Friendsgiving is a special precursor to Thanksgiving, where the drinks flow for hours and food is in excess. Old or new, friends gather around the table to share a night of full bellies and laughter. No matter what’s on the table this year, follow AMASS’s guide to hosting a spirited Friendsgiving:

1. Create thoughtful place cards

The best part of Friendsgiving is socializing over your favorite foods. Make sure that all of your guests stay entertained with thoughtfully placed name cards and a seating chart. Have fun with your chart – put your single friends next to each other or make friends from different groups meet. You’re in control!

2. Make something for everyone

Vegan friends? Friends with allergies? Pregnant friends? Be the type A friend this year and ask everyone’s preferences to ensure there's something for them to eat and drink. Have your plant-based friend bring a vegan sweet potato casserole and your dairy-free friend provide a dairy-free pumpkin pie. You can also make cocktails at every ABV so that your sober friends can still say cheers with the rest of the group. Try A Martini at Every Potency here.

3. Focus on the visuals

You can never go wrong with a beautiful tablescape and good lighting. Set the ambience of your event with a table fueled by candle light, floral arrangements, and lots of food of course. No matter your budget, Friendsgiving is a great time to get creative with your decorations and use everything from your old Halloween pumpkins to freshly fallen leaves from outside.

4. Don’t let guests leave empty-handed

One of the best pieces of advice for any host is to never let guests leave empty handed. At the very least, purchase Tupperware before your Friendsgiving so that leftovers can be distributed to the masses. If you are especially in the mood for giving, give away your table centerpieces as a little piece of memorabilia. At AMASS we recommend giving every guest a travel-sized botanic hand sanitizer to remind everyone to stay safe this holiday season.

What we order at a bar says a lot about us. Our drink orders provide a portal into what we desire, of course, but also how we desire to be seen. And while we all have our old standbys (like my friend who continues to order Cosmopolitans everywhere he goes no matter how uncool they have become), most of us are at least somewhat concerned in appearing in-the-know. That’s why we here at AMASS rounded up the trendiest drinks of the past decade, as a glimpse into the cocktails and beers and shots we ordered and drank in an attempt to seem cooler than we actually are.

2010: The Four Loko

The decade started out with a bang with the rise of the now-infamous Four Loko, a caffeinated alcoholic beverage responsible for many a forgotten night out. Once beloved among college students for its potency and almost concerningly low price point of 3 bucks a can, the caffeine-and-sugar-laden concoction has since been banned (fair), but its legacy forever lives on.

2011: Pabst Blue Ribbon

Unlike its fellow cheap beer counterparts, in its prime PBR was beloved not among bro-y frat stars, but among the beanie-clad, handlebar mustached hipsters of the early 2010s. It was the beer you drank if you were in a band, and although it quickly became outshined by the emerging craft beer scene, for a fading moment it reigned supreme.

2012: Whiskey

With the popularity of Don Draper came a short-lived but nonetheless memorable Americana phase. Many an old fashioned and whiskey sour were drunk and The Avett Brothers were played loudly and often. In the words of a not-so-American writer, it was the best of times and it was the worst of the times.

2013: Negronis

Back in 2013, Campari launched Negroni Week in an effort to 1) celebrate the cocktail, 2) raise money for charities around the world and 3) sell a lot of Campari. It worked, and the classic cocktail became the drink du jour. (Of course, we’re partial to an AMASS Negroni, which you can shake up at home with our recipe here.)

2014: Over-the-top-Brunch-Cocktails

The advent of Instagram brought Instagram-friendly cocktails, and none were more extra than the Bloody Mary. Stacked with everything from fried chicken to cocktail shrimp to cheeseburger sliders, these savory cocktails were a lesson in excess.

2015: Fireball

While Fireball first had a surge of popularity in 2012, it wasn’t until 2015 that the cinnamon-flavored whiskey became the top-selling liqueur in the United States (and the one countless college freshman would cite as the reason they can’t stomach the taste of cinnamon anymore).

2016: Frosé

The moment has passed, but the “frosé all day” tee shirts still remain. The unofficial white girl drink of 2016, frosé, or frozen rose, is like a grown-up slushie made with pink wine and fresh strawberries. It’s best drunk poolside, ideally with one of those pizza or donut-shaped pool floats nearby.

