What's "In," What's "Out," and What's TBD

What's in store for the year to come? Plus, my top stories of 2024. And a wintertime cocktail that should be revived in 2025.

Another look ahead into the crystal wine goblet.

Well, well, well. Here we are, once again, at that moment when we reckon with last December’s trend spotting. I made a lot of quasi-bold predictions for 2024. How did I do?

On the plus side, I definitely saw more attention paid to new-wave Spanish wine. Of course, to be clear, my thumb was firmly on the scale when it came to that trend—having written about wines from Rioja, Jerez, Catalonia, and many others. Beyond wine, I definitely saw a lot more Caesar salads, mushrooms, and pistachios on menus. I believe Carolina Gelen’s star eclipsed Alison Roman’s. I definitely saw more Surfside Iced Teas being consumed than most other beverages. I witnessed a decided backlash to natural-wine zealotry. I’ll take a gold star for all of those forecasts.

On the minus side, though, can we really say that Armagnac or Licor 43 entered the cultural zeitgeist? Did Loire Valley wines really gain any ground on Burgundy? Did Germany become a buzzier destination than Iceland? Sacramento over Portland? Ahem.

Does any of this, plus or minus, matter at all? No. Yet the trend spotter never looks back, always moves forward. Onward!

As I’ve said before, the In-and-Out list is a blend of the hopeful, the obvious, the contrarian, and also a bit of the fanciful. Without further ado, here’s mine for 2025:

Some of what I’m declaring as “in” or “out” are just facts of life. White wine is swiftly outselling red wine worldwide. Sales of $12.99 bulk wine are declining so badly they’ve caused a crisis for the American wine industry. Lisbon is overtouristed. There are a lot of carrot salad recipes on TikTok. No one really wants those mini cocktails or pricey shots at a fine-dining restaurant.

Meanwhile, I’m aware that plenty of what I’m calling “in”—Logroño, Philadelphia, Calvados, Cynar—is extremely biased and self-interested.

Please feel free to agree or disagree with any of my prognostications in the comments below. In fact, share your own bold predictions.

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My Top Five Posts Of 2024

According to you, dear readers.

1. Have You Joined The Team Yet?

Do You Ride With Team Cynar?

2. Homage To Catalonia

Why You Should Be Drinking More Catalan Wine

3. How ‘Bout Them Apples?

Is Calvados Finally...Sexy?

4. Selected For The Best American Food + Travel Writing

How Things Disappear: A Travel Writer's Pilgrimage

5. A Classic German Wine Journey

Wine and the Sweet Hereafter

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Bringing Back The Stinger

I got my first inkling of how little I’d known about drinking on a cold autumn afternoon, back when I was a young and clueless college student. A successful, older mentor took me out for a drink. The reason why is lost to me now, but surely it involved some pointed career advice that I never followed. Anyway, this septuagenarian gentleman—who in my hazy memory wore a brimmed hat and a flower tucked into his lapel and carried a pocket watch—took me to a hotel bar. I was dressed, as usual, in a well-worn flannel shirt, wrinkled khakis, running sneakers, and a beat-up baseball cap. As we sat, he announced to the bartender with a wink, “Jimmy, as of today, I’m putting you on official notice. I’ve switched to my winter drink.”

Without a word, the bartender, dressed in white coat and tie, promptly mixed and served him a Stinger. The gentleman laid a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the bar and told me to order, so I asked for a vodka and tonic, hoping it seemed more sophisticated than the cheap beers and shots that I normally drank with my fake ID. The gentleman appraised me, my slovenly attire, and my vodka and tonic, and gruffly declared, “That’s a summer drink.” Then he told the bartender he’d better make another Stinger.

The implication was clear: What sort of adult doesn’t know when to switch from a summer drink to a winter drink? What sort of soft generation was this that needed to be told how to drink at all?

“Vodka has no taste,” he continued. “It’s flavorless.”

“But what’s in a Stinger?” I asked.

He eyed me skeptically. “Crème de menthe. Brandy. Jimmy has made yours with Cognac.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. I assumed Cognac had something to do with rich old guys and pipes and velvet jackets and slippers and maybe sitting in a plush chair and reading a huge book with gilt edges and a title like The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. I knew Cognac was expensive, but what could it possibly be made from? Maybe the sweat of French people? Or perhaps Cognac was sort of like those fur coats that patchouli-smelling college kids like me were protesting, the ones made from the soft, soft fur of Persian lamb fetuses?

In any case, I sure as hell had never witnessed anyone drinking a cognac. And I expressed this to my would-be mentor by scrunching up my nose and saying, “Cognac?” The gentleman gave me a look that suggested he was witnessing the decline and fall of contemporary civilization before his very eyes.

I’ve come a long way from that day. But since the Stinger is the first real cocktail I ever enjoyed, it is the first drink I will pour in 2025—or perhaps the last drink of 2024. It’s a perfect mid-winter cocktail.

Years after that fateful day, I learned that the Stinger is traditionally served straight up and not on the rocks. This means, of course, that dapper gentleman in the hotel bar was wrong. But no matter: I still take my Stinger on ice. Sometimes, I’ll even add a dash of absinthe to the mix—in which case, the drink becomes a Stinger Royale. Always use the white (and never the green) crème de menthe. And always be sure to give the mint sprig a little spank before garnishing.

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Stinger

• 2 ounces Cognac

• 1/2 ounce white crème de menthe

• 1 dash absinthe (optional)

• Mint sprig

Fill a shaker with ice. Add the Cognac and crème de menthe (and absinthe, if desired). Shake well, then strain into either a chilled cocktail glass (if you like being correct) or into an old-fashioned glass with a few ice cubes (if you like a nicer drink). Garnish with the (appropriately spanked) mint sprig.