"But what is it?"

As much as I love my bar regulars, I have come to terms that no matter how interesting, how witty, how intelligent, or how wealthy they are that they are all socially retarded and thus the reason they have very few friends and thus the reason that they sit at the end of the bar each night.

Most of my bar regulars are men, and at first thought it would appear it is because I am a woman, but most bar patrons are men - so I don’t know if being a woman has much to do with it. But I do take on a matronly role for most of them as I am their confidant, their advocate, their shoulder to cry on, their favorite person to complain to, their fashion advisor, and their cheerleader. To many of these people I am their best friend, and for some the closest thing they have to a wife. Which is absolutely bizarre, but I understand this role and I play it well, so I let it pay the bills. Furthermore, I am a bartender and I truly believe that a bar is nothing without its regulars.

But I’ve been thinking a lot lately about these strange relationships as I had a recent break up with a bar regular M, who frequented the bar every night. He was not a great spender, but I still liked him because for the most part he was funny, intelligent, opinionated, and always up for interesting conversation.

About four months ago, he bought a new puppy and somehow decided that it would be a good idea for us to go for a dog walk together. I don’t do things outside of the bar with my patrons. If I happen to see them out I might sit next to them at the bar, but I don’t have their phone numbers, we don’t go for lunch together, and we certainly don’t go alone into the woods together so our dogs can become friends. I blew off the walking request and M let up, I think he knew it was slightly inappropriate. But I could also tell he wasn’t sure why I wouldn’t want to spend even more time with him (especially time where I wasn’t getting paid).

One night he came in and sat in his usual seat, ordered a beer, and asked about the absinthe. It was Friday and I was slamming jamming busy, but he sat in a place where I could talk to him no matter how busy we were. In reply to his question, I told him how absinthe was illegal but recently allowed on the market, that it was distilled from wormwood, and that it supposedly had hallucinogenic qualities. And he asked again, “But what is it?” And I didn’t understand what he was getting at, so I answered that it was it’s own thing, that it wasn’t a type of any liquor. And he asked again, “But what is it? What is it? What is it?” Fortunately, the guy next to him was more annoyed than myself and the guy answered, “It’s fucking absinthe, let it go.”

M is often times annoying, as are all socially incompetent people, so I didn’t think much about it. The next night he came in and asked if I had seen his friend and I hadn’t, so I replied no. He asked again if I’d seen him and again I said no. Again he asked if I was sure I hadn’t seen his friend, and once again I replied that I was absolutely positive that I hadn’t seen him.

He sat down ordered a beer and asked me if I have been to the Thai restaurant around the corner and I told him that I had. He asked me what was good there and I told him that I really liked the yellow curry. And he asked me what it was and I told him it was not as spicy as Indian curry with lime and coconut. And he asked me again, “What is it?” Once again, I had no fucking clue what he was asking me. I asked him what he meant and he said that he didn’t know how to order food there and I told him that it was very easy, especially at this restaurant that specifically caters to white uncomfortable people ordering foreign food.

I told M it was as simple as choosing a meat (beef, pork, chicken, or seafood), a sauce (in this case the yellow curry), and either noodles or rice; that it would be impossible to mess it up. That corporately trained servers would rush to his side and walk him through every single menu item. But this answer did not suffice, just like every answer I’d given M in the last two days and he asked again, “But what is it?” and at this point I wanted to pull my fucking hair out because I literally felt like I was dealing with a three year old, why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why?

I answered one more time with every ounce of patience left inside of me and again he asks, “But what is it?” and I couldn’t take it anymore. And I looked at him and said, “I’m not a fucking Thai chef I don’t know exactly what it is, but if you want me to I will go right now and buy a Thai cookbook and list off each ingredient word by word so that you can be ensured that you know exactly what you are getting before you ever set foot in there.” And he looked at me and replied, “Someone is cranky today.”