2017: Natural Wine

Natural wine, or wine that is made with fewer additives and sulfites, became popularized in France back in the ‘60s, but it took some time (over 50 years, to be exact) for the movement to gain traction stateside.  Made with the principle that “nothing is added and nothing is taken away,” natural wine’s growing popularity mirrored consumers’ growing concern about what they were putting into their bodies.

2018: The Aperol Spritz

Ah yes, the cocktail that spurred countless Instagram posts and a hotly-debated New York Times think piece. Aperol, the part sweet, part bitter Italian aperitivo, has been around since the ‘50s, but it wasn’t until an intense marketing campaign led by Campari that the drink became a stateside sensation. The buzz has since mellowed a bit, but expect to still see the orange-hued cocktail on your feed come June.

2019: Low ABV Alternatives

While consumers at the beginning of the decade were primarily concerned with how to get drunk fast (hence the popularity of Four Loko), we’ve since entered into an era of low ABV and more thoughtfully sourced ingredients. It’s why hard kombucha and mocktails (and yes, even White Claws) have hit their stride now, and is a trend we’ll continue to see as we bid the 2010s adieu.

The 2010s were a decade of excess capped off with surprising thoughtfulness. They were a decade of canned concoctions and boozy brunches. They were, in a word, boundless. And as sad as we were to bid them farewell, we’re also thrilled to see more mindful trends make their way into the spotlight. So I talked with Robby Nelson, AMASS’ East Coast Sales Director and cocktail whiz whose personal resume reads like a who’s who of the New York food and beverage scene. Before joining the AMASS team, Robby served as the General Manager at Momofuku’s East Village bar, Booker and Dax, bartended at The Long Island Bar under Toby Cecchini, the much-lauded creator of the legendary Cosmopolitan, and worked at Pernod-Ricard first as the Brand Ambassador for Plymouth Gin and later as a Key Account Manager. Suffice it to say, Robby knows a thing or two about cocktails. So it should come as no surprise that when I asked him to share his bold predictions for the drink trends of 2020, he did not disappoint.

No Proof Cocktails

I have definitely noticed more and more bars/restaurants offering "No Proof" cocktails and devoting a section of their menu to them, not to mention taking the time during menu development to create some delicious drinks. Seedlip is, of course, a brand that I see more and more of, but bars have also been incredibly creative when developing non-alcoholic cocktails. For instance, Existing Conditions, which is over a year old now, launched with some truly incredible No Proof cocktails, employing all of their "scientific" and "molecular" techniques (I put those in quotes because they hate the term molecular, and probably wouldn't like scientific much either).

The Martini

I also think the martini is having a bit of a moment. A lot of cocktail bars have a house martini or a martini variation on the cocktail menu. My friends recently opened a restaurant called Anton's in the West Village, and they serve a pre-batched, pre-diluted, and chilled martini, as well as a Manhattan, which are both simple and delicious. That's another trend, too–prepared cocktails that are made better by being made ahead of time. Existing Conditions has an old school vending machine with three different bottled cocktails that you get by requesting a token from the bartender that you then use on the vending machine as if you're getting a Coke.

Classic Cocktails on Restaurant Menus

I have also been noticing that a lot of restaurants have decided they don't need to have a list of bespoke, house cocktails. They're happy to serve a short list of classic cocktails and do them well, which I am so happy about.

Glassware

Glassware—that's the new arms race. Gone are the days where everyone used the same Libbey 5.5 oz coupe glass. Now anyone with a serious cocktail program selects their own glassware because they want it to be beautiful and unique. Which I also love because I'm a sucker for glassware.

Mini Martinis & Vermouth Service

I was never a big fan of doing shots of Fernet, which used to be what every bartender would serve every industry person who walked through the door. Thankfully, this has largely disappeared.  Now, bars/restaurants have their own unique ways of saying hello/goodbye to a visiting industry person.  For instance, Dante usually pours tiny martinis (because they have them prepared) or they'll do a small version of their vermouth service, which is dry vermouth, a splash of bubbles, and a frozen grape. [The drinks are] delicious and low proof, so you're not staggering out of the bar after a full-blown shot of full proof spirit.

Thoughtful Consumption

Along the lines of what I said above about shots, I think consumers are also drinking with more care and intention. They want to understand and appreciate what they're drinking, not necessarily get wasted. Don't get me wrong, people also do that, and frequently. But it's like with food, people want to eat/drink something they enjoy, they can learn about, talk about, take a cute picture of, and engage with on a deeper level than just being full/drunk.

