Awkward face courtesy of the lovely Fi. Thanks for taking this even though I was too embarrassed to actually look at yer phone.
Last night marked my first evening as a bonafied (albeit in training) bartender, and all I can say is WHOA. Being in the midst of unfamiliar products and machinery harkened back to the days of my first kitchen job, when I got to ask such mindblowingly simple questions as “how do you dice an onion?” and “how do you unclog the dish washer?” Luckily I’m not quite as stupid as I was back then, and this time my major challenge is pricing and money related, not sharp objects and hot pan related (thus, hopefully, saving my forearms from too many more scars).
At first I was pretty useless, plodding around trying to figure out where the clean rags were, how to operate the glass machine, and what a class B drink plus a double class A drink equals ($12.75… I think). After four hours or so though, I was starting to feel slightly more competent and managed to even make some drinks that didn’t consist of whiskey and soda (my posse of encouraging friends all made it out and had the decency to order the simplest concoctions). I can safely say I can make a solid Long Island now, though honestly the only other drinks I made were mostly dropshots and I don’t exactly remember what all was in those. Oh… except for a Touchdown, which apparently is just Red Bull with a dropped shot of mandarin Absolut and smells like instant remorse.
Even the little things felt strange and awkward, like trying to spear a lime wedge exactly halfway through the pick, or moving a group of shots without sticking my fingers in the glass while doing so. I’m sure in a little time I’ll stop reeking of amateurism, but until then I have a lot to learn. Next on my list: figure out how to make girly drinks, how to fix the air hockey table, and how to come home at 2:20 am without waking the slumbering manbeast.