You know, I'm sure this whole "miracle fruit" thing is cool and all, but flavor tripping parties? Really, New York? Is this what you've been reduced to now? And they're hosted by a 32-year-old lawyer who calls himself Supreme Commander? Really?
"'You pop it in your mouth and scrape the pulp off the seed, swirl it around and hold it in your mouth for about a minute,' he said. 'Then you’re ready to go.' He ushered his guests to a table piled with citrus wedges, cheeses, Brussels sprouts, mustard, vinegars, pickles, dark beers, strawberries and cheap tequila, which Mr. Aliquo promised would now taste like top-shelf Patrón."
This reminds me of when I was in 9th or 10th grade and none of my degenerate friends could get weed or any other actual drug, so we were all reduced to huffing model glue or carpet cleaner (before they changed the formula), but at least that dumb shit got you high, you know? This is just paying some lawyer dude $15 to make stuff taste like other stuff.
A part of me wants to believe this isn't real, that some enterprising but naive New York Times reporter just got played for a fool. But in a world where oxygen bars and steampunk still exist, I'm not getting my hopes up.