Written by Nicole Carullo & Robby Nelson

You’ve got good spirits, so now it’s time to raise your glassware game to the same level. From Collins to Coupes, here’s all the glimmering glassware you need to stock in your liquor cabinet:

1. Collins.

A Collins glass is a skinnier, taller version of the classic Highball, used to serve mixed drinks over ice like Gin & Tonics and, of course, Tom Collins. They’re sleek in style and endlessly versatile, so you can use them for your morning OJ just as you would your evening nightcap.

2. Coupe.

Essentially a curved martini glass, the coupe is a stemmed glass with a wide, shallow bowl that’s used to house everything from a Gimlet to a Martinez to a Bee’s Knees. Because of their shallow bowl and delicate touch, coupe glasses are best reserved for drinks served “up” – in layman terms, that means cocktails that are shaken with ice and strained, as opposed to Collins and Rocks glasses that are designed to bear the brunt of heavy cubes.

3. Rocks.

A rocks glass is as classic as it comes, and for good reason – these short and stout glasses are used for just about any cocktail served on ice. They’re a standby for gin drinks like the Negroni, and are often used to house brown spirit cocktails like Manhattans and Old Fashioneds, diluting the potent libations with a large rock.

4. Martini.

The ‘90s are back, and with them comes the resurgence of the Martini glass, the conical shaped cocktail glass used to house Martinis, sure, but also drinks like the Cosmopolitan and the Appletini. While you could just as easily use a Coupe for these cocktails, there’s something nostalgic about an old-school Martini glass that earns it a place in our kitchen cabinets.

5. Nick and Nora

If a Martini glass and a Coupe glass had a baby, it’d be called Nick and Nora. And what a cute baby it is, with its delicate stem and small, curved bowl. Named after the main characters from the 1934 film The Thin Man, who were shown throughout the film sipping spirits from the iconic glasses, the Nick and Nora glass harkens back to retro cocktail culture, and can be used anytime you want to add a fun twist to any drink traditionally served in a Martini or Coupe glass.

The way we talk about spirits can sometimes feel a little intimidating. What does dry summer taste like? What about gin with an herbaceous quality on the middle of the palate? Are we speaking a different language? What does it all even mean?

If you’ve ever wondered how we’re coming up with this stuff, don’t sweat it – you’re not alone. But while the lexicon surrounding booze can seem inaccessible, it really just comes down to two basic senses: smell and taste.

Straight up or on the rocks, here’s how to talk about drinks.

Nose

When we talk about the nose of a spirit, we’re not being facetious – we’re straight up talking about how it smells. And while there are some best practices to abide by when sniffing your spirits, for the most part it really is as simple as taking a whiff. Here are a few tried and true steps to good first impressions:

First, choose your vessel. Using a curved, tulip-shaped glass helps funnel the delicate aromas to your nose. Have a wine glass on hand? That will do just fine.

Then, pour a small tipple and smell slowly. While wine tastings start with taking a deep sniff of the glass, spirits require a little more finesse and care. Because our gin and vodka are high proof (90 and 80 proof, respectively), you’re better off slowly raising the glass to your nose and smelling gently so as not to anesthetize your nostrils. Open your mouth slightly while you smell to allow more surface area for the alcohol itself to dissipate. Then, take note of what aromas you notice first, whether that’s citrus, herbs, or a bright punch of sumac. Jot it all down in a notebook, and take some time returning to your glass before your first sip.

If you feel like your nose needs a refresh, take a whiff of some coffee grounds before keeping on and carrying on.

Palate

Here’s where we get to the heart of the matter: how does the spirit taste? From the second the liquid hits your tongue, you’ve embarked on a gustatory journey. We like to start by tasting the liquid neat at room temp, and then diluting with water or ice as necessary. Keep water at the ready, but avoid drinking or eating anything else in the hour leading up to your tasting so your palate is as clean as can be.

Once you’re sipping, it’s really all about slowing down and paying attention. Start out small, taking a baby sip to warm up your palate before properly tasting. Then, breathe in a little through your mouth while you’re tasting, just as you would with wine. Take note of the botanicals that jump out at you first. These are what you taste on the front of your palate. If you smelled a bright squeeze of citrus, see if lemon or grapefruit come through when you taste. Then, as the spirit makes its way across your tastebuds, ask yourself what new flavors begin to reveal themselves. Is there an unexpected hit of spicy cardamom? Bitter, grassy notes on your rear palate? Write it all down, and remember there are no right or wrong answers here. Taste is personal, and our Proustian memories shape our perceptions. Let yourself be surprised.