I seriously wanted to shoot him at this point. I replied that I wasn’t cranky, I unfortunately didn’t have an answer to his 60th why question being screamed in my ear. That if he spent $12 on a noodle bowl that all of his uncertainties would be answered. M drank his beer and has not been back.

About a week ago, he opened up the door to the bar and glanced in and I joked with him that I thought he and I were broken up and he looked at me, stomped to his car, and drove off.

And that is the fucked up thing about the relationship I have with these people is that it is absolutely one sided in every way because I am always in an amazing mood, I always care about their problems, I always will listen when they’ve had a hard day, I always tell them that they look healthy and well-dressed. And they think that they know me, but really they know only a very small part of me (which I would not have it any other way) but sometimes I’d like to scream, I’m having a shitty fucking day too for reasons much worse than your own. Or you are annoying the fuck out of me today - so if we could just give one another a little space that would be fantastic. Or seriously, just fucking get over it.

There’s no doubt it would take a toll on my loyal bar regulars but for a moment, just for a moment I might actually believe they care.

Pete and Repeat are on a boat and Pete jumps off. Who is left on the boat?

Repeat

Pete and Repeat are on a boat and Pete jumps off. Who is left on the boat?

Repeat

Pete and Repeat are on a boat and Pete jumps off. Who is left on the boat?

Repeat

Crazy is what Crazy be, I'm a Crazy Freak to be in love with thee

My job has been so easy for the past six months, everyone is happy at work. All of the guests are happy, the owners are happy. In our free time, I think many of us just wanted to hold hands and skip down the street whistling and singing. Then one day the kitchen manager noticed he wasn’t so happy and became very grumpy towards the wait staff. This became and issue, but not for long because he was offered another job and gave his notice. I don’t know if I’ve been writing on this blog for you to notice one thing about this restaurant, that being that we have very high turnover in the kitchen, especially kitchen managers. I account that to very poor management on behalf of the owner. As I do not hire or fire for the kitchen, I just make sure that make consistent quality of food in a respectful amount of time.

The person I work for is very manipulative and passive aggressive. Perhaps the reason I get along with him is because I am not manipulative and just aggressive. But no one else can seem to tolerate him in the restaurant, in particular in the back of the house. When the kitchen manager left, the pantry girl (who is crazy) asked to be promoted and she was. She shouldn’t have been or if she was, she needed guidance. But she was promoted into a position that she is not capable of carrying out. The man I work for has treated her despicably and is mentally abusive. Rather than helping her get to where she needs to be, he questions all of her actions - finally breaking down her confidence to a point where she is going crazy. This craziness carries through the entire restaurant and everyone has been a lot less happy than usual this past month. It’s been difficult.

Of course, she eventually decides to leave on bad terms. Which is what has happened with almost every single kitchen manager. This Saturday will be her last day and then once again, there will be turmoil in the kitchen as we try to get it to a point of harmony. The owner has asked me to manage the kitchen more, which I will be happy to do assuming that he stays the hell away and doesn’t harass my employees.

His wife used to harass the wait staff very similarly to how he likes to ride the cooks, and it literally came to a head one night over her wanting to fire someone over a nose ring. In this particular conversation I told her that she is mean and condescending to the servers. Typically one in particular, she constantly questions every move they make, tells them their shirt isn’t right, or their shoes aren’t black enough, or a million other petty things of this nature. After a very miserable evening where she refused to look at me and I know that she would never like me the same again, she interviewed every staff member to find out if this was true and we haven’t seen her in the restaurant since. Could I ever be so lucky with her husband?

Otherwise, I had an awful man come in the bar last night. He stood in the doorway with his hoody on looking around in a very creepy manner, not like he was looking for someone but rather he was just looking for trouble. I said hello and he didn’t answer. I asked him if I could help him with something and he didn’t answer. I finally said, “Are you not even going to say hello?” and with that he sat down at the bar. He ordered water and I replied, “You come here rudely and now you sit down to have a water. You can leave.” I expect someone to flip me off or tell me to go to hell when I tell them to leave the bar, but he looks at me and says, “You’re the reason I don’t date American girls,” and I replied, “fret not, I wasn’t interested.” And then he replies, “When you are sleeping at night, you have pleasant dreams of eating your own shit.” Jesus Fucking Christ, where did this one come from and why does he have to show up on my doorstep. After a couple, “Get the fuck out, he finally leaves.”

