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| A 10-Course Dinner, With Weed in Every Dish | A 10-Course Dinner, With Weed in Every Dish |
| (about 1 hour later) | |
| The first dish arrived with panache — a delicate scallop crudo with candied ginger and mushrooms sprinkled on top, served in a giant scallop shell. But where, some surely wanted to know, was the weed? | The first dish arrived with panache — a delicate scallop crudo with candied ginger and mushrooms sprinkled on top, served in a giant scallop shell. But where, some surely wanted to know, was the weed? |
| Soon, the chef stood before the dining room and explained. The lime tincture that accented the dish — the same tincture that had been in the welcome cocktail, a daiquiri — had been infused with 2 milligrams of cannabis. With practiced ease, Chef Miguel Trinidad welcomed his guests — 42 curious diners, most of them strangers — and bid them to dig in before returning to his team in the kitchen. I drank the cocktail, and I ate the scallops. They tasted great, but I felt nothing. That would come later. | Soon, the chef stood before the dining room and explained. The lime tincture that accented the dish — the same tincture that had been in the welcome cocktail, a daiquiri — had been infused with 2 milligrams of cannabis. With practiced ease, Chef Miguel Trinidad welcomed his guests — 42 curious diners, most of them strangers — and bid them to dig in before returning to his team in the kitchen. I drank the cocktail, and I ate the scallops. They tasted great, but I felt nothing. That would come later. |
| The diners at the 9:30 seating were well dressed, polite and diverse. They had been instructed to gather at this sleek corner building in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, an event space with glass walls that revealed chefs and servers scurrying about. Mr. Trinidad had never worked in this kitchen before. Very likely, he would never work there again. | The diners at the 9:30 seating were well dressed, polite and diverse. They had been instructed to gather at this sleek corner building in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, an event space with glass walls that revealed chefs and servers scurrying about. Mr. Trinidad had never worked in this kitchen before. Very likely, he would never work there again. |
| Mr. Trinidad and many chefs like him now operate in a demimonde of quasi-clandestine, nomadic consumption experiences patronized by people who believe cannabis is no different from wine or cocktails when it comes to pairing it with food. Mr. Trinidad’s company, 99th Floor, has held dozens of cannabis dinners over the years. His meals are often five courses, but the one in Williamsburg was particularly ambitious: 10 courses, ranging from lamb won tons to ropa vieja. The cannabis was introduced into each dish in myriad ways. For the duck tamale, it had been infused into the lard. It was also in the mole sauce. | Mr. Trinidad and many chefs like him now operate in a demimonde of quasi-clandestine, nomadic consumption experiences patronized by people who believe cannabis is no different from wine or cocktails when it comes to pairing it with food. Mr. Trinidad’s company, 99th Floor, has held dozens of cannabis dinners over the years. His meals are often five courses, but the one in Williamsburg was particularly ambitious: 10 courses, ranging from lamb won tons to ropa vieja. The cannabis was introduced into each dish in myriad ways. For the duck tamale, it had been infused into the lard. It was also in the mole sauce. |
| The food was as ornate as anything at a high-end New York restaurant, the open kitchen as professionally run, the service as intelligent. The overall impression was a long way from 99th Floor’s 2015 origins, which shared the organizing principle of a rave: The location of the dinner would often not be revealed until the day of the event. | The food was as ornate as anything at a high-end New York restaurant, the open kitchen as professionally run, the service as intelligent. The overall impression was a long way from 99th Floor’s 2015 origins, which shared the organizing principle of a rave: The location of the dinner would often not be revealed until the day of the event. |
