Once many years ago in a futile attempt to leave the service industry, I found myself temping at a real estate development company in downtown Denver. It was the first time I became hyper aware of the office man’s caste system. There were many tools that the office men used to distinguish themselves from one another: placement of their office, number of windows in the office, the tardiness as to the time they found themselves at work, the length of their lunch, expense or their suit, quality of their haircut, but the easiest way to tell who was who was to look at their chair. The chair alone could tell you their rank amongst their fellow men. Obviously the nicer the chair: the higher up the back went, the quality of materials, and the element of the swivel told you immediately his place in life.

In a bar, all the chairs are the same and the bar truly is the great equalizer of men. There are no Misters or Misses in the bar, everyone goes by their first name. Great powers of industry sit next to guys who clean out sewers and chat about how their wives drive them crazy and how proud they are of their kids. Bars are these magical places, where it doesn’t matter who you are during the day, when you square up to the rail – you are just a thirsty man like any other thirsty man at the bar.

On special occasion, there is that one individual who is has grown accustomed to an air of obnoxiousness as he spends most of his day rolling around in a million dollar Pininfarina office chair (styled by Italian luxury car designers). He finds himself in the bar trying to wield his power, mostly by treating everyone around him like they are lucky to breathe the same air as himself. But within minutes, his neighboring bar customers and the bartender will remind him that this type of behavior has no place in such an egalitarian society. And it is on very rare occasion that such an individual doesn’t get the hint, typically after one or two he’s sharing stories and buying rounds on his quarter-inch thick Amex black card.

I find myself now, not behind a bar but rather in the caste system (sadly bottom feeding with all of the other hungry sucker fish). If only the only available chair on the market was a bar stool – well the world might just be a much nicer place.

Whiskey: the great equalizer of men.

Here are a couple of my favorite whiskeys that can be afforded on the budget of a hungry sucker fish.

Henry McKenna

The flavor of this bourbon is very light and crisp with a hint of sweet maple and toasted oak. I truly believe you can not get a better whiskey for the price (typically runs between $11 – $15 a bottle).

A brief history: Henry McKenna was a distiller originally from Ireland and settled in Fairfield, Kentucky in 1837. He built a distillery in his new home which opened in 1855. He made whiskey just like he did in Ireland, except he had to use corn – but believed he made a superior product and soon Henry McKenna’s whiskey became known as “Kentucky’s Finest Table Whiskey.” I also like one of their motto: “Henry McKenna Bourbon honors that heritage with a Bourbon that can be served with pride and poured without pretension.”

Four Roses Bourbon Whiskey

This is a real treat with light fruit, gentle spice, and the sweet taste of honey. However, if you find yourself a notch up from the sucker fish level, try their older whiskeys – awesome spirit in a bottle for a great value. Their run-of-the-mill bottle typically runs between $15 – $20 bottle.

A brief history: When you are at the liquor store looking for Four Roses, you will find that many of the bottles have beautiful roses sculpted into the bottle design. Supposedly the story goes that the founder, Paul Jones, Jr. had a huge crush on a beautiful Southern belle. He was said to have sent her a proposal and if she were to say yes, she would wear roses on her gown to the upcoming grand ball. She arrived with four red roses on her corsage and thus he named his second love after his first love.

http://www.thisgirlwalksintoabar.com/

Four nights drinking in San Francisco, seventeen bartenders – only one of them with two x chromosomes. Perhaps part of it is that I went to a lot of hi-falutin cocktail lounges where they have unheard of spirits and bitters infused with bug parts. Almost every one of these bars had its version of the quintessential San Fran barman. Think Alfredd Packer with cuff garters, tattoos, and skinny jeans – if Packer could have given up man-meat for some absinthe-infested concoction in glass beakers.

Maybe it’s because bartending is still a relatively new career for women. In the 1895 U.S. census, there were almost 56,000 male bartenders, but only 147 women. It wasn’t until WWII, when America’s young men were fighting on two fronts, that women found their place behind the bar, stirring up dry gin martinis and shaking icy sidecars. But as soon as America’s war heroes came home, they wanted their lucrative bar positions back and. In some cases, they ensured that women didn’t work behind the bar.

In 1945, New York City, Atlantic City, and the state of Michigan made it against the law to be a female bartender. California had a law on the books that made it illegal for women to “pour whiskey.” It wasn’t repealed until 1971 when a gutsy strip club owner wanted to put his dancers behind the bar. In the mid-70s, Holiday Inn started hiring pretty young women in droves to bartend as they recognized the move meant more profit.

It is a new era for the woman bartender. Our innate skills of mixing ingredients, sincere compassion, and natural eye for detail will no doubt allow us to push what people think of a saloon, including the mood, cocktails, and service. But until females dominate the bar scene, do cuff garters come in pink?

