When we were younger, but still of legal drinking age, it would

"When we were younger, but still of legal drinking age, it would be things like Goldschlager or peppermint schnapps. Things like that are not something I ever enjoyed." Thus spoke Rande Gerber, a man known not only for his ventures in hospitality and spirits, but also for his reflections on taste, time, and maturity. Though his words seem light, wrapped in the imagery of youthful nights and glittering drinks, they contain a deeper wisdom: that what is alluring in youth often fades with age, and that true satisfaction lies not in fleeting indulgences, but in the refinement of one’s desires.

The origin of this wisdom lies in the universal journey of growth. In youth, the senses are quick to chase novelty: drinks that burn, flavors that dazzle, experiences that sparkle like gold flakes floating in liquor. Such things capture the eye, but not the soul. Gerber admits that he never truly enjoyed these things, even when they were the fashion. In saying this, he reveals a truth that transcends spirits and taste: that many pleasures presented to us in youth are shallow, leaving us empty after the moment has passed.

Consider the story of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Jazz Age, an era intoxicated with indulgence, where champagne flowed like rivers and every night seemed endless. The young burned brightly, chasing excess, yet many of them found themselves hollow when the music stopped. Fitzgerald himself, though he lived amidst the glimmer, later wrote of disillusionment, of the emptiness that comes when one pursues what dazzles the eye but fails to nourish the soul. Gerber’s reflection carries the same echo: that true enjoyment is not found in the glitter of what is popular, but in the quieter, lasting things that resonate with one’s spirit.

His words are also a meditation on the passage of time. For youth is often drawn to extremes—sweetness that overwhelms, strength that burns, experiences that shock the senses. But with maturity comes discernment. The man who once thought abundance was enough learns that simplicity, done well, is richer. Just as the refined palate grows to prefer depth over flash, so too the wise soul learns to seek meaning over appearance, substance over novelty. Gerber, in speaking of his distaste for such drinks, is really speaking of his embrace of a deeper life.

Yet, this is not condemnation of youth, but an acknowledgment of its season. There is value even in the foolish tastes of younger days, for they teach us to discern. Without knowing what leaves us unsatisfied, we cannot discover what truly brings us joy. The burn of cheap spirits, the glitter of gold in a glass—these are lessons, not destinations. They are the stepping stones that lead us toward clarity, toward authenticity, toward the tastes—whether in drink, love, or life—that endure.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not be deceived by what dazzles in the moment. Whether in drink, in possessions, or in fleeting pleasures, ask yourself if the joy is true or only surface. Do not fear to step aside from what is fashionable if it does not bring you peace. To be young in wisdom is to see beyond the crowd, to recognize that not every cup must be drunk, not every path must be followed. In this way, you preserve yourself for what truly satisfies.

What practical steps must we take? Choose simplicity over show. When offered what glitters, pause and ask if it nourishes you. In friendships, in love, in your daily habits—seek depth, not dazzle. Learn to refine your tastes, not only in what you consume, but in how you live. For the world is full of peppermint illusions and golden distractions, but the wise man learns to turn from them, and in doing so, discovers the richness of what is real.

So let Gerber’s words stand as both memory and teaching: youth may chase the glitter, but wisdom learns to cherish the true. May we, like him, come to know that the things we never enjoyed were not losses, but guidance—signposts pointing us toward a life of authenticity, refinement, and lasting joy.