Finish

The finish of a spirit is essentially a grown-up way of saying “aftertaste.” Here, we talk about the flavors that stay and linger, the complex notes that only come out once your glass is empty. Maybe it's mushrooms, or long pepper, or the cereal sweetness of wheat and chamomile. Whatever it is, savor it before going in for your next sip. And if you’re switching spirits? Drink some water and take 25.

“Heraclitus once wrote that it is impossible to step in the same river twice. In Los Angeles, it can be nearly impossible to eat in the same restaurant twice. This is, I believe, what the economists call creative destruction. And it is not impossible here to experience extremes — restaurants that are born and die in a single evening; restaurants in suburbs so distant that they may as well be theoretical; restaurants so hard to get into that they may not actually exist outside of blogs."

"Los Angeles is where the modern restaurant was born, the good, the bad and the ugly of it, and we’re too far gone to stop now.”

- Jonathan Gold

Recently I watched City of Gold, the 2015 documentary detailing legendary food critic Jonathan Gold’s culinary contributions to Los Angeles. Directed by Laura Gobbert, the doc follows Gold as he traverses the freewheeling freeways of LA, zooming through the belly of the beast in his old Ram 1500 in search of a good bite.

Flashes of mom and pop spots, food trucks, and sidewalk tortillerias dance on screen in a dizzying dream of charred meat and paper plates. Bludso’s, Mariscos Jalisco, Jitlada – places that are less restaurants than they are cultural institutions – weave in and out of frame as Gold barrels down Pico, Sunset, anywhere, his left hand resting on the wheel as his right gesticulates to the camera.

Over the past couple decades, Los Angeles has undergone a culinary renaissance led by the late Gold, whose critiques put hole-in-the-wall spots on the map and breathed a new life into the city’s food scene. The “Gold effect,” as some have called it, saved countless struggling restaurants long before other major critics and publications were even looking their way. What Anthony Bourdain did for the far-flung food stalls of Chiang Mai and bountiful banquets of Reykjavik, Jonathan Gold did for Los Angeles.

And then, like a flash in a pan, both of them were gone. Gold and Bourdain died in the summer of 2018, just one month apart and two years before the hospitality industry would crumble under the mandated closures of bars and restaurants and an economic recession that would rival that of the Great Depression. As heart-wrenching and deeply personal as the loss of Gold and Bourdain felt in 2018, somehow it’s even more palpable now, as restaurants shutter their doors in alarming numbers and headlines blare the sad siren song,

“Is this the end of the golden age of dining?”

It’s a declaration critics have been swift to jump to ever since it was first decreed that we were, in fact, in the midst of a golden age. But the promise looms larger now, its fate seeming more and more inevitable. Which restaurants will weather this storm? What will become of the state of dining as we know it? With Gold and Bourdain gone, who will advocate for the busboys, the bartenders, the band of misfit toys that make up this industry?

Trois Mec, the Gold-approved, Michelin-starred, and Ludo Lefebvre-led tasting menu in Hollywood was one of the first of many upscale, inventive restaurants to close in the wake of the pandemic. Its sister restaurant, Petit Trois, still stands, though its future – like so many of the bars and restaurants that already barely get by on paper-thin margins – becomes less and less certain every day.

Others, like Here’s Looking at You in Koreatown and Broken Spanish Downtown, have suffered the same fate.  Ma’am Sir, a modern Filipino restaurant in Silver Lake that did for Filipino food what Night + Market did for Thai, just recently joined their ranks. Every day the number swells, not just in Los Angeles but in cities and suburbs and small towns around the world. Our cultural meccas are dwindling as fast-casual chains continue to survive and thrive, threatening to take over.

As a newcomer to Los Angeles, one of the millions who have trekked from some small town somewhere to this City of Angels, I have felt a peculiar sadness over the loss of these restaurants that were never mine. Restaurants that were erased from my list of places “to try” almost as quickly as they were added. It’s a strange phantom grief, mourning something you never – and will never – know. And of course, it applies to more than just food; this year has brought with it countless trips that will never be taken, memories that will never be made. But there is something about the fleetingness of a restaurant that makes its loss especially devastating; Italy will still be there when you inevitably take that trip. The Coliseum will still stand. But will the corner pizzeria?

