Ask A Bartender: Practical Bar Advice from A to Zzzz..

by Joe Mother Fucking Lee

I can't wait for this election crap to end. Too many years listening to citizens disgorging their whys. Fucking boring. And of course, it's at full volume for everyone to hear. What the hell? Why do you feel the need to spill grey matter spore, all over my bar? Why must we get caught in your smug "Dutch oven" of political gab? Shut up and vote. We don't care how brilliantly you came to the opinion of whatever the fuck you're braying on about. Oh, yeah, and why are you ordering a Bloody Mary at last call? Idiot.

OK, got that out of my system. I'd like to thank you all for such an amazing response to not only to my last effort but to the last issue in all. I've been shocked to find my pennings on the walls of many bars. I've gotten calls from Portland, New York and when I was in New Orleans, for the Tales of the Cocktail convention, I met a number of people who knew of my writing. I am humbled, touched, and spirited to continue. Speaking of the Tales of the Cocktail, what a time had by your humble scribe. And how could I not? Hello, fucking New Orleans!

A fellow libation consultant and I spent a week plus, ingesting the glorious haven of authors, poets, filmmakers, screenplay writers, myths, mysteries, romance and, oh yeah, drunks. Being that we were there to celebrate boozy potions of present and yore, we had high hopes of swimming from one cantina to another, sampling The Big Easy's finest tipple(s). Uh, yeah. What fantasy was I living. I didn't know what to expect; one never does when traveling to new worlds. You only dream. My dreams were comprised of perfecting engineered cocktails: a Manhattan to rival my own, the original Hurricane at Pat O'Brien's, New Orleans' own Sazerrac Cocktail, and maybe a Hemingway Daiquiri, made with fresh lime, God damn it, and without a blank, reptilian stare when I inquire about the probability of it being made.

But what about the convention, specifically focused on cocktails, you may ask? There must have been some great cocktails there? Uh, no. Sadly I didn't enjoy a single drink I had at the convention. Not to say that there weren't any available, I just didn't have the honor of sampling them. I heard that one of our local bar owners did deal some refreshing cocktails, but alas, I wasn't there. Why? Um, did I mention I was in, fucking New Orleans? I honestly did try to attend a couple of seminars, but I'd be sitting in an air conditioned room, that looked like any othergeneric convention/hotel hall, listening to cocktail geeks dork out over esters and how to add more to your brew, and I would look out the window, see the Mississippi River, and ask myself, "What the hell am I doing in this air conditioned classroom? That's New Orleans out there!" Then I'd sneak out of the room and head out to sample the local gin joints, cafe's, cigar rollers, hat shops, and eateries. I rubbed elbows with the locals; swapped stories; stuffed myself with oyster poboy's, Jambalaya, gumbo, crawfish etouffee, Muffuletta, coffee, and beignet; met more people; hopped on street cars (not named Desire) to more bars; got tattooed; and got myself good and ripped every night I was there.

In fact, I don't remember a whole lot of my first day there; I was bombed by 10:00am. Fried oysters and a disco nap, and I was back out on the receiving end of a future headache and desperate need of a Ramous fizz in the morning. My drinks of choice were what they are back home, beer and Herradura Silver. My poor buddy, and drinker of Fernet, had a hard time finding the stuff. In fact, we only found it at one bar, and even then, only two shots worth. Within two days, we had several bars sewn up, knew the bartenders, knew the regulars, knew what they drank. It got to a point where it was hard for us to buy drinks. Bartenders just do that for one another. Of course, it didn't save us any money. The cash just went into buying rounds for others or into the bartender's pocket-the same cash, which was generously left for us by other bartenders-the cycle, complete.

OK, to your questions.

Dear JMFL,

I recently ordered a Patron shot from a local bar. The bottle ran out halfway through, and the douche charged me $8. I mean, it wasn't like this was some god-awful place like the 1015 where they once charged me $30 for two thimble shots and two beers. This was a respected local club. Not like I'm a bitch, but if you're going to charge me $8 for a shot of tequila then it better be a full shot. I think this guy was a little wet behind the ears, so I just kind of nicely asked him if he thought it was a little short. I mean I watched the bottle run out in front of my eyes!!! Am I a freaking idiot? Then he gets all exasperated like I'm so difficult and looks around behind the bar and says, "Well, all we have is Hornitos," and uncaps the bottle and was about to pour it in when I stopped him. Not like I'm a huge snob, but topping off my tequila with a different kind of tequila just seems totally faux pas to me. Would you pour someone half a glass of merlot and top it off with pinot noir? In the end he agreed to give me the half shot for $6, which was still a rip off considering the attitude I got for it, but I didn't want to give him any more grief. I paid him $6 and tipped him, but if he'd given me a good deal from the get-go (without the attitude), I would have tipped him double just on principal. Anyway, what I want to know is what's the official bar etiquette for this kind of thing? Was I being a bitch?

Signed,
A Horrendous Bitch

Miss Bitch,

It's noodle heads like this guy that make the citizens not trust their BT's. $8.00 for Patron is about right. More on Patron later. Basically, if a bottle empties and there is no back up and the shot is a short pour, you try to be fair and charge accordingly. If it's tiny, I comp it. Sometimes, if I pour a shot, and there is tiny bit remaining in the bottle, I'll dump the remainder in the glass as well. It sounds like this kid doesn't even drink. By no means should a BT, be mixing call tequilas on a neat call. Neat, by the way, is booze in a glass with no ice, not "up." Up, is short for "straight up," meaning I chill a glass, your booze, then pour it into said chilled vessel. Now to Patron, Paul Mitchell Hair care products owns Patron. It's sub-par tequila, poured into a pretty bottle, topped with a butt plug. His marketing department brainwashes ya'll into believing it's quality tequila. It's not. It's shit. Thus, the butt plug. You should have taken the Hornitos to begin with and saved a couple of bucks

JMFL

Dear JMFL,

I got married in this bar, right? So that was a dumb move, but I kinda knew that going in. for anyways, they're always kicking me out every time I pass through town. One time there was a huge rumble and I hit a guy w/ a lug nut tied to a sock [I ride trains] but I did my 45 days in jail and was forgiven. Another time I pulled out my tally whacker and wrapped it around my wrist when someone asked the time [6 o'cock] and I was 86'd for a while. Ok, I'll concede those points even if I think public nudity is part of drinking when it's done tastefully, but lately they've been serving me drinks 'til I pass out then unceremoniously throwing me out in the alley where I bump into friends who want to buy me more drinks. But no, I'm 86'd now.

If someone is persistently a problem yet adored by half the clientele is that de rigueur to have them scratched from the premises or should I be granted more chances as I spend a lot of money [not mine but the drinks get bought] and I'm somewhat of a celebrity/raconteur?

Would you kick me out for the night or have me banned from the place forever? Is there still a place for Bukowski types in the modern bar?

Signed,
Mikey Loughlin

Dear Mikey

Modern Bar? You mean ones with electricity and running water and even urinals not at the foot of the bar? Your venues are getting fewer and fewer. Even our beloved TL is losing the Gin Joints that put up with that nonsense. Would I kick you out? Yes. Would I serve you again? No. 86'd? Yes. Why the hell would I want some drunk running around my bar smacking people on the head with his dirty sock and his three bean salad hanging out? More chances?!? What could possibly be in it for me? Your tips? You're not buying anything but time till you kidney's go out, or your liver becomes concrete. The only reason the regulars like you around is 'cause they can look at you, the walking canker soar, and feel better about themselves 'cause compared to you they're fucking tea totalers. There was no "day's of yore" when that kind of behavior was common or acceptable. Stay away and go to AA. God you stink...

JMFL

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