Ultimate liquor shopping
From the spectacular DABC booze sale. . .
A queue of pathetic winos, including bargain hunting moms, some of Salt Lake City's best chefs and me line up in front of the state wine store.
The reason, of course, is the socialist government-controlled liquor distribution network's monthly booze sale. It's a sacred ritual of Utah's drinking culture.
Discontinued liquor products are cleared out at heart-stopping markdowns the first Monday of every month. The Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control doesn't advertise the sales — that would smack of capitalism, or worse, promote consumption. But among us lumpenproletariat, emails are exchanged listing the best buys and even the prices. Apparently, there's a mole or two inside the state liquor ministry.
The chefs are forced to participate because a good score once a month will allow them to offer some great bottles of wine at a reasonable markup and perhaps stay in business.
When the doors swing open, we pour in. (This time, at least, no one is trampled.) Everyone, except me, seems to know exactly where they are going. Some struggle with shopping carts piled head-high with full cases. Others lug boxes, filling them as they dart down the crowded aisles.
I dive into what looks like a rugby scrum and emerge on the other side with a box containing loose bottles. Without even checking the price, I head for the cash register. Back out in the daylight, I realize I paid $40 for seven bottles of something Spanish and bubbly.
Tomorrow night, I'll watch the election returns and find out if I got a deal.
A queue of pathetic winos, including bargain hunting moms, some of Salt Lake City's best chefs and me line up in front of the state wine store.
The reason, of course, is the socialist government-controlled liquor distribution network's monthly booze sale. It's a sacred ritual of Utah's drinking culture.
Discontinued liquor products are cleared out at heart-stopping markdowns the first Monday of every month. The Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control doesn't advertise the sales — that would smack of capitalism, or worse, promote consumption. But among us lumpenproletariat, emails are exchanged listing the best buys and even the prices. Apparently, there's a mole or two inside the state liquor ministry.
The chefs are forced to participate because a good score once a month will allow them to offer some great bottles of wine at a reasonable markup and perhaps stay in business.
When the doors swing open, we pour in. (This time, at least, no one is trampled.) Everyone, except me, seems to know exactly where they are going. Some struggle with shopping carts piled head-high with full cases. Others lug boxes, filling them as they dart down the crowded aisles.
I dive into what looks like a rugby scrum and emerge on the other side with a box containing loose bottles. Without even checking the price, I head for the cash register. Back out in the daylight, I realize I paid $40 for seven bottles of something Spanish and bubbly.
Tomorrow night, I'll watch the election returns and find out if I got a deal.
2 Comments:
How many of those bottles that are purchased by restaurant employees for restaurants do you think actually get sold at a discount? Probably less than 10%. Certainly the Metropolitan has a history of picking up wines at sale and selling for full price. When Michael Trapp was food and beverage director at Snowbird, he told a manager at a Snowbird restaurant that he could no longer sell sale wines at a better price by the glass. Way too much wine gets grabbed and sent to restaurants to be resold for full price.
And here I thought that line was a bunch of people who had failed to plan ahead for election day.
I'm glad to know about this sale. See you there the next time!
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