According to writer Kevin Alexander, the end of the golden age of dining began before COVID even hit. In Burn The Ice, his 2019 book, Alexander argues that the golden age started in 2006 with the rise of farm-to-table restaurants in Portland and the launch of Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations. What followed was a decade-long stint of fine casual dining, a “golden age” in which good food and good drinks were championed above all else. Of course, it had to come to an end. Everything does. But the timing of that ending feels startlingly ominous, the future far too bleak.

At the time Burn The Ice was published, Alexander wrote that there were 100,000 more restaurants in the US in 2019 than there were 10 years ago. In the past six months alone, another 100,000 have closed. It’s grim, sure. An erasure of a decade of dining in America. But if we’re back at square one, so to speak, if we’re starting over exactly where we were in 2006 when farm-to-table was a new concept and Anthony Bourdain was just some sly, rough around the edges chef we had never heard of, then maybe it means that we are on the precipice of another golden age. That when this is all over – when restaurants get back up on their feet and start again – they’ll be stronger than ever.

During the 1992 Los Angeles riots, Jonathan Gold penned an essay for the LA Times on his neighborhood, Koreatown, “a neighborhood just west of downtown.” He wrote of the Bangkok-style buffets and Filipino fish joints that were burned to the ground, entire livelihoods diminished to ashes. The picture he painted then looked stunningly similar to what it looks like now: neighborhoods in a state of unrest and upheaval, boarded up buildings, signs that have always read “open” turned to say “closed.”

History repeats itself, again and again in an infinite time loop. That much we know. And as much as I wish Gold – and Bourdain – were here to offer their sage wisdom, in a way they have already given that to us.

“And yet the neighborhood survives,” Gold wrote in 1992, his words echoing through time and space to a moment 28 years removed that is more alike than it is different. We have rebuilt before. We can do it again.

Ray Eames was many things to many people: a designer, a painter, a true artist, a vehement Fire sign, a wife, an Episcopalian, a woman whose life – both personal and professional – revolved around play. She was born in Sacramento in 1912, before it was Didion’s Sacramento, and grew up governed by the firm yet often challenged belief that life was meant to be enjoyed.

That belief followed her to New York, where she studied abstract expressionist painting under renowned artists Lu Duble and Hans Hofmann. Ray’s list of close confidantes from the time reads like a who’s who of the New York art scene, and includes bigwig painters like Lee Krasner and Mercedes Matter. Her time in the city was short lived, however, as just a few years later she hatched a plan to head back west and build a house in California.

It would become the Eames House.

Ray met and quickly married her creative partner in crime, Charles Eames, in 1941 after working together on the display panels for the exhibition “Organic Design in Home Furnishings” at the Museum of Modern Art. The two honeymooned in Los Angeles and never left, the rest of their lives spent together frozen in a sweet honey haze. While Charles had a child, Lucia, from a previous marriage, he and Ray never had their own. It was like they never came home from vacation.

A few years into their lifelong Californian honeymoon, Ray and Charles were asked to participate in the Case Study House Program, an initiative sponsored by Arts & Architecture magazine with the goal of showcasing examples of modern yet modest homes that utilized wartime and industrial materials. They were assigned Case Study House Number 8, one of 28 homes throughout the greater Los Angeles area.

Addressing the swift switch in her career from abstract expressionism to architecture, Ray said, “I never gave up painting, I just changed my palette.” During the building of the Case Study home, Ray and Charles spent days and nights in the eucalyptus groves overlooking the sea from the Pacific Palisades. They shot arrows, picnicked in meadows, lounged about with friends and family. And on Christmas Eve, 1949, they moved in. Like their initial relocation to Los Angeles, this was a permanent choice; Ray and Charles would live together in that house on the hill for the remainder of their lives.

As much as the Case Study house became a milestone of modern architecture, perhaps its most significant role was as a backdrop for the creative endeavors that would come to comprise Ray and Charles’ careers.

There, in the light-dappled studio by the sea, they devised design after design. Ergonomic seat shells, the instantly classic Eames lounger, animal masks; these were the things they crafted on Chautauqua Boulevard. Practical commingled with playful, and novelty was rejected at all costs. Instead, they followed the design principle coined by Louis Sullivan that form should follow function. “Why design a beautiful chair that you can’t sit in?”, their work seemed to ask.

This philosophy manifested in their teachings, too. Often their first assignment was to build a kite, a simple task with  an even simpler grading scale: design a beautiful kite that can’t fly and you fail. Design one that flies and you pass. Always ones to favor simple childhood pleasures, Ray and Charles used toys extensively as a means of experimentation and investigation in their work.

