To: Cynthia @ FUZE Bartending Bartender Extraordinaire, Teacher, Mentor and Friend
As promised, I’m reporting back on my first week at “The Club”, which you so kindly referred me to. The first day was brief because the boss was called away and nobody knew I was starting, so I just met as many people as I could, and each gave me a cook’s tour of their corner of the expansive operation. Very impressive! Day Two was also truncated because it was rainy and slow, but I got in some quality time with the head barkeep who assured me that he will teach me all I need to know, when I need to know it. The next day was crazy busy due to a 7-club swim tournament they hosted. I helped out where I could but mostly I observed and took mental notes. However, irony alert!, this caused my neophyte bartender anxieties to soar because: i) certain disciplines taught in school were not followed; ii) I wasn’t prepared for club-specific argot (“planter’s punch with a floater” – whaat?); and, iii) I’ll need to learn new drinks (“Deep Eddy Lemonade”; “Aperol Spritz”). The last is no surprise, of course, but each bartender I talked to had a slightly different recipe. At least when I finally got to pour late in the day, I have to say, it felt good.
Day #4 was the wedding.
I was assigned the wait staff bar, a cozy nook off the ballroom that reminds me of your perfectly outfitted training room. My role was to: a) prepare drinks that would be butlered during the cocktail hour (short margaritas, a fancy champagne spritzer, red and white wine and sparkling water – see photo) and, b) provide a steady supply of wines, champagne and ice water for the wait staff to pour while people were getting seated as the party started. Luckily I was partnered with Janet, a trim spitfire of a woman with 30 years in the hospitality biz who now works only through agencies because, in her words, “I get to choose when and where I want to work.” We were a great team. Yes, I thought, this is the perfect way to ease into the role of bartender.
The most memorable encounter was with the band’s featured singers (Diana Ross hair; Tina Turner dresses). Queuing up for the second set of the night, the two women tiptoed over to my window and charmingly asked, “Do you have any tequila back there?” “Does Casamigos sound good?” I replied. Their big eyes glowed with delight as they indicated for me to add the premium pour into their glasses of Pellegrino. “OK, ladies,” I said as I lifted the bottle, “just say ‘when’.” Yes, I thought, it’s good to be bartender.
After my service bar closed around 9pm, the head barkeep told me to check on the other bar stations (ballroom, outside deck and members-only lounge). One needed ice, which I learned how to fetch from the machine in the massive kitchen, but otherwise all was under control. I sat down in the entrance foyer with the photographer for a quick break when the fire alarm went off due to the band’s fog machine. The alarm blasted for 15 to 20 minutes but the band never stopped playing. I went back to check on the ballroom bar and found young Samantha (21?) alone with a big crowd. Yes, I thought, I have to jump in. I did, and what did I discover?
A cramped tabletop bar in a dark corner, next to the band’s speakers
One ice bin for the two of us to share. The scoop was a 16oz plastic cup!
No pour spouts on the bottles
No stirrers or cocktail napkins
No house spirits – all premium (which is odd because the wine was ALL house brand). The liquor bottles were placed in front of the ice bin facing the crowd so that they could see the brands, but of course that meant we could not.
No gun – the mixers were in a bin on the floor and not color-coded
Garnish tray? Fuhgedaboutit!
Into the chaos I dove. Much to my surprise, after just a few minutes of people screaming their orders into my ear, all of my accumulated fears and anxieties went out the window. Oddly enough, during the ensuing hour of this “trial by fire”, not a single order required a shake. Just as well because there was no tin!
The party was in high gear when the bride’s father, a very distinguished-looking man who was footing the bill, ordered four shots of Patron tequila, each with a lime. Even you, my honorable Sensei, would have found it challenging to do this without a pourer, no jigger and NO SHOT GLASSES (they existed but were locked up in the service bar and we didn’t have time to go find the key). Somehow we made do and satisfied the very important customer.
Sam and I continued our Kabuki dance to service the partiers as expeditiously as possible. About 30 minutes in, Sam (she of few words and preternaturally calm) turned to me and shouted a call for help, “Tom, do you know how to make a Black Russian?” “Yes, I do!” I proudly proclaimed, and proceeded to procure a bottle of Kahlua from the back table, grabbed the Grey Goose from the front (sacrilege be damned!) and executed a perfect two-handed pour into a rocks glass (at least we had plenty of those, but I forgot to mention that nobody there – and I mean nobody – does a two-handed pour).
Cleanup took less than a half-hour. I arrived home around 12:30am, not really tired but quite wet and a little smelly; made myself a drink, raised the glass and toasted the day I became a real bartender.
YOU made all of this possible, Cynthia. Thank you!
Cheers,
Tom