The Aging Bartender

Farmers Market Loot: 1.18.23

Instead of a day late and a dollar short I’m a day early and short much more than a dollar. I went into the maelstrom of the vaunted Santa Monica Farmer’s Market at 8:30 this morning. Yup. I’m an early riser. My son wakes up at 6:30 a.m. This morning, against my better judgement I…

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  • Farmers Market Loot: 1.18.23

    Instead of a day late and a dollar short I’m a day early and short much more than a dollar. I went into the maelstrom of the vaunted Santa