| Halley Zelicoff, a food stylist, has been to 30 of Mr. Trinidad’s dinners, including the first, which was held in a subbasement of a warehouse. Diners entered through a freight elevator and had to walk past a motorcycle gang’s headquarters to get there. “I was sitting next to a brain surgeon,” she recalled. “My mind was blown. I had never experienced anything like that before.” | Halley Zelicoff, a food stylist, has been to 30 of Mr. Trinidad’s dinners, including the first, which was held in a subbasement of a warehouse. Diners entered through a freight elevator and had to walk past a motorcycle gang’s headquarters to get there. “I was sitting next to a brain surgeon,” she recalled. “My mind was blown. I had never experienced anything like that before.” |
| These days, marijuana is much more mainstream; just blocks away from the elegant dinner, weed trucks perfumed the air of Bedford Avenue. Still, legislation governing the commercial sale and use of cannabis is a work in progress, forcing cannabis cooks to work in what is commonly termed the “gray area.” | These days, marijuana is much more mainstream; just blocks away from the elegant dinner, weed trucks perfumed the air of Bedford Avenue. Still, legislation governing the commercial sale and use of cannabis is a work in progress, forcing cannabis cooks to work in what is commonly termed the “gray area.” |
| Doug Cohen, Mr. Trinidad’s business partner, admitted the current space was unusually public for a cannabis dinner. Typically, he said, the events would be held in someone’s loft or a garage. Because of the legal uncertainty around cannabis, a brick-and-mortar restaurant is not a practical possibility. For now, the dinners are held as private events. Chefs build up mailing lists of trustworthy patrons. First-timers need a recommendation to gain entry. | Doug Cohen, Mr. Trinidad’s business partner, admitted the current space was unusually public for a cannabis dinner. Typically, he said, the events would be held in someone’s loft or a garage. Because of the legal uncertainty around cannabis, a brick-and-mortar restaurant is not a practical possibility. For now, the dinners are held as private events. Chefs build up mailing lists of trustworthy patrons. First-timers need a recommendation to gain entry. |
| Despite the bright lighting and modern setting, the mood at the dinner was relaxed with maybe a tinge of adventure, as many of the diners were seated next to perfect strangers. As they made their way through the courses, ingesting increasing amounts of cannabis, they grew livelier and more animated. The conversation crescendoed, but the atmosphere never crossed into raucous. | Despite the bright lighting and modern setting, the mood at the dinner was relaxed with maybe a tinge of adventure, as many of the diners were seated next to perfect strangers. As they made their way through the courses, ingesting increasing amounts of cannabis, they grew livelier and more animated. The conversation crescendoed, but the atmosphere never crossed into raucous. |
| “Right around the middle of the courses, the water starts to disappear,” a server told me as he refilled my glass. “People are like, ‘Oh, yeah, I’m smoking weed.’” | “Right around the middle of the courses, the water starts to disappear,” a server told me as he refilled my glass. “People are like, ‘Oh, yeah, I’m smoking weed.’” |
| Mr. Trinidad, 49, is a native New Yorker who was raised on the Lower East Side and says he was born in a taxi. At 14, he tried marijuana for the first time. It was the late 1980s, when it was illegal in all 50 states. At 17, he started working in kitchens, eventually becoming a chef and opening acclaimed restaurants like Maharlika and Jeepney. The aim of 99th Floor, he said, was to “take the stigma away from a super-stoned experience,” to “elevate” it. | Mr. Trinidad, 49, is a native New Yorker who was raised on the Lower East Side and says he was born in a taxi. At 14, he tried marijuana for the first time. It was the late 1980s, when it was illegal in all 50 states. At 17, he started working in kitchens, eventually becoming a chef and opening acclaimed restaurants like Maharlika and Jeepney. The aim of 99th Floor, he said, was to “take the stigma away from a super-stoned experience,” to “elevate” it. |
| “It’s very much like drinking a bottle of wine,” Mr. Trinidad said over coffee several days before the dinner. “You’d sip on a bottle of wine over the course of a few hours, you’d get warm, feel better, feel good. Same thing with cannabis. In small doses, you can get all the euphoria, all the benefit from it, without the onset of panic.” | “It’s very much like drinking a bottle of wine,” Mr. Trinidad said over coffee several days before the dinner. “You’d sip on a bottle of wine over the course of a few hours, you’d get warm, feel better, feel good. Same thing with cannabis. In small doses, you can get all the euphoria, all the benefit from it, without the onset of panic.” |