Five minutes later he is back at the door screaming about how he is going to call my boss and tell him how rude I was to him, how he owns three bars and he can’t believe how our bar is ran, all the while interjecting a fuck you just to keep it as offensive as possible. We were tempted to ask if he had a position for our crazy pantry girl turned kitchen manager, but one crazy + one crazy never equals anything good. He eventually leaves after we tell him we are calling the police. He first says, “Call the police, taser me, I don’t care.” But then he does leave.

I don’t really ever expect to see him again, but tonight who shows smoking three cigarettes in his mouth at once. Yes, the crazy man. He comes in declaring that he will be accepting my apology and I told him that there wasn’t a chance in hell I would apologize to him, but he definitely could apologize to me. He sat down and apologized three times and then asked my name, which I replied I would not give him. To that he said I was coy and sullen, which regardless of him being completely obnoxious I found slightly fascinating. Not often described as coy and sullen. He kept trying to talk and I looked at him and said, “I don’t know what to say to you. You come in here telling me that I dream of eating my own shit. If you really own three bars, you must understand why you have been kicked out. We are never starting over. You are never being served in this bar. You will never be welcome here. You will never set foot in here again. I accept your apology.” He got up and said he would be back, which scared everyone around me more than myself, but it made me call the police to keep an eye out for him. Because you just never know, any crazy can buy a gun in this country.

Otherwise, I’ve got some things brewing about having my own place. I don’t want to jinx it, so enough said.

First Friday coming up and we are hiring someone new. One of my servers is moving to Minneapolis to be with her girlfriend. I wish her the best of luck and we will miss her.

A guy dies and is sent to Hell. Satan meets him, shows him doors to three rooms, and says he must choose one spend eternity in. In the first room, people are standing in shit up to their necks. The guy says "no, let me see the next room." In the second room, people are standing with shit up to their noses. Guy says no again. Finally, Satan opens the door to the third room. People are standing with shit up to their knees, drinking coffee and eating danish pastries. The guy says, "I pick this room." Satan says okay and starts to leave, and the guy wades in and starts pouring some coffee. On the way out Satan yells, "O.K., coffee break's over. Everyone back on your heads!"

TOP 100 BARS

Oh yeah, and we just received top 100 bars in the country from Nightclub & Bar and we were mentioned in Sunset magazine as the place to be at night.

Booty Clap

Oh Oh Oh, What to do. The last two weeks have proven to be quite uneventful. The owners of the bar left for Hawaii on Monday. They have been speedily becoming crazier and crazier with the last phone call before they left to ensure that there hadn’t been a party in the kitchen the night before because there were dirty dishes. I reassured them that the dirty dishes were because of the new fear of paying anyone for more than exactly the amount of work they contributed, thus the pantry cook and dishwasher were sent home at 11 p.m. and there were still dishes in the dining room. Protocol has always been to leave these last few dishes for the prep on Monday, but in my boss’s new found paranoia he is sure that everyone is dancing on the prep tables, getting naked while drinking the kitchen wine and brandy, and throwing knives at one another as it could be nothing less than some sort of circus freak show.

With my restaurant plan on hold until my husband gets his shit together, I have had some time to think about what I really want. I really believe in my restaurant idea, but there is obviously some downturn in the economy and where I live has seen an overabundance of new buildings and in particularly new restaurants. In the last three months, six new restaurants opened within three blocks of where I work now and it is only a town of 70,000 people. Although our business has not really seen much of a change, there is definitely an overwhelming fear amongst the restaurant owners as to who is going to make it and how lean it will get before it gets better. There is a reassurance right now that I can leave, pick up, and go where the money is if that happens to be the case. Although, once again I believe the money will be where I am at because I work my ass off to keep that bar busy and thus far it has worked and I have no intention of not keeping busy. But once again, knowing that I could leave is somewhat reassuring. Especially from a serious commitment phobe who has a meltdown about every six months about being married and owning a home.

