Toby thinks it’s entirely too funny that I have to tend bar tomorrow and I have no idea how to pour anything but a beer, a vodka orange, and a glass of wine.
My experience in bartending took place in sunny Manchester, England over 10 years ago. While I attended a class on how to hand-pull a pint of beer, I never made more than one mixed drink while I worked there. The drink I did mix was a simple vodka orange and I served it to none other than Richard Ashcroft of the Verve. (Who, at that point in time, I was obsessed with in that Nicole Kidman sort of way.)
Serving booze in Manchester was really simple. First of all, no one really ordered it. Manchunians liked their beer, snakebite, snakebite and black, and black and tan. If someone did order a shot of booze, the government made it impossible to screw up (at least where I worked). Every bottle was hung upside down behind the bar. There were plastic serving nozzles attached to each bottle neck. When someone ordered a shot, you took the glass, put it beneath the plastic server and then lightly pushed the glass upward. The regulated amount of booze dropped into the glass below. And it cost a bloody fortune, which is probably why no one really ordered it.
I think I served a few ignorant American tourists shots of Jagermeister and maybe one or two shots of vodka in all the time I worked there. It just didn’t happen very often.
Last night, while we were seeing Gerry into 34, Toby kept quizzing me on drinks.
Ummmm, Makers and a cherry?
You’re so dead. Margarita? How about a Cosmo? You know how to make a Cosmo, right?
I don’t want to play this game any longer.
I can hand pull a wicked pint of beer, but I haven’t the slightest idea what goes into a Fuzzy Navel.
What’s your poison?