There we were, three food editors for three different publications and me. Our companies might be at odds, but we ourselves were not. We were incognito, as incognito as people in a small market can be.

We weren’t there for any official reason. We were there for the same reason everyone else was — because we were thirsty. Cocktail menus were provided.

“Hey, Jeff,” said one of the editors. “You are a bartender; would this drink be OK with vodka instead of gin?” I scanned the ingredients briefly. Essentially it was a gin lemon drop with elderflower liqueur, some sort of flowery garnish and a specialty sugar rim.

In the cocktail world, nothing there is all that dissimilar from something else. “You don’t like gin?” I asked. “Not really.

” “Then yeah, sure, it should be fine,” I said. We placed our order: a beer, two glasses of wine and that cocktail. Five minutes later, the server returned.

“The bartender says that he doesn’t recommend changing that ingredient. He says that all our drinks have been specially curated.” The editor looked at me.

I looked at her, and then at the server. “Please tell your bartender that we are willing to take the chance,” I said. Two minutes later, she returned again.

“He recommends that you get something else.” “Are you kidding me?” I asked. We often hear the food and beverage industry called the “hospitality industry,” but in some cases, it actually seems more like the “hostility industry.

” In fact, .