| By the end of the meal, each diner would have ingested roughly 20 to 25 milligrams, an amount that Mr. Trinidad equates to a bottle of wine. | By the end of the meal, each diner would have ingested roughly 20 to 25 milligrams, an amount that Mr. Trinidad equates to a bottle of wine. |
| Years ago, when Mr. Trinidad was first exploring the scene, he attended other cannabis dinners and found the dosages way too strong. At one, 30 very high strangers were stranded on a rooftop, none of them interacting. | Years ago, when Mr. Trinidad was first exploring the scene, he attended other cannabis dinners and found the dosages way too strong. At one, 30 very high strangers were stranded on a rooftop, none of them interacting. |
| In one week in October, I attended two cannabis dinners. Before the 99th Floor event, I attended one held at HighGarden, a TriBeCa cannabis lounge that operates out of a restaurant space and occasionally holds guest-chef dinners. Though the event was slightly more high-end than they were accustomed to, the founders of HighGarden said it was nothing unusual. | In one week in October, I attended two cannabis dinners. Before the 99th Floor event, I attended one held at HighGarden, a TriBeCa cannabis lounge that operates out of a restaurant space and occasionally holds guest-chef dinners. Though the event was slightly more high-end than they were accustomed to, the founders of HighGarden said it was nothing unusual. |
| “They’re happening everywhere in the city already,” said Jackie Conroy, one of the owners of HighGarden. “It’s been very low-key.” | “They’re happening everywhere in the city already,” said Jackie Conroy, one of the owners of HighGarden. “It’s been very low-key.” |
| Just how many cannabis dinners are held throughout New York is open to speculation, though another owner of HighGarden suggested that there were probably hundreds every week. (Perhaps as a testament to the gray area that places like HighGarden occupy, the co-owner would identify himself only as Mike B.) | Just how many cannabis dinners are held throughout New York is open to speculation, though another owner of HighGarden suggested that there were probably hundreds every week. (Perhaps as a testament to the gray area that places like HighGarden occupy, the co-owner would identify himself only as Mike B.) |
| According to Damian Fagon, the chief equity officer of the New York State Office of Cannabis Management, which was established in 2021, that estimate was accurate. | According to Damian Fagon, the chief equity officer of the New York State Office of Cannabis Management, which was established in 2021, that estimate was accurate. |
| Unlike the subtlety and clean lines of the 99th Floor dinner, the HighGarden vibe was signaled by the table settings. In addition to the various infusions found in the food, at each table was a vaporizer — a small machine topped with a glass orb that, when activated, filled with cannabis vapor that was meant to be sipped like wine. | Unlike the subtlety and clean lines of the 99th Floor dinner, the HighGarden vibe was signaled by the table settings. In addition to the various infusions found in the food, at each table was a vaporizer — a small machine topped with a glass orb that, when activated, filled with cannabis vapor that was meant to be sipped like wine. |
| In addition, at each place setting, there was a black box of six vape pens courtesy of Prëst, a brand sponsor of the dinner. Each pen contained different terpenes — compounds that are naturally found in cannabis and that give each strain its particular aromas and flavors. Like a beer or wine flight, each vape pen was meant to complement a different course. | In addition, at each place setting, there was a black box of six vape pens courtesy of Prëst, a brand sponsor of the dinner. Each pen contained different terpenes — compounds that are naturally found in cannabis and that give each strain its particular aromas and flavors. Like a beer or wine flight, each vape pen was meant to complement a different course. |