“Toys are not really as innocent as they look,” they said. “Toys and games are the prelude to serious ideas.”

While their work was a true collaboration, Ray is credited for establishing what is generally recognized as the “Eames look.” She didn’t do drawings – that was all Charles – but her keen sense for form and color from her days as a painter guided her and Charles’ work. She designed everything from magazine covers to textiles to game boards with the same nonchalance and simple joy with which she and Charles built everything. Nothing was done for vanity. Everything was done for pleasure – both theirs and others.

Like most famously pithy intellectual types, Ray and Charles have some great one-liners, the kind that are swiftly declarative and often tattooed on bodies, held up on posters, printed in coffee table books. “Anything I can do, Ray can do better,” Charles once said, and the historians took note.

And another, this one more a call to action than a passive claim: “Take your pleasure seriously.”

If you wanted, you could take this sentiment at face value, a superficial interpretation on par with “carpe diem” or “you only live once.” To take your pleasure seriously, though – in life, in love, in work – demands a much more thoughtful approach.

In an article published by the Eames Office, the quote is explained further,

"It means choosing work that you enjoy. It means doing a deep dive—taking the time to delve into your pursuits and explore them fully. It’s an encouragement to analyze objects, ideas, problems, and subjects from every angle with a playful, exploratory openness that allows you to reap the joys of the process."

Whatever it meant to live a life like that, Ray did it with grace. The joy lied in the process: of the honeymoon, of the days spent frolicking among eucalyptus, of the things she built with Charles – a chair, a house, a life.

As a young brand in an industry that has long been steeped in racism, sexism, and economic inequality, it is our responsibility to acknowledge the injustices embedded in hospitality and drinking culture.

We want to hold ourselves accountable to ensure our anti-racism education reverberates beyond this current moment. Anti-racism work is never over. From our internal team, to our partners and freelance creatives we work with now and in the future, we are committed to amplifying BIPOC voices through diverse and inclusive hiring practices, creative campaigns, and editorial voices.

At AMASS, we believe in taking care of our community–mentally and physically–and want to support organizations that share that same value. Right now is an incredibly painful, exhausting time for the Black community, who often have little or no access to healthcare, a long-standing reality that’s recently been exposed by COVID and its disproportionate impact on BIPOC. The following non-profit organizations are doing the important work of providing therapy and other healing resources to BIPOC right now:

• NQTTCN

The National Queer and Trans Therapists of Color Network is committed to increasing access to healing justice resources for Queer and Trans BIPOC.

• House of GG

The Griffin-Gracy Educational Retreat & Historical Center offers a transformative and healing space for Trans BIWOC.

• Black AIDS Institute

The Black AIDS Institute provides resources and support for Black folx living with HIV.

• Harriet’s Apothecary

Harriet’s Apothecary creates accessible, affordable, and inclusive community healing spaces for BIPOC.

• The Unplug Collective

Unplug is a digital space where Black and Brown womxn and non-binary folx can share their stories without being silenced or censored.

• The Loveland Foundation

The Loveland Therapy Fund provides financial assistance to Black women and girls seeking therapy.

As a young brand in an industry that has long been steeped in racism, sexism, and economic inequality, it is our responsibility to acknowledge the injustices embedded in hospitality and drinking culture.

We want to hold ourselves accountable to ensure our anti-racism education reverberates beyond this current moment. Anti-racism work is never over. From our internal team, to our partners and freelance creatives we work with now and in the future, we are committed to amplifying BIPOC voices through diverse and inclusive hiring practices, creative campaigns, and editorial voices.

We are a maker-driven brand, and that starts with the creatives we partner with, from the photographers who bring our brand to life to the small studios whose beautiful ceramics and glassware we stock in our own homes. The creative industry has historically been white-dominated–of the 26% of BIPOC who hold a job in the creative sector, only 8% of those are Black. We are committed to using both our platform and our spending power to support Black makers. Below are some of our favorite Black-owned businesses you can and should support right now:

• Oak & Melanin

One of our longstanding creative partners, O&M is a creative agency with elevated visual storytelling at its heart. 100% of the profits from their online art shop go directly to the team member who designed it.

• Estelle Colored Glass

Estelle Colored Glass is a luxury brand of hand-blown, vintage-inspired glassware now available in cotton candy colors like blushed pink and lavender. The champagne coupe is perfectly suited for a gimlet.

