His bars happily sold "case after case" of Fireball during Obama's second term years and didn't think twice about it. Teeth in San Francisco, and was a partner in Soda Popinski, another SF bar aimed at the post-college youth demo, and the first in the city to offer Fireball on tap when it opened in 2012. So I started calling folks across the country with similar style bars and kept hearing the same thing. "They're just not ordering it anymore," Andrew said. But by 2019, they'd only sold 2,1000 shots, or two bottles a week. In 2013, Stats sold 45,000 shots of Fireball, and went through 38 bottles a week. What he found was pretty damn remarkable: Intrigued, he kept digging and looking back through the years. On a Saturday night, we sold zero shots of Fireball. But, I asked, how many of Fireball? I recalled, the last time I'd frequented any real bars with young people, before I became old and started exclusively wearing shawls and soft pants and drinking sherry out of copitas while reading transcripts of NPR podcasts, Fireball was, to use a youthful phrase, the bee's knees.Īnyway, Andrew looked at the numbers. 47 Jameson shots, and another 43 of Cuervo, and so on. White Claw hard seltzer was the big winner by an alarming margin.
One day a few months ago, I was asking Andrew about what people in their 20s and early 30s in particular are drinking and he said, well, let's look at the numbers from Saturday night. Plus, my buddy Andrew owns it, and, like Jonah Hill in Moneyball, he's an analytics guy. Because it is not a niche bar, Stat’s has always been a fantastic barometer when trying to figure out just what people are drinking these days. The type of place where post-college twenty-somethings with a small to moderate amount of disposable income and no parental responsibilities go to watch sports, do trivia, touch mouths, and drink alcohol. It is not a craft cocktail bar, or a tiki bar, or a lounge. Like most mysteries, this one started in South Boston, at a bar called Stat’s.
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