Asher on Aspen: High society after dark

The Tent may get all the headlines, but the real soul of the Aspen Food & Wine Classic lives in the curated chaos just beyond it. Off-site, off-script, and very much on the list. Because while the panels and tastings are polished to perfection, the exclusive parties scattered across town — on rooftops, in private homes, even deep inside old silver mines — that’s where the real Aspen comes out to play. And trust me, it’s absolute madness in the best possible way.

The parties. My God, the parties. If the Classic is the polished dinner where everyone’s on their best behavior, then the parties are the wild after-hours scene where the heels come off and the tequila starts making the decisions. My comrades in crime this year were my friend Shannon (yes, two Shannons — it gets confusing), my dazzling socialite who came in from Denver, and Wendy, who brought her effortless cool and quick wit to every dance floor and tasting table. With those two in tow, the weekend spiraled into a blur of tastings, tunes, and delightful nonsense.

It began, like all great stories, with a whole lot of wine. The Jackson Family Wines Kickoff at Catch wasn’t just a party — it was an all-out feast for the senses: glasses of Pinot Noir clinking, glistening crudo being passed around, and Aspen’s most dangerous element: sunlight on a terrace with good rosé. By the time we floated into PHCP’s Wild West party at the Dancing Bear, we had cowboy hats on our heads and jalapeño shots in our hands. Guests customized their hats with feathers and bands, sipped tequila, and danced to a DJ who knew exactly how to read the room — spinning tracks that got everyone moving.

Friday unfolded like a slow-motion montage of indulgence. It started with roasted pig at Las Montañas and ended in a sultry speakeasy at Silver City, where flappers twirled beneath low amber lights, and I sipped something gin-soaked and dangerously delicious. In between, a Lalo Tequila rooftop soiree at the Aspen Art Museum gave us front-row seats to a sunset that didn’t look real. Everyone in town seemed to be there, and I found myself in a whirlwind of long-overdue hugs, catching up with faces I hadn’t seen since last season.

Saturday was one of those quintessential Aspen days you can barely believe actually happened, the kind you relive over and over with your friends. Kevin Costner’s ranch — yes, that Kevin Costner — was hosting the Aspen House Party, and the line for the shuttle wrapped around the block like a snake on Adderall. That’s when fate intervened in the form of a local legend on a Harley, rolling into the moment like it was choreographed. I handed him a lanyard, jumped on the back, and off we went, speeding up Independence Pass like a scene from a movie. The All-American Rejects tore it up like they’d never left 2006, and when they launched into “Gives You Hell,” we were 16 again — screaming every word into the Colorado sky like it still meant something.

If the weekend had a climax, this was it. We made our way up to Smuggler Mine for the Global Fire party — a signature Aspen spectacle that celebrates steak, flame, and the town’s storied past. Miners once hauled silver from these walls. Now? Sommeliers and influencers mingled, savoring juicy bites and snapping selfies beside antique carts. At one point, we slipped away for a self-guided tour through the narrow tunnels, winding past rusted drills and whispered ghost stories, champagne in hand. Inside, the cave’s chill hit us instantly — sharp enough to raise goosebumps and make our breath visible — a sharp contrast to the warm, summer night.

Back outside the mine, DJ GOLDEN took the stage. Her set turned the area into a full-blown dance floor, bodies moving in sync and strangers becoming fast friends under flickering lights. It was gritty, glamorous, and totally unforgettable — the best party of the weekend by far.

The night ended — though who can say where the night truly ends — with Cambio’s Red Party at Hidalgo. My notes from this point read like a ransom letter written by a raccoon: red lights, espresso martinis, incredible DJ, maybe crowd-surfed? Unsure. Whatever happened, it was worth the headache.

So, yes, the seminars are fine. The Tent is delightful. But the real spirit of Aspen Food & Wine lives in the after. In the nonsense. In the rooftop toasts and the mine-shaft dance floors and the motorcycle rides to ranches you thought only existed in Hollywood lore. Aspen doesn’t just pour wine — it pours spectacle. And for one glorious weekend each year, we drink every last drop.