This party—thrown at the stately Stimson-Green
Mansion—is the soiree thrown by Mike McConnell of Caffe Vita in
celebration of the Seattle Coffee Fest, an annual event held at the
Convention Center. When we arrive, a man named Q is happily grilling
various carnivorous delights on a barbecue on the sidewalk. Strewn
about the stoop and front walkway are various would-be party
crashers, rejected by the oak-tree-sized doorman.
Inside, the chatter of coffee-executive types and young, arty sorts
(read: service-industry workers) echoes throughout the expansive rooms
and halls. In the study, Champagne Champange hoot and holler
enthusiastically into microphones and their fans throw their bodies
about with equal zeal. Nearly all the dining-room offerings have been
decimated, until a three-tiered serving dish of designer chocolates
arrives. They are summarily devoured. A second dish meets a similar
demise. Finally, Q arrives with a steaming mass of animal from
the aforementioned barbecue. I fall upon the chafing dish, loading a
plate high with various delectable smoked and grilled meats. My date
looks on in disgust, and while I’m feverishly gnawing on a
particularly delicious rib, I learn that she has been a vegetarian for
decades.
Outside, the line for alcohol is long and disorganized. After a
testing wait, drinks come, and eventually so does the subsequent
bathroom visit. Despite the presence of only two single-occupancy
bathrooms, the lines are rather short—likely due to the inverse
proportion of the line for drinks. “I don’t know anyone here except for
my husband!” proclaims a woman at the foot of the basement stairs. “I
love parties like this. If you get too drunk, no one knows you!” 
Want to tell The Stranger to “try the hot link first,”
because “it’s got the spice” at your house party? Send the date,
place, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.
