Brent eats.
It's the night before the competition begins and we've found ourselves whisked into the Usaquen neighborhood where the barista welcome party is being held and we're the guests of honor. Luckily, since I'm just a plain old judge and not a head judge, like Jose, Scott and Brent, I'm not required to speak. Myself, Ian and Danilo can simply eat and drink our way through the evening.
And what an evening it was. Of speeches. Of congratulations. Of well-wishes, and of the drawing of competitors. Each competitor is given the opportunity to speak briefly and pull their number out of the bag. One through forty-three, the numbers are drawn. Some are happy, some are scared. It seems like a fun way to meet everyone, see the competition and choose your place in the order.
The baristas.
The difficult part is that we're judges. This means we have to be impartial. We cannot seem to have favorites. As such, we're really limited in our interaction with the competitors. We can't sit down and drink with them or get to know them. It truly is the downside of judging.
Instead, we drink at the bar, listen to the speeches, or hang out with the girls outside.
Ian and nachos.
