Photobucket Sometimes a man just has to get away, to retreat to a special quiet space, an island, a refuge of quiet and safety in a world otherwise filled with noise and distractions. A place where he is not judged, where no expectations must be fulfilled, where his worth on the planet is measured only by the pleasure of his company. Where he can always be guaranteed that, no matter what else he achieves or fails at in life, someone will stand proudly at his grave side and proclaim “He was a great guy to share a drink with.”
For more than eight years, The Gentlemen’s Tasting Club has been such a haven. From humble beginnings, and the dream of two like minded artists, this beacon of light has shined through the amber liquid of a thousand gallons of Bourbon, Irish, Welsh and Scotch whiskeys, casting a golden glow into the hearts of The Members. Over the years, the membership has expanded, reaching its understanding hands and hearts out in fraternity to grow from that enlightened charter duo to the four souls that comprise the Club today.
Although the physical manifestation of The GTC has been located in various “lounges” over the course of its long and storied history, the soul of the organization resides in the hearts of The Members, a more talented, heroic, intelligent and loyal group of Gentlemen than have ever walked the earth since the days of the Gods of Antiquity. And, they make a pretty mean cocktail!
Well known for their love, respect and reverence of the female sex, they nevertheless reserve an hour once a week to view the world from a more Gentlemanly perspective. It has also been rumored that several times a year The Members sponsor a secret outdoor event involving ritualistic sacrifices of meat over large fires and the consumption of unique alcoholic beverages with the hope of furthering their twin goals of world peace and a cure for Zackery disease.
It has been suggested that The Club be expanded, that the membership be opened to a desperate and envious world at large. Pilgrims flock to The Shrine of the Growling Wombat, in hopes of enlightenment, of acceptance, of the perfect cocktail. “Each day, I die a little inside! My heart goes out to the weary, the hopeless, the thirsty,” The President gently confides, “but I am just a man, and every individual must seek their own path on the road to the perfect beverage.”
An Evening at The Fabled Wombat Lounge
The Gentlemen’s Tasting Club Men and Meat Festival


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