One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer
I'm not a bartender, but I played one Saturday night. My daughter's high school had their annual fund-raising crab cioppino fest, and I helped. I came across quite a melange of folks and had a good ol' time.
We had a slight equipment malfunction at the start and the head barkeep ended up wearing a few pints of Prohibition ale. I thought it looked good on him but he decided to head home for a wardrobe change. His wife ably stepped in until his return.
There were a few interesting requests. One lady wanted an appletini. I almost went McEnroe on her. “Are you serious?!!” I also briefly envisioned myself channeling Bruno (see 9/6/06 post). But after doing my self-relaxation exercises, I calmly explained that we would regretfully not be able to fill her order. I can't recall what she ended up having, but it was not an appletini. Another request was for a Roy Rogers. Not being a master mixologist, she had to explain to me that it was grenadine and Coke. She got a Coke.
A few folks were stuck on which beer or red wine they wanted and I gave them a little taste before making their decision. I'm always willing to go the extra step. That and the fact that I gave a good pour made me popular, garnering repeat customers. But when things got busy, I had to switch gears. With about 20 people in line behind them, two young ladies asked how the white wine was. Not having tasted it, I declared it excellent without hesitation.
One couple ordered vodka and soda. They looked a little too young to have kids there but I thought it would be imprudent for me to ask why the hell they were spending their Saturday night at a high school crab feed. I also wanted to question their drink choice. I understand we all have different tastes but my taste is most important, and I don't like putting soda water in perfectly good vodka.
One of the highlights of the evening was an exchange I overheard as I was opening a couple cases of the rare wine we were serving. There was a geezer who wanted a diet soda. He was told we were out but he was like a dog with a bone. This guy was not going away until he got his diet soda. I recalled we had a couple at the bottom of the bin and fished one out before somebody cold cocked the codger. I handed it to him and got high praise while he denigrated my fellow barmen. I said “Have a good evening”, which when translated from the British, means “Piss off”.
We had a slight equipment malfunction at the start and the head barkeep ended up wearing a few pints of Prohibition ale. I thought it looked good on him but he decided to head home for a wardrobe change. His wife ably stepped in until his return.
There were a few interesting requests. One lady wanted an appletini. I almost went McEnroe on her. “Are you serious?!!” I also briefly envisioned myself channeling Bruno (see 9/6/06 post). But after doing my self-relaxation exercises, I calmly explained that we would regretfully not be able to fill her order. I can't recall what she ended up having, but it was not an appletini. Another request was for a Roy Rogers. Not being a master mixologist, she had to explain to me that it was grenadine and Coke. She got a Coke.
A few folks were stuck on which beer or red wine they wanted and I gave them a little taste before making their decision. I'm always willing to go the extra step. That and the fact that I gave a good pour made me popular, garnering repeat customers. But when things got busy, I had to switch gears. With about 20 people in line behind them, two young ladies asked how the white wine was. Not having tasted it, I declared it excellent without hesitation.
One couple ordered vodka and soda. They looked a little too young to have kids there but I thought it would be imprudent for me to ask why the hell they were spending their Saturday night at a high school crab feed. I also wanted to question their drink choice. I understand we all have different tastes but my taste is most important, and I don't like putting soda water in perfectly good vodka.
One of the highlights of the evening was an exchange I overheard as I was opening a couple cases of the rare wine we were serving. There was a geezer who wanted a diet soda. He was told we were out but he was like a dog with a bone. This guy was not going away until he got his diet soda. I recalled we had a couple at the bottom of the bin and fished one out before somebody cold cocked the codger. I handed it to him and got high praise while he denigrated my fellow barmen. I said “Have a good evening”, which when translated from the British, means “Piss off”.
posted by DJ @ 5:54 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home