What if our founder, Brandon Webb, and Hemingway got together in the quest for the perfect cocktail?


In the final whispers of the sun, there sat two stalwart men, hidden deep within the confines of a SOFREP retreat. Ernest Hemingway revived from the annals of history, and Brandon Webb, a Navy SEAL by training, now turned SOFREP founder and flourishing entrepreneur.

Both men of strength and valor, they found themselves embroiled in a different sort of combat. The stakes? High as the tip of Mt. Everest. The mission? Not an operation in some hostile territory, nor a war of words on literature’s fierce battleground, but a quest for the evening’s perfect cocktail.

“We are not just here to idle away the twilight, Webb,” Hemingway declared, his voice, gruff from the dust of a thousand untold tales, rolled through the bunker. “An evening cocktail is not just a beverage, but a symbol of victory over a day’s hardship, an elixir of the warrior, if you will.”

Brandon, no stranger to daunting tasks, raised an eyebrow. His fingers grazed his chin thoughtfully. “Alright, Papa Hemingway, I’m game. Let’s find that perfect cocktail.”

The pair embarked on a pilgrimage around the bunker, scavenging for the weapons of their warfare: bourbon, bitters, ice, and a lost orange peel. No ammo crate was left unturned, and no cabinet left unscoured.

In their spirited pursuit, they happened upon a hidden compartment beneath the bunker’s worn-out wooden table. Webb’s eagle eyes, honed from years of sniper training, spotted the barely visible seam.