So I guess I will wait for my husband and see what goes out of business and then make a decision. Overall, I assume it is a good time because there will be a lot of open restaurant space in the next year. Furthermore, I have to get away from the people that I work for. They are slowly but surely becoming more and more crazy each day. Which in turn makes me become more and more crazy each day and more and more sensitive to the bizarre situation around me which will no doubt

The only real excitement of late is that one of our regulars, a Mexican business man (who drinks cuba libres and is always slightly on the prowl even though he has a wife and two children waiting for him at home) decided that he liked one of our guests enough to follow her into the bathroom, go into the stall next to her, and try to look up at her while she was peeing. Yeah, let’s just say that he’s not coming into the bar anymore. Fortunately, she had a good sense of humor about it because seriously, what is fucking more disgusting that trying to pee in a public bathroom, only to find that some jackass pervert is trying to get splattered.

Otherwise there hasn’t been any mayhem, even our constant source of enjoyment, our pantry cook, has been trying to get her shit together by applying for college and paying down her debt. After a recent excursion to the strip club, we thought that might be a perfect career for her. She always is broke, has an incredible body, a very energetic dance she calls the booty clap (where once on New Year's we swear we heard the slap of her ass cheeks as she worked it), and a kooky yet dynamic personality. She replied, “Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind. I was blessed with a lot of tits and ass, but I was also blessed with a brain to know enough not to bear it for money.” On that note, I’ll call it a night.

What’s new cocktail wise.

I decided to pour through some stuff that I am sitting on, like a white port. I am mixing it with lemon juice, St. Germain elderflower liqueur and it is absolutely delicious. I named it Puerto Blanco and the name however is not delicious and no one has bought it. It needs to be renamed. Next menu change.

The hot drink however is Yumm Cocktail, which is really just a cherry lemon drop made with Three Olives Cherry Vodka. I don’t put any sugar in it and instead put a homemade sugar candy that makes for a perch to put a ball of cotton candy. The presentation is incredible and everyone adores it. I want to do some cotton candy experimenting, but I am going to wait a month, I need to sell through the bagged cotton candy that I already bought. I’m excited about the cotton candy, as you can flavor it and I think it could really push the envelope on what I’m doing with cocktails. Furthermore, it screams fun and it really is beautiful.

Otherwise, all the drinks are doing well. I have trouble selling that elderflower liqueur, even though it is so delicious. No one knows what it is, but I have the sneaking suspicion that it will take over like pomegranate has in the next year or so. We just need Oprah to endorse it.

Dave works hard at the plant and spends most evenings bowling or playing basketball at the gym. His wife thinks he is pushing himself too hard, so for his birthday she takes him to a local strip club.

The doorman at the club greets them and says,
"Hey, Dave, how ya doin?"

His wife is puzzled and asks if he's been to this club before.
"Oh no," says Dave. "He's on my bowling team."

When they are seated, a waitress asks Dave if he'd like his usual
Budweiser. His wife is becoming uncomfortable and says, "You must come
here a lot for that woman to know you drink Budweiser".

"No, honey, she's in the Ladies Bowling League. We share lanes with
them."

A stripper comes over to their table and throws her arms around Dave.
"Hi Davey," she says, "Want your usual table dance?"

Dave's wife, now furious, grabs her purse and storms out of the club.
Dave follows and spots her getting into a cab. Before she can slam the
door, he jumps in beside her and she starts screaming at him.

The cabby turns his head and says,
"Looks like you picked up a real bitch tonight, Dave!"

