Cultural Exchange, Poured Neat
Yes, we are selling alcohol to help fund a cultural delegation to Iceland.
When you say it out loud, it sounds faintly mischievous. The sort of scheme one might concoct after a late dinner. But the more we considered it, the more it began to feel less like a stunt and more like a culturally coherent gesture.
Seattle and Reykjavík are sister cities, and like most siblings, we resemble each other in ways that aren’t immediately obvious from a distance. Both are coastal, wind-shaped, a little moody. Both sit on the edges of breathtakingly active geology. Both produce far more cultural output than their population counts would predict. Music scenes that travel the world, writers and designers with global reach, restaurants that turn regional constraint into innovation.
So when we began organizing this delegation — a trip intended to deepen cultural exchange, strengthen business and creative ties,and show up in Reykjavík during one of its most vibrant seasons — we asked ourselves how to invite broader participation back home. How to make support tangible without making it transactional. How to keep the tone aligned with who we are.
The answer arrived, more or less, in liquid form.
For a $100 donation supporting the Seattle delegation,supporters may choose between two bottles: Brennivín, Iceland’s iconic aquavit,or Elijah Craig Small Batch Bourbon from The Ballard Cut.
Brennivín is as Icelandic as basalt and wool. Clear,caraway-forward, dry, and bracing, it carries the faintly austere character of a place shaped by volcanic ground and North Atlantic wind. It was once nicknamed “Black Death” for the stark label designed to discourage overindulgence — a piece of national humor that feels perfectly on brand.Served ice-cold, it is less a cocktail ingredient than a statement of temperament.
Elijah Craig sits at the other end of the spectrum: warm, rounded, and layered with vanilla, oak, and subtle spice. A bourbon with structure and depth, it brings an American counterpoint to the Nordic edge of aquavit.
Together, the two bottles form a dialogue: restraint and richness, winter and hearth.
This delegation is not a junket. It is a working exchange between two cities that recognize something of themselves in one another.
Offering spirits in support of that effort is less about novelty than about symbolism. Great cities are sustained by institutions, yes,but also by informal networks — by conversations that build trust long before contracts are signed or collaborations announced. A shared drink has long been one of the simplest ways humans signal openness, curiosity, and willingness to listen.
If supporting cultural diplomacy happens to come with a bottle you would be proud to place on your bar, that feels less like a perk and more like an extension of the idea.
Donate $100. Choose your bottle. Support Seattle’s delegation to Reykjavík.
Open it on a gray evening. Pour a small glass. Consider the distance between two northern cities that feel, in some very essential way, adjacent.
Skál.