The following is a concoction conceived by one of the trailblazers, Audrey Saunders, the first female internationally recognized mixologist in the history books. And yes, Saunders is still very much alive and owns the Pegu Club in New York City.

Gin-Gin Mule

1\2 oz lime juice
1\2 oz simple syrup
6 mint sprigs
3\4 ginger beer
1\2 oz bombay gin
splash of soda water

Muddle lime juice, simple syrup, and mint. Add gin and ice. Shake well. Add ginger beer and mix. Serve over ice with a splash of soda and a lime wedge as garnish.

This was first Published in The Source Weekly

- Columbine Quillen

active sculpture by Chris Cole

I’ve never broken up with a boyfriend and gotten back together with him but I have broken up with the restaurant and gotten back together on numerous occasions. Anyone who’s spent as many years in the restaurant industry as I have can tell you a couple tales of their failed attempts at leaving. The first time I left, I took a job making cold calls in a cubicle eight hours a day. Within a week, I found myself dumping bus tubs at 11:30 p.m. sneakily drinking 18-year-old Scotch with a gay waiter and a Mexican busser who was positive we’d be married one day. I always come back, because every time I leave I find that it’s a terribly boring world out there filled with chubby people who like places like Applebees and shows like Jersey Shore.

I’m taking a new position in two weeks at the restaurant 10 Below, which is underground in The Oxford, Bend’s most beautiful hotel. The restaurant is this gorgeous space where art deco meets rustic. The bar is small and intimate, perhaps the exact opposite of the bar I’ve been behind the last two years. The food is delicious and gorgeous, plated on exotic porcelain with colorfully drizzled sauces dancing on the plate. But there’s just something missing – that pizzazz that makes people want to come back for more. And that’s where I come in; I’ve offered them a plan to breathe some energy and love into that space. Which has me thinking – what makes you fall in love with a place?

I keep thinking that the only way the guest can love the space is if the staff loves the space. Looking at my baby (the bar) last night and saying goodbye to a perfectly engineered system with colorful sparkly bottles perfectly in a row brought tears to my eyes. I came into that space more than two years ago when there were barely any bottles to speak of. None of the glassware matched and the bar staff was comprised of two goons, one of whom never failed to take a female bar guest home and usually would proceed to make out with her over the bartop. The word around town was terrible: service was bad, drinks took too long, the bartenders were rude, etc. I got there and scrubbed that bar from top to bottom. I bought beautiful bottles for it and created a cocktail list that bedazzled. I brought in a talented staff with incredible charm and sick work ethics. We took that place and made it a home to people – because it was a home to us. We loved it there, all of us truly adored coming to work every night. We brought a warmth, a charisma, and a wonderfulness that was so awesome at times that I don’t have the words to describe the rush – the rush of having a room stuffed with people who are all laughing, joking, and smiling because of what we created. The rush of working with amazing people in terribly demanding circumstances while we danced around one another, pinged into each other, and shared a wink or a smile from across the way because of the joy of just getting to just be around that person.

The restaurateur that I work for decided this summer to start purchasing more properties and the moment I heard it, I was scared. Scared that the beautiful restaurant I worked for would fall on the backburner, scared that quality would suffer, scared that the general manager (who I work amazingly with) would be burnt out and tired from helping with the other properties. And as my fears started becoming justified, I couldn’t see what was happening.  Instead, I just found myself working even harder to try to make it the way it once was. Finally, I realized that I couldn’t do it because the passion was gone. It was gone from me and it was gone from those around me. Not to say that the passion couldn’t be fired back up, it just couldn’t be fired back up for the idea to open another mainstream restaurant with the highlight being a flavored lemondrop shot. I found I don’t have passion for business for the sake of business.

I want to be a part of something that gets people thinking and talking. I want to create a space that makes people feel warm and welcome, that isn’t rude or pretentious. I want to create cocktails the meld flavors that blow people’s minds and make cocktails that tell a story or a history. I forgot how it felt to felt driven in that direction and it feels good. I forgot how much I love reading old cocktail books and watching cooking shows – I’ve unfortunately spent most of my time lately thinking about how to promote half-ass dj’s (which has been ridiculously debilitating to my soul).

So, as hard as it was to say goodbye in many ways it is a hello. A hello to the parts of the business that I love and I want to pour myself into again. A hello to the friends I have at the restaurant who I never see out of work – as now is the time to cultivate a different friendship. But mostly a hello to knowing the difference, because I was in a bubble and I didn’t have a fluznik clue.

