magically dissolve, like brewing coffee right on your palate. I forgot I was "tasting" and devoured my plate as if I were just out to dinner. The blue cheese was a perfect foil; the meat was so tender they were almost the same consistency. Also, it is impossible for drunk people to pronounce the name of that cheese, but it was fun listening to them try. Formmm dom-bear. For the bear. Coh-lee-kee-yoh. (Elise Thompson)

 

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