Four Stars

Just got a great write up in the local newspaper’s food magazine:

“The small, warm room blanketed in red bustled with people, noise, and music. This bar is a classy spot with a bit of a twist. Our delicious cocktails came with names like oxymoron and hucklepeary and each arrived with a plastic monkey hanging from the rim. The souvenirs were a big hit with my crowd; we’re big fans of monkey business.”

Continues on about how good the food and service are. And another picture, although this one is of the back of my head!!!!!

A Christmas Story

Thank God the holidays are over. Somehow with the combination of Christian spirit and holiday cheer makes most people anxious and difficult to be around. The added stress that comes from having to wait at the post office for 40 minutes just to buy a book of stamps (the machine is out), slippery streets, knowing that you are buying presents for people that you hate and in turn knowing that you will receive presents from people that you hate and in turn probably hate the presents that you received always creates a general feeling of apprehension and fretfulness. Take these people, many of whom only go out to celebrate during the holidays, in a busy bar and give them a little alcohol and yes you got it, by the end of the holidays you question your ability to ever really like anyone again.

Our holiday season at the restaurant leapt off to a swift start as our pantry cook took a dive off of a refrigerator a week before Christmas. No one is quite sure what she was doing up there, although we’ve noticed that in many aspects she is not as evolved as other humans and could quite possibly still have some monkey chromosomes left in her. Unfortunate to her, monkeys have a keen sense of balance and agility she seems to be lacking.

A few days after her daring attempt to break her neck, she got a fretful case of the flu and called out sick right before her shift. Leaving our two-man kitchen with only one man. Upon inspection, it appeared that there was no way in hell that he could make all of the food, so I left my bartending position to make salads and desserts. It is one of the most miserable nights I’ve had in the service industry, knowing that ticket times were three to four times longer than our average and that service was suffering because I was in the back of the house, making the front of the house short staffed. Amazingly, we didn’t have any unhappy guests. Once the situation was explained, everyone was very considerate. Nonetheless, the stress level was high and there was a fine line between the guests being o.k. and with all the tables just walking out in a general fit of justified frustration. Fortunately, the staff is made of sweet talkers who hypnotized them into thinking it was the greatest experience of their life. That is why each server is automatically given a pocket watch on a chain on her first night working.

Two nights later, the bald headed man who slipped on the floor (Aug. 30 blog) walked in with all of the TV newsgirls, the owner of a prominent restaurant in town, and a chef of another restaurant in town who’s birthday it was. The owner of my bar was in the restaurant and shouted hello to him. I wasn’t sure what the fuck was going on, was she friends with this asshole. I looked at her and said, you know - he’s not allowed in here. It turns out she had just met him at their other restaurant because he was such a pain in the ass she had to smooth things over with him.

She never knows what to do in these situations, she looked like a deer in the headlights. The server of that table looked at me like “what the fuck” and I told her that I would tell him he needed to leave. But in the presence of all of these people, we didn’t want to make a scene. Especially in front of the newsgirls, they are all very nice and come in the bar a lot. One of them dates our building manager and they are in the bar three times a week. We decided to tell him that he could stay with the birthday party as long as he was on his best behavior and didn’t cause any problems. Any creature including a hungry momma grizzly bear could have done better at controlling its behavior than this man. He immediately began to physically trip our food runner, make a scene about not getting a drink, and call his server names. At that, he had to leave. On his way out he flipped me off. I followed him out and asked him if he understood he was never to set foot on our property again. He started fluttering his hands in my face telling me that I was annoying him. I have never dealt with anyone as condescending, belittling, and disrespectful as this man. I asked, “Annoying you. I am annoying you? You are not even allowed onto this property. We give you the benefit of the doubt, on which you shit all over and now I am annoying you. If you don’t leave this property right now, I will call the police and have you physically removed from in front of my bar.”