As for creating something awesome ::::

If you happen to live in Bend, OR or will be in Bend this upcoming Sunday, Erica Reilly (a truly incredible restaurateur) and I will be creating a speakeasy in at 869 Tin Pan Alley. Brian Swett will be dj’ing. We’ll have a piece of awesome moving sculpture by Chris Cole. We are doing five amazing cocktails that all have a history and a story behind them. We are going to have food by Sancho, Soupçon, and Spork. We are going to have an incredible bar with bottles that will blow your mind with a tasting menu and a bitters bar, where you can try any of the 30+ bitters we have between the two of us (including my handcrafted bitters). It is only for one night and I promise you that it will be magical. Good food, good drink, good people – isn’t that what it’s all about. (It starts at 6 p.m. and due to the nature of what we are doing, we are only accepting cash as payment.) The password is :::: snix lix

As for 10 Below – we’re going to make it very welcoming and dynamic. I’m so excited for the cocktail list over there – I have a billion and one ideas that I can’t wait to put into place. I’d like to invite you after the New Year to come and enjoy a cocktail and relax in one of Bend’s most beautiful bars because the guest also makes the space and I look forward to having wonderful people at a wonderful bar again.

There are three distinct sub-sects of menu readers that delve from the mainstream. These are people who regard the menu differently than other people, who take it and show a distinct part of their persona by the way they handle a simple piece of paper with food descriptions and prices.

The Tosser never looks at the menu. The moment a menu comes into eyesight of a Tosser, he will pick it up and throw it to his side. Typically he will now start squinting at the beer taps and the shelves and even when told that there is a list right next to him – he will pick up the paper but soon again toss it to his side. Perhaps the Tosser just doesn’t want anyone to know he’s illiterate.

The Keeper won’t ever let the menu go. Even when the check comes, The Keeper insists that the menu must reside either under their butt or on the table under all of their dirty plates and glasses. The Keeper is sure that they have the last menu in the restaurant and that if they were to let the menu go for even a heart beat – it would certainly never be replaced and they would be lacking the golden key to get warm food and frosty drink delivered to them.

The Jotter uses the menu as her personal notebook, writing notes on it that typically have nothing to do with the menu. The Jotter typically dines alone lost in thought, doodling and scribbling all over the menu. When asked, The Jotter often claims to be a screenplay writer or a songwriter, which if you haven’t learned yet is code for, “I am unemployed and my parents are rich.”

Cocktail de jour – no menu needed

2 parts vodka
4 parts soda

It never fails in American politics that every few months you will hear about a scandal where one very powerful and well-known man cannot keep his schlitz in his pants. There is always a feeling like, “Yeah, of course you were going to get caught – you went to the SAME hotel and had to have the SAME room with the SAME tiger print sheets for two years.” If you didn’t get caught, I would start to think that you were eloping at a school for the blind.

What sucks, is while Mr. Naughty is ignoring the reality of his life with the flavor of the month, chances are they are not at a school for the blind – they are probably at the bar.

Something happens to people when they are very naughty; they completely forget that there are other people around them. A thick, gray fog penetrates so deeply that to escape for even a moment to ask for a menu or to call for a cab can seem insurmountable. What is unfortunate is that this gray fog (which obviously causes light-headedness and a delirious feeling) does eventually lift and you are left with a hangover that would make a Russian gulag sound like a Caribbean vacation. The truth of cheating on your loved one, putting your job on the line, and making an ass of yourself is a throbbing headache that even two vodka martinis, a bottle of Demerol, and a Swedish massage can’t boot.

Screwed Driver

2 oz vodka
2 oz organic fresh squeezed oj

Bartender is to Mixologist as Bar Sous is to
a. Bar Back
b. Bar Assistant
c. Product Manager
d. All of the above

There’s constantly this debate about whether bartenders are mixologist and mixologists are bartenders and anyone who gives a rat’s ass seems to have a mind-nullifying opinion on the definitions of both words. But it occurred to me, in this new advent of the bar becoming more like a kitchen – what do you call the sous bartender? What do you call the person who keeps the juice and fresh produce inventory, does the grunt work of making bulk syrups, infusions, and tinctures? Who squeezes all the juice, spears all the olives, and cuts all the fruit slices so that the bartender/mixologist can waltz in and make drinks without a worry in the world. The bar sous doesn’t create the cocktail list, but helps tweak the final outcome and helps with masterminding the prep. This position needs a name that is a bit cooler than bar assistant and allows people to recognize it is far more invested than a barback. I am a little set on bar sous unless anyone thinks of something better. The bartending world is in need of a new word!

One class that should be mandatory at all state colleges (except perhaps for the University of Utah) is bar etiquette. Unfortunately, the colleges haven’t figured out what a lucrative and popular class this would be as everyone would thoroughly enjoy their homework. As there is not such a class, might I just offer a quick lesson.

You have been cut off

DO NOT proceed to flip the bartender off, grab your ball sack, and say something nasty about the doorman’s mother.
DO apologize for your drunkenness and ask for a cab home.

Your credit card declines

DO NOT proceed to start a tirade about how the restaurants computer systems don’t work and that you know that Bank of America is conspiring against you.
DO discreetly find another form of payment.