| Both the orbs and pens are common sights at dinners prepared by the chef of the night, Travis Petersen, a self-taught, Canadian-born cook. Now based in Arizona, Mr. Petersen has been staging weed dinners since 2018. He began by converting his home temporarily into a restaurant, doing five seatings of a dozen people every two hours over the course of four days. Cannabis chefs seem to be cagey about cost, but Mr. Petersen says the price for his dinners can range from $200 to $300. (The meal from 99th Floor was $199.) | Both the orbs and pens are common sights at dinners prepared by the chef of the night, Travis Petersen, a self-taught, Canadian-born cook. Now based in Arizona, Mr. Petersen has been staging weed dinners since 2018. He began by converting his home temporarily into a restaurant, doing five seatings of a dozen people every two hours over the course of four days. Cannabis chefs seem to be cagey about cost, but Mr. Petersen says the price for his dinners can range from $200 to $300. (The meal from 99th Floor was $199.) |
| Mr. Petersen, a large and voluble 38-year-old man with a tattoo on his arm of what looks like Paul Bunyan but turns out to be his lumberjack grandfather, is currently on a seven-week tour, staging dinners in eight states, most of which have legalized recreational or medical marijuana, while promoting his new book, “Introduction to Culinary Cannabis.” The HighGarden dinner was his first in New York, but he will begin a regular residency here later this month, hosting events every six to eight weeks. | Mr. Petersen, a large and voluble 38-year-old man with a tattoo on his arm of what looks like Paul Bunyan but turns out to be his lumberjack grandfather, is currently on a seven-week tour, staging dinners in eight states, most of which have legalized recreational or medical marijuana, while promoting his new book, “Introduction to Culinary Cannabis.” The HighGarden dinner was his first in New York, but he will begin a regular residency here later this month, hosting events every six to eight weeks. |
| He was surprised by how radically the cannabis landscape had changed in since his last visit. “I was here a couple years ago, and it was a lot more underground,” he said. | He was surprised by how radically the cannabis landscape had changed in since his last visit. “I was here a couple years ago, and it was a lot more underground,” he said. |
| To pursue his current dream, Mr. Petersen left behind a 12-year career at an oil and gas company, where he earned a six-figure salary and perks like a car allowance, paid cellphones, tickets to hockey games and 30 rounds of golf every summer. “Miserable,” is how he described his former life. “Giant hole in me and nothing would fill it.” At 31, he was laid off and used his severance to start over. “Doing this culinary cannabis has brought me all the happiness in life.” | To pursue his current dream, Mr. Petersen left behind a 12-year career at an oil and gas company, where he earned a six-figure salary and perks like a car allowance, paid cellphones, tickets to hockey games and 30 rounds of golf every summer. “Miserable,” is how he described his former life. “Giant hole in me and nothing would fill it.” At 31, he was laid off and used his severance to start over. “Doing this culinary cannabis has brought me all the happiness in life.” |
| At the dinner, I was seated across from a journalist named Sam C. Long, the creative director of Honeysuckle magazine, who admitted to a resemblance to Weird Al Yankovic. He’d been to 20 such dinners. “It’s the wild west,” he said of the dining scene, “in the best libertarian way.” Next to him sat a man named Adam, who said he made ice cream in Brooklyn. This was his first cannabis dinner, but he’d tried the vape pens before. He thought the pairings improved the courses. I thought so as well, until I realized I had been sampling the pens out of order. Then I didn’t know what to think. | At the dinner, I was seated across from a journalist named Sam C. Long, the creative director of Honeysuckle magazine, who admitted to a resemblance to Weird Al Yankovic. He’d been to 20 such dinners. “It’s the wild west,” he said of the dining scene, “in the best libertarian way.” Next to him sat a man named Adam, who said he made ice cream in Brooklyn. This was his first cannabis dinner, but he’d tried the vape pens before. He thought the pairings improved the courses. I thought so as well, until I realized I had been sampling the pens out of order. Then I didn’t know what to think. |