He was with a very large blond woman who was obviously horrified by all of this. After he left, she came in and asked what that was all about. I explained that he had an incident at the bar and we decided that he was 86’d, but we had thought to let him in because it was a birthday party and he was with the birthday boy’s sister. This girl started freaking out because she didn’t trust that man and she didn’t want him near her sister-in-law, who was obviously dating him. I couldn’t agree with her more, since in the back of my head I figure that on the side he tricks young woman into his car, poisons them, and then cuts them up and sticks them in his freezer on days that he’s bored. She kept telling me how sorry she was for me. I told her to stop pitying me. I wouldn’t have to deal with him again, I replied, that’s the great thing about the bar - no matter how bad it is, no matter how awful a customer is, or a situation is, it will eventually end. And the shift will be over and it will be a completely new day the next day. She however, was dealing with family, which is never over. I told her to save her pity for her young beautiful sister-in-law who justifies dating a man who is older than her father and is mentally and physically abusive to everyone around him. If she lives through this relationship, she will need every ounce of pity she can garner to rebound against such a bad decision.

New Year’s eve came and went without any incidents. Just a very long work day, I was at the restaurant for over 15 hours in order to transform the space into a tiki bar. But my hard work paid off, we broke a record, everyone had fun, and we made lots of money. The owners of the bar were thrilled and thanked me about 30 times, which is great because typically I feel under-appreciated, like all good restaurant managers.

I should have known that the feeling couldn’t last more than 48 hours, but for some reason I always am hopeful, almost like a child. And just like most children's hope is killed by a stunning dose of reality, so was mine. Two days into the new year, the woman who owns the bar and I got into a dispute over nose piercings. Which are against the rules in the rule book, but three staff members have them and no one has ever said dick to them. But on this certain night, she came in, scolded our new food runner for having a piercing (she has already been working with us for over a month) and told her to go straight to the office for a talk. I was appalled, since she also had just called down to the restaurant and told one of the servers that she was an idiot. I love my staff, they work very hard for me and are very loyal. They are smart, witty, good salespeople, and extraordinarily hard working. I didn’t feel like the owner should be shitting on them for no reason than to improve her ego. So we had an argument. Which is still up in the air. I apologized that night; I didn’t figure it was worth having a fit about. She however, is still not speaking to me.

So on that note, Happy New Year’s!

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What’s New Cocktail Wise:

Sub Rosa just released some new vodkas onto the market that are unlike anything else right now. The vodkas come out of Dundee, Oregon and are only available on the West Coast right now. But if you see them, pick them up and mess around with them. They are bold and fun.

Oxymoron

Sub Rosa tarragon vodka, ginger syrup, lemon juice, and simple syrup

Oblivion

Sub Rosa saffron vodka, ginger syrup, orange bitters, fresh squeezed orange, and lime juice

Garnished with pepper threads (they look like saffron)

Berry Bliss

A four berry lemon drop made with Three Olives berry vodka, blackberry puree, lemon juice, and simple syrup

Topped with a blackberry, blueberry, cinnamon foam

This drink is killing it

Orchid Lychee Mimosa

Orchid Lychee Liqueur, Hou Hou Shu Sparkling sake, served with a lychee fruit

Easy to make and very yummy. I think it will do better in the spring and summer, although it is doing o.k. now.

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An Indian walks into a cafe with a shotgun in one hand and a bucket of buffalo manure in the other. He says to the waiter, "Me want coffee".

The waiter says, "Sure chief, coming right up". He gets the Indian a tall mug of coffee, and the Indian drinks it down in one gulp, picks up the bucket of manure, throws it into the air, blasts it with the shotgun, then just walks out.

The next morning the Indian returns. He has his shotgun in one hand and a bucket of buffalo manure in the other. He walks up to the counter and says to the waiter, "Me want coffee". The waiter says "Whoa, Tonto. We're still cleaning up your mess from the last time you were here. What the heck was that all about, anyway?"

The Indian smiles and proudly says, "Me in training to buy restaurant. Come in, drink coffee, shoot the shit, and disappear for the rest of the day."