New Orleans Bartender Geoffrey Wilson Helps Others Find Power and Purpose

“He was really standoffish,” says Ari Ballard. “I thought, wow, he’s rude.” It was Ballard’s first meeting with Geoffrey Wilson. She was a candidate for the program at Turning Tables, a New Orleans–based nonprofit founded in 2019 by Touré Folkes. The organization was created to help historically underrepresented groups rise in the bar and liquor industries—not simply as pourers of beer and clearers of glassware, but as highly respected professionals in the field.

“There was a ceiling. And you could only go so far,” says Wilson, who has been a program manager and educator for Turning Tables since 2020. “There was a gap, and Touré filled that with his vision.”

Once the program began, Ballard discovered Wilson’s demeanor served a singular purpose: Because success in the industry doesn’t come easily. The bar and liquor trade can be indifferent or downright hostile, especially to those from the outside. To rise and flourish, one must pay attention to every detail, know the history and economics of the business better than others, and build cocktails precisely and consistently. All this serves as a foundation to help one thrive amid the industry’s persistent headwinds and squalls.

“[Geoffrey Wilson’s] like, Look, you need to be doing bigger things.”—Ari Ballard

“It was like tough love. But it was really nothing but love,” says Ballard, who was accepted into the program’s fourth class. “Geoffrey is one of those people in hospitality who reminds you it’s really easy to get lost in this industry and forget why you joined in the first place. But he’s going to tell you exactly as it is, and give you a reality check. He’s like, Look, you need to be doing bigger things.”

Ballard wasn’t the first to come away with an initial impression of a gruff drill sergeant. Wilson is linebacker-sized, with a penetrating gaze and a resting glower that can chill a Martini glass from 10 paces. He often finds that two words will suffice when a dozen might be called for.

Wilson is in his late 50s, and his résumé brings to mind a battered leather suitcase covered with stickers. He’s tended bar at the Violet Hour in Chicago, Bar Marco in Pittsburgh, Ocotillo in Phoenix, Multnomah Whiskey Library in Portland, and a slew of respected New Orleans bars: Peychaud’s, Cane & Table, Latitude 29, Loa, and Tonique. In 2008, he was bestowed the “reader’s choice” award for best bartender by the Chicago Reader. In 2014, he was hailed as the city’s Best Bartender by the Phoenix New Times, which described him as “an encyclopedia of booze know-how… witty, jovial, and entirely professional—everything you could want from a bartender.”

When Wilson arrived in New Orleans for his first stint in 2009, he found a community of bartenders who were knowledgeable, supportive, and generous. He volunteered at the Museum of the American Cocktail’s monthly lecture series, run by legendary New Orleans bartenders Chris and Laura McMillian.

In other cities, [Wilson] found bartenders often acted as if they were members of a closed guild …. That wasn’t the case in New Orleans …

Here, he found a community that cared deeply about cocktails and was eager to share that knowledge. In other cities, he found bartenders often acted as if they were members of a closed guild, hesitant to reveal how they made their drinks and survived in the industry. That wasn’t the case in New Orleans, where discussions were free and open. “We would talk about the principles of Tanqueray 10 until four in the morning,” he says. He remembers thinking, This is my place.

He left New Orleans for a spell with his then-wife for health reasons, taking on shifts in Pittsburgh, Phoenix, and Portland. In Oregon, he went through a divorce and found himself burned out with life behind the bar. He worked as a DJ, at a soup kitchen, and for a company that made ice for weddings and lounges. And he started informally mentoring a young woman who was trying to make her way in the world of hospitality.

It was around that time he met Folkes, during Portland Cocktail Week. Folkes had just launched Turning Tables. And upon hearing of Wilson’s interest in mentoring, suggested he come back to New Orleans to help out. That invitation—combined with Jeff Berry and Annene Kaye’s offer to work at their tiki bar, Latitude 29—enticed him to return to the Gulf Coast, where he’s lived since 2020.

The hospitality industry has long played a central role in economic mobility. You don’t need a university degree or much specialized training to begin as a barback. And bars may be one of the purest meritocracies. Hard work and reliability get noticed, and opportunities open for those who strive. Top bartenders can earn solid wages and sign on for well-paid corporate events or brand work in far-flung locales.

