straight up, splash of cactus

I adore sugar. Addiction is too lame a word to describe the enduring affair I have with it. If someone invented an edible bath made of sugar I'd be walking around with bubbles coming out of my ears. In college I used to make raw cookie dough and never get to heating the oven—I’d just leave the vat in the freezer until I could get through it, which usually didn’t take very long. Even now, not a day goes by when I do not have some dark chocolate, more often than not, a whole long bar of it. 70% cacao, organic and fair trade of course, but nevertheless…

As I modified my health habits and began to see what a little monster processed white sugar really can be, instead I turned to the natural sources, and so, agave, stevia, maple syrup, honey, rice syrup, even sometimes evaporated cane juice became staples. And soon I realized these sweetners seemed to be popping up everywhere. Not just at crunchy granola health food restaurants, but at places where people ate to be seen just as much as they ate to ingest.

And today I sat eating my agave-sweetened, gluten free, somewhat less guilt ridden ginger chocolate frosting’d loaf from the LES’ Babycakes bakery (which tasted BEYOND scrumptious and made me wonder why I would ever consider ingesting refined sugar again…) I thought—wait a second here people, hold the phone, stop the presses, PAUSE. All of this foodie non-sugar consciousness, I mean, who is fueling this? Not the men. I don’t think I have ever in my life heard a man say “Um, bartender, would you mind holding the simple syrup on that margarita, so I can have it “skinny”?” And fabulous gay men of my life, as much as I love you, even you cannot be so hefty a percentage of the fine dining set as to shift the markers, but women… my fellow ladies, it seems we are different. It seems we may be the X factor. We, for once, may be driving the market on the gajillion dollar restaurant industry in the city.

I live down the block from Minetta Tavern. Which is, as you may know, still months after opening, one of the hottest spots in town and ridic to try and secure a reservation. Although for a variety of reasons I have not had meat in some time and my body, my bowels, my yoga and my energetic output are enjoying that decision, I’m not one for labels. So much so that I want to know I have a burger in my future just so that I don’t have to call myself a ‘vegan’ or ‘vegetarian’ or anything of the sort. That feels too restrictive to me. Too pressured. Too Boulder. So, I have been waiting for that lone, quiet moment when I sneak into Minetta Tavern alone (or for some hot date to take me there, which has yet to happen,) sit at the bar and have a martini the size of my face with their black label burger.

I almost took that moment this past weekend, as I realized the first quarter of the Superbowl was approaching. I had no plans cemented and it would be dead empty in there. Or at least full of people who didn’t care about the Superbowl. Arty intellectuals and Europeans. Could make for an interesting evening. (I enjoy the Superbowl, but not to the extent that I am going to watch it alone in my apartment. In a group? Or our home team is playing?—terrif. Alone, I’ll get distracted by a hangnail in under four minutes.) Anyhow, so Minetta was an afternoon option, but I had only just eaten. And if I was going to go for broke with one of the town’s most lauded burgers, I certainly wasn’t going to layer it on top of hummus and kale.

That, however, did not stop me from considering it momentarily and perusing the Tavern’s menu online. As I was searching drink specials to see if I could be swayed from my standard martini, I noticed that every single cocktail was sweetened with agave. Now, I know that took a long time to point out, but seriously, people! Agave! At a restaurant that is supposed to have some of the best red meat on the isle of Manhattan.

And I reiterate—who is it that drove that designation into the menu? Perhaps a chef had a diabetic family member?… doubtful. He was some fat kid and found his way to the natural movement and a “kind” diet and therefore, agave? Hardly, this still was, essentially a self-dubbed “Parisian steakhouse.” It had to be the women.

Then I became curious. What about some other popular/lauded haunts? The great chefs, these wondrous artists of our time, are driving social change toward our eating habits because they so clearly recognize, natural, local, lovingly procured food TASTES better. And those with discerning palates now follow suit in daily life, keeping local as local as our own refrigerators.

Per Se concentrates on a 53 Page wine list, although its sodas are GUS- locally sourced and naturally sweetened. (I happen to know that when dining at French Laundry, naturally fruit sweetened sodas are paired with the tasting menus, for those not imbibing.) Keller states on the homepage: “Respect for food is a respect for life, for who we are and what we do.” This is no new slant—one would be hard pressed to find an above average restaurant in New York that did not use the words local or green somewhere on its menu, but it is interesting that it extends to the beverages, presumably when one could argue that sugarcane juice or even raw sugar is suitable… but it seems Agave and fresh fruit juices are the new cocktail superfoods.

Fruit juices abound, of course, at any one of dozens of new speakeasy/mixologist gin joints spread about town, popular as they are as of late. That’s not even a local trend—on a boozy night in San Francisco last year I was led to one hidden underground secret spot after another—all housing bartenders in garb of yesteryear. The barbershop-esque armband being the apparent across-the-board throwback to the bygone (and now resurrected) artistry of creative libations. The national consensus?...: fresh is best.

And what about other New York superstar restaurateurs? Of course, a little tricker because so many pride themselves on superb wine lists (the finest, of course, wouldn’t dare house a cocktail menu,) however even those are now designating NSA (no sulfites added) and organic wines. The best thing that ever happened to the North Fork is everyone’s recent “local” wine devotion.

As for cocktails, Eleven Madison Park sweetens with Lavender Honey. Jean Georges Yuzus his Bellinis. The Four Seasons makes their own in-house lavender syrup and touts organic vodkas. Craft spikes Orgeat Syrup (even I had to look that one up.) Pure Food and Wine, the ground zero for luxe au natural, stirs only fresh Norwalk pressed organic juices with their agave and maple sweetened cocktails. When I did a totally unscientific texting survey to several friends who were self proclaimed “foodies,” the questions were: 1- Do you know what agave is? 2- Do you have it at home? Half the men knew what it was; none had it at home. All the women answered affirmative to both questions.

Which leads me to believe that we (women) are asking for it, and we’re getting it. Since agave is a low glycemic indexed sweetener it means that blood sugar levels do not spike rapidly so we are also sparing ourselves (and our gentlemen) some hangover headache as well. (You're welcome.) Since local, fresh, and all natural is trendy and chances are we won’t regress back to our old ways of thinking and only grow more creative as we unfold, I’ll drink to that.