| Next to me, a young woman in a wool cap inhaled too deeply of the orb and quickly fell into a panic. Needing fresh air, she bolted before the first course — a small piece of smoked watermelon topped with an infused honey-Dijon mustard and pickled watermelon rinds, served in a wooden box filled with smoking herbs. She never returned. | Next to me, a young woman in a wool cap inhaled too deeply of the orb and quickly fell into a panic. Needing fresh air, she bolted before the first course — a small piece of smoked watermelon topped with an infused honey-Dijon mustard and pickled watermelon rinds, served in a wooden box filled with smoking herbs. She never returned. |
| Unlike Mr. Trinidad, who serves the same dishes to every diner, all identically dosed, Mr. Petersen caters the dosing to the individual. You choose your level using a scale from 1 to 5, 1 being 5 milligrams of THC (the chemical in cannabis that gets you high) and 5 being 100 milligrams. Once you select your cannabis level, you must stick to it throughout the meal. According to several charts online, a dosage of 100 milligrams is considered extremely high and discouraged for all but the cannabis consumer with the highest tolerance. I chose the least potent option, Level 1. | Unlike Mr. Trinidad, who serves the same dishes to every diner, all identically dosed, Mr. Petersen caters the dosing to the individual. You choose your level using a scale from 1 to 5, 1 being 5 milligrams of THC (the chemical in cannabis that gets you high) and 5 being 100 milligrams. Once you select your cannabis level, you must stick to it throughout the meal. According to several charts online, a dosage of 100 milligrams is considered extremely high and discouraged for all but the cannabis consumer with the highest tolerance. I chose the least potent option, Level 1. |
| If I had to concisely describe the two dinners I went to, I would say Mr. Petersen’s dinner was weed with food, and the Trinidad dinner was food with weed. (Oddly enough, a scallop crudo was served at both. In Mr. Petersen’s dish, the cannabis was introduced through a CBD-infused shrimp salt and a THC-infused prickly-pear gel.) At both dinners, however, the effects lasted long after the final course. Ingesting cannabis, as opposed to smoking or vaping, leads to a delayed and more protracted high. Hours after leaving each meal, I was fully aware I had most definitely been to a cannabis dinner. I wasn’t alone. | |
| “I think it’s mostly the aftereffect,” said a woman named Michaela, who had attended three of Mr. Trinidad’s meals. “It’s not so much the taste. I guess everybody’s different, but for me, I get a warming sensation, the lights get really bright.” And then she addressed the great irony of a cannabis dinner. “You do get the munchies afterward,” she said. “The first time, me and my friend went for pizza right after.” | “I think it’s mostly the aftereffect,” said a woman named Michaela, who had attended three of Mr. Trinidad’s meals. “It’s not so much the taste. I guess everybody’s different, but for me, I get a warming sensation, the lights get really bright.” And then she addressed the great irony of a cannabis dinner. “You do get the munchies afterward,” she said. “The first time, me and my friend went for pizza right after.” |
| (Same. After the Petersen dinner, I made a beeline to the nearest deli and ate an entire bag of potato chips.) | (Same. After the Petersen dinner, I made a beeline to the nearest deli and ate an entire bag of potato chips.) |
| So what exactly does cannabis bring to a meal besides a vibe and a high? That depends on whom you ask. For Mr. Trinidad, it’s simply an ingredient. “I think cannabis is an herb,” he said. “Every strain tastes different.” Mr. Petersen sees health benefits. “It’s not about getting high,” he said. “We can pull these therapeutic effects from the terpenes.” | So what exactly does cannabis bring to a meal besides a vibe and a high? That depends on whom you ask. For Mr. Trinidad, it’s simply an ingredient. “I think cannabis is an herb,” he said. “Every strain tastes different.” Mr. Petersen sees health benefits. “It’s not about getting high,” he said. “We can pull these therapeutic effects from the terpenes.” |
| But not every chef is convinced of the value marijuana brings to dining. “I personally don’t think that just because we legalize or decriminalize something and it has a positive effect on reducing incarceration or has medical benefits for some, it needs to seep into every aspect of our lives,” said Chef Alex Raij, whose New York restaurants include La Vara and Saint Julivert Fisherie. “The notion that food has run out of creative ideas,” she added, “and restaurants now need to become dispensaries is utterly depressing to me.” | |