• Shop Yowie

YOWIE is a Philadelphia-based shop that sources homegoods and apparel from independent designers and artists. Founder Shannon Maldonado offers consultations on prop styling, art direction, and interior design.

• Goodee World

Founded by designers and creative directors Byron and Dexter Peart, Goodee World is a curated marketplace offering sustainable, thoughtfully made homegoods, from bold textiles to delicate woven light fixtures.

• For the Culture

Founded by Klancy Miller, For The Culture is a biannual print magazine that celebrates Black women in food and wine. All of the stories in For The Culture are about Black women, written by Black women, and photographed and illustrated by Black women.

• Nur Ceramics

Dina Nur Satti makes ceramics inspired by the daily rituals of the Sahara. From handcrafted incense holders to elegant whiskey and mezcal cups, Satti’s collection thoughtfully pays homage to the Somali and Sudanese traditions she grew up with.

Once the first wave of bars and restaurants began to shutter their doors mid-March, at the start of what would become a months-long period of social distancing, the thought occurred to us, “But where will we gather?”

It’s a question we’ve continued to ask ourselves as feelings of loneliness set in, as the LA Times makes predictions like,

"Make a list of your top 10 restaurants that you would hate to see close and support them at this time. Because 75 percent of them may eventually close."

It’s a startling statistic, and one that has forced us to consider what the world would look like without the dive bars and mom and pop shops and Sunday breakfast spots we know and love. With patronage out of the question, we are supporting these brick and mortar shops and stops we used to frequent in a new, very online way. We’re following along on their Instagram stories for new-to-us market offerings and to-go cocktails, making donations in an effort to support waitstaffs, even personally checking in on the teams of our nearest and dearest spots.

It seems that just as the premise of the IRL dining experience was wiped clean, we have been presented with an ever-expanding list of ways to engage with our local food and drink purveyors.

The same is true within our social circles. We are adapting to the current climate at a staggering rate, and this immense change can be felt most in the ways we are connecting with each other. Under quarantine, we have turned to technology to find community in ways we haven’t since the days of blogs and forums and AIM. In this new normal, we spend our Friday nights on Zoom happy hours clinking glasses with no one. We watch Alison Roman dole out cooking tips and chop shallots on Instagram Live, tuning in at set times like we did back when we still watched cable TV. We are, in small but significant ways, using the digital landscape again as a tool for connection as opposed to self-promotion.

It’s rare that change looks like reverting back to old ways of doing things. But alas, here we are–searching for ways to communicate with each other online in the same ways we did when the Internet was new and the words “influencer marketing” were still lightyears away.

In a Zoom happy hour I attended the other week, someone posed the question to the 15-person group, “What are the small things you’re delighting in now?” Answers varied, but several pointed to a shared truth–people are connecting with friends, family members, and yes, even strangers, online in ways they would have never done pre-pandemic. I listened to stories of foregone friendships being revitalized, deep-seated sibling rivalries resolving themselves, strangers striking up real conversation on dating apps without any intent of meeting up in-person. Even friends I was already speaking with on a weekly basis have become daily fixtures in my quarantine life.

It seems that being relegated to communicating via screens alone has spurred people to communicate even more. In the absence of communal spaces, we have transformed the internet into our own dive bar, mom and pop shop, and Sunday breakfast spot, partaking in happy hours and virtual brunches with a regularity that rivals the lives we led pre-pandemic. The social rituals we once turned to for comfort in the “old world” have followed us into our homes and onto our screens. Happy hour has not been postponed–our meeting places have simply become digitized.

It may seem like a cheap substitute at first glance, gathering around our computer screens for a drink as opposed to the bar down the street. But truth be told, it’s something we have already been doing for quite some time now. In an increasingly global world, we lean on technology as a way to connect across cities, states, time zones. Long distance friendships and relationships have thrived and survived under this model. Searching for connection through our screens is not a particularly novel idea–it’s just that our desires to connect have been heightened and our traditional means to connect have been erased.

When this is all over, I’m sure we will return to our posts at the bars and restaurants where we once gathered, or at least what is left of them. IRL nights out will resume. We’ll revert, in some ways, to the lives we led pre-pandemic. But we’ll return with a newfound understanding that the ways we connect with each other and the restaurants and bars we patronize are less limited than we thought. Happy hour–or at least the connection to people and places it provides us with–is withstanding of circumstance.