You have lost your cell phone

DO NOT proceed to tell everyone that the owner of the restaurant has a black market in used cell phones and that you KNEW this was going to happen
DO ask if you can fill out a lost and found form and put a number on it that isn’t your cell phone number

These are just some quick lessons in making your bar experience all the more enjoyable – and isn’t that what it’s all about.

Fresh Etiquette

1 ounce pureed cucumber
2 ounces of fresh squeezed lime
2 ounces of simple syrup
2 ounces of Square One Cucumber Vodka

Shake until chilled and strain.  Serve with a cucumber garnish.

I was recently out at a bar, which is a rare occasion, as I don’t often go to what I consider the flip side.  There is a reason for that, and it’s typically because I feel like I am working without getting paid.  Most recently, I was enjoying an evening out with a close friend which was a great pleasure as I hadn’t been out at a bar in many months.  As I perused the back bar to decide what I was in the mood for and chat with a close bartender friend that I rarely see – a young punk leaned into me and said, “You kicked me out the bar once and I wasn’t even doing nothing.”  Which reminded me exactly why we do kick people out of the bar.

Most likely if you’ve been kicked out the bar, you’ve been doing nothing.  We certainly don’t like to kick out people who are picking fights, overly intoxicated, or otherwise rude, belligerent, obnoxious, sexist, graceless, uncivilized, vulgar, boorish, or surly.  We try instead to find a nice couple minding their own business, enjoying intellectual chitchat while they toss back a couple of Grey Goose Martinis.  We the bartenders typically look to see who is doing the most nothing to kick out.  Reading a thick Russian novel and completely minding your own business or just trying to get a glass of Chardonnay with your best friend from childhood – well too bad sister because you’re probably going to get kicked out of the bar for doing nothing.  It would seem that a better use of our doormen would be to bounce people who try to light a cigarette inside, try to walk out on their tab, or try to punch the guy next to them.  But just as my bar buddy said, we don’t kick people out for any of those things – we only kick out the people who are doing nothing.   So to all of you who I’ve kicked out for doing nothing – well I would apologize but as you can see, a rule’s a rule.  So much for doing nothing.

Rules Rulz

1 glass of nothing

There is a slow degradation of society happening that is often head through assertions that today’s youngsters (as in 21, but barely so) are less healthy and less educated than preceding generations. But there is another measurement that should be taken into account and that is their drinking habits.

There is a certain downward spiral that has been happening for the past 60 years. Our grandparents drank brandy from snifters and threw their heads back in laughter while sharing a Tom Collins. They learned how to dance the twist, the jitterbug, and the cha cha. They spent money on dry-cleaning their three-piece suits and stiff dresses to go out and enjoy themselves.

Even our hippie parents wore bell-bottomed jeans, leather boots and butterfly collars and spent time learning some disco moves. And although there was a decline in the drink culture resulting in canned beer and boxed wine, the Harvey Wallbanger with an exotic Italian herbal liqueur became haute couture.

Today’s male bar clientele wear their pants so low that everyone around them is privy to their underpants (and they don’t even wear underwear with interesting prints or fascinating fabric). They wear sunglasses at night. They complete their outfit with baseball caps with the tags still on them and instead of dress shoes they choose footwear more befitting an afternoon tag football game. They order with the contraction “k’geta” without the simple pleasantries of “please’ and “thank you.” None of them have bothered to learn any dance moves and rather think that a three-way dry hump is the way to impress their friends. They drink cheap vodka mixed with artificial sweeteners and inexpensive rum dropped into heavily marketed energy drinks.

As the nation puts more resources into improving our schools and bolstering better lifestyle choices, might we encourage the weekend bar patron to pull up one’s pants, try a Manhattan and use complete sentence? Upon these changes, there is no doubt that America’s potential would skyrocket and we could once again pride ourselves in each generation outliving and out earning those before it.

The Manhattan

.5 ounce of Dolin’s Sweet Vermouth

3.5 ounces of Jefferson Reserve Bourbon

4 splashes Angostura Bitters

Shake with ice and serve up

I’ve always hated having a TV in the bar, people just stare at it instead of talking to one another.  Once it is on, often people can’t agree on what channel it should be on.  It filters an awful blue light and destroys any ambiance created by expensive light fixtures and dimmers.  I absolutely hate the TV on in the bar and typically I don’t turn it on when I bartend.  I honestly believe that’s why I have so many regulars, because they come to talk.  They meet one another and form commonalities.  They look forward to meeting their bar buddy again the next time they are in.  The TV destroys that, if it is on – no one talks they just all stare at that magnetic screen.

Anyhow, this is a fascinating article about TVs and the bar and how it is such a dichotomy that people come out to be social and around others, but alienate themselves in the flickering light of a soulless screen.

Real People – Real Places