Ah, tequila. It warms your heart. It recalls the wild, spirited history of Mexico. And, consumed in large quantities, makes portions of your evening hard to recall. It is, undoubtedly, one of our favorite vices.
So, what choice did we have but to answer the clarion call of Espolon Tequila's Black Market party? Throughout Williamsburg, the brave and the bearded wended their way past private party after private party, down into the hidden crevices of the Wythe Hotel to channel their inner (and outer) lumbersexual, and soak in the spirit of crushed agave and unfiltered new Brooklyn coolness.
In one corner, those who were not too hip to be seen eating in public (the four of us who were too old to be ID'ed with a straight face) scarfed down traditional chorizo tacos, decidedly untraditional duck sliders and, of course, a veggie torta (winner!). Downstairs, where everyone who knows anything knows that the real party is always going on, it was low-stakes poker, experimental film theater on parade and, our personal favorite, Disaffected Caricature Corner (imagine a mash-up of a quinceanera, a bar mitzvah and a Diesel fashion shoot).