Just another gimmick to charge a lot of money for something no one can tell the difference of anyway.

"No one can tell the difference," just like "no one" can tell the difference between the Oregon Symphony and the Medford Community Orchestra. Just because YOU can't tell the difference between a Rauschenberg print and something done by your next door neighbor, John, doesn't mean that "no one" can tell.

Just because you can't tell the difference between a Beaujolais nouveau and a Gevrey-Chambertain doesn't mean "no one" can tell the difference.

Yeah, John, the whole world revolves around you and your opinions.

Anyone smarter than you is "smart" and anyone dumber than you is "dumb."

If you don't get it, John, well then it must not make sense!

As Bugs Bunny would say, what a maroon.

I'll try to provide a little less vitriolic response.

John, I've been lucky enough to enjoy some of the yummy concoctions made by these local bartenders. They really are good and different. I would suggest giving it a try. Three places that really highlight a quality cocktail are Clyde Commons (mentioned in the article), The Teardrop Lounge down on NW Everett between 10th and 11th and Beaker & Flask on the east side where Sandy turns and turns into 7th Ave.

Pete and hilsy, the emperor wears such lovely clothes, doesn't he?

I just think it's sad when a talented individual puts his heart and soul into something creative and innovative, only to have some blog commenter toss it off as "emperor's new clothes." It's an easy and lazy thing for someone to say just because he or she doesn't "get it."

Don't like Japanese floral arranging - or Chinese opera - or artisan cocktail alchemy? Fine, but you don't need to tear down the efforts of those who are really into those pastimes simply because you don't have the intellectual capacity, or open-mindedness, to care.

I'm reminded of an old joke about a wine snob who swore that he could recognize particular vintages and years of wine from one taste while blindfolded. A group of friends challenged him to put up or shut up, so he sat down to a 20-glass challenge. With each and every one, he called the correct vineyard and year. With the twentieth, he took one quick taste, spat it out, and shrieked "That was urine! Just plain piss!"

From the back of the crowd, one voice chirped "Yeah, but whose?"