Yet it’s easiest to rise if you have a prior fluency in that world—if you came of age knowing that whiskey was made from grain, and that drinks with fruit juices are better shaken than stirred. For those unfamiliar with the language of sophisticated drink, it can feel as disorienting as waking up in a penguin colony in Antarctica.

“I didn’t think that alcohol was that serious,” says Abron Morgan, a New Orleans native who was in the second Turning Tables class. “But I learned you can do so much in the industry. You can make liquor, you can be a brand ambassador. It was life-changing, to be honest.”

“[Geoffrey’s] very serious about this industry, for sure. And he pushes you to do your best.”—Abron Morgan

He appreciated that Wilson had knowledge to share—and expectations to be met. “He’s very serious about this industry, for sure,” Morgan says. “And he pushes you to do your best. The thing is, I wouldn’t have finished that program if it wasn’t for Geoffrey. He kept us motivated. We just didn’t want to disappoint that man.”

Wilson says that during the years he first lived in New Orleans, he became acutely aware of how the city presented itself. New Orleans has always done a terrific job marketing its romantic past—as a sultry lair of jazz clubs, Spanish moss, and delectable gumbo. But it didn’t tell the full story.

In a Black city, we’re very underrepresented, especially ina lot of spaces that serve cocktails,” Wilson says. “People who were making these cocktails were historically predominantly Black. But now it was mostly white people making them.”

Since his return to New Orleans, he’s seen gradual changes for the better. Stories that hadn’t been told are finally working their way into the light. The industry is acknowledging that history wasn’t what it always seemed, and opportunities weren’t always equally apportioned. By acknowledging the past, Wilson says, “it changes the game and starts to open up the discussions more.”

Wilson praises Deniseea Head, an award-winning New Orleans–based drinks educator and events organizer, for elevating Black culture by making it a central part of her beverage curriculum. He also credits Ashtin Berry, an activist and educator, for redirecting the dialogue. Berry organized Resistance Served in 2019, a two-day symposium held in New Orleans “to celebrate and contextualize the contributions of the African Diaspora to the world of hospitality.”

“Ashtin is out there, still fighting the good fight,” Wilson says.

Wilson has also seen a welcome shift at Tales of the Cocktail, the preeminent craft cocktail conference, now in its 22nd year and held annually in New Orleans. Where Tales was once a place for bartenders to party with industry idols and indulge in excellent free liquor, conference programming now directly addresses issues of race and sexual harassment in the bar trade. “It’s different now,” he says. “There’s more education, which is exactly what the industry needs.”

In his work with Turning Tables, Wilson says he’s met with young adults who lived through the turmoil of Hurricane Katrina, with its dislocations and interruptions. “We’re coming up on the 20th anniversary of this, and the trauma is still real,” Wilson says. “And what we’re saying is, you’re better than this. Don’t let anybody tell you that you’re not. Let’s change the narrative.”

Turning Tables is part grad school, part boot camp. The idea is “to give people different tools to go into different career pathways,” in the words of its founder.

Wilson says that training in the bar industry too often consisted of directing new bartenders … with a list of 10 drinks to know, and a warning not to screw up.

Wilson says that training in the bar industry too often consisted of directing new bartenders into the well with a list of 10 drinks to know, and a warning not to screw up. That, Wilson says, is a formula for failure. “So we broke it down, explaining what vodka is, what bourbon is, how to set up a bar, how to deal with people.”

And they added context to facts, talking about slavery and distilling, the history of tipping, and tackling questions like, “Who benefited from the rum trade in Colonial days?”

The program’s alumni now work at some of the city’s top bars and have found doors open to other careers. Ari Ballard, a New Orleans native displaced by Katrina, has since earned her WSET Level 2 in Spirits and recently became a certified distiller, and hopes to build a career in distilling. Other graduates have played key roles on bar teams that have taken home James Beard Awards.

Matt Ray, who’s part of the marketing team for the Sazerac Company, got to know Wilson when they both tended bar at Loa in New Orleans. He’s always appreciated how freely Wilson shared what he knew—with him and with everyone.

“He embodies this egalitarian idea that everything—the knowledge, the cocktails, the secrets—should belong to everyone. All you need to do is just ask him, and he will give you the world,” Ray says. “I really, really like that guy.”

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