| Many fans compare cannabis dinners to conventional wine pairings. That said, alcohol is not a popular subject with the cannabis dining crowd. Mr. Petersen does not serve cocktails or wine at his dinners. “The difference between doing a dinner with a beverage pairing and a dinner with a cannabis pairing is quite huge,” he said. “When you’re drinking, you get a little drunk, you get a little out of hand, sometimes you say things you don’t mean. At the end of the night, if people are drinking, they don’t get up and leave right away. They like to sit and hang out. Cannabis people are polite, they’re excited to be there. When the dinner’s over, people just get up, they pay their bills and go.” | Many fans compare cannabis dinners to conventional wine pairings. That said, alcohol is not a popular subject with the cannabis dining crowd. Mr. Petersen does not serve cocktails or wine at his dinners. “The difference between doing a dinner with a beverage pairing and a dinner with a cannabis pairing is quite huge,” he said. “When you’re drinking, you get a little drunk, you get a little out of hand, sometimes you say things you don’t mean. At the end of the night, if people are drinking, they don’t get up and leave right away. They like to sit and hang out. Cannabis people are polite, they’re excited to be there. When the dinner’s over, people just get up, they pay their bills and go.” |
| In Mr. Trinidad’s experience, cannabis consumers either want to smoke or they want to drink, but they tend not to do both at the same time. | In Mr. Trinidad’s experience, cannabis consumers either want to smoke or they want to drink, but they tend not to do both at the same time. |
| Some of the diners felt similarly. Grizel Del Valle, a singer who attended the HighGarden dinner with her husband, Kelvin Fernandez, said: “When it comes to liquor, that’s a whole different world, and it can get crazy. With cannabis, it’s a vibe. It’s more mellow.” (“Vibe” is a term you’ll encounter again and again.) | Some of the diners felt similarly. Grizel Del Valle, a singer who attended the HighGarden dinner with her husband, Kelvin Fernandez, said: “When it comes to liquor, that’s a whole different world, and it can get crazy. With cannabis, it’s a vibe. It’s more mellow.” (“Vibe” is a term you’ll encounter again and again.) |
| Ms. Del Valle said she smoked every day. Mr. Fernandez does not. | Ms. Del Valle said she smoked every day. Mr. Fernandez does not. |
| “I don’t enjoy cannabis,” he said. “I’m here as a supporter of my wife.” He was also there out of professional curiosity; he is a chef. “This might be the next wave of what’s popular,” he said. “I feel like if I don’t learn about it, I’ll be left behind.” | “I don’t enjoy cannabis,” he said. “I’m here as a supporter of my wife.” He was also there out of professional curiosity; he is a chef. “This might be the next wave of what’s popular,” he said. “I feel like if I don’t learn about it, I’ll be left behind.” |
| That next wave may be here sooner than he thinks. Mr. Fagon, of the Cannabis Management office, who has attended a number of the dinners himself, said his office hoped to introduce initial regulatory paperwork for cannabis lounges and dining establishments in 2023. He wants the licensing to match what existing operations are already doing. “We have to create the framework that makes sense for them,” he said. | |
| Mr. Trinidad and Mr. Cohen intend to be among those applicants. Mr. Petersen said he wasn’t interested in running a restaurant — he’d rather forge a career as a globe-trotting cookbook author/cannabis mentor, spreading education and “changing minds.” But he does agree that New York will lead the way. “People are getting themselves ready for when the market does shift and change over.” | |
| For Victoria Vilardi, a pastry chef who has worked with Mr. Trinidad on dozens of 99th Floor dinners, that shift can’t come fast enough. For her, it’s a not a question of why use cannabis, but why not? “Honestly, we make food taste good,” she said. “Weed just makes it taste better.” | For Victoria Vilardi, a pastry chef who has worked with Mr. Trinidad on dozens of 99th Floor dinners, that shift can’t come fast enough. For her, it’s a not a question of why use cannabis, but why not? “Honestly, we make food taste good,” she said. “Weed just makes it taste better.” |