Here at DB, we talk a lot about festivals. Many of them involve standing in line holding plates of minuscule sandwiches or doll-sized fried chicken while of course sipping (sometimes batch) cocktails in every corner of the country. And we’re not complaining.
Oh, those bartenders, those “mixologists”, the ones we write about, the ones we admire from the other side of the bar. They gather regularly, you know. It’s not all tips and ten-hour shifts. Sometimes in New Orleans, sometimes in Kansas City, sometimes in New York. One shining week a year in the heart of Stumptown.
Three competitors in, an ebullient Emily Baker stepped up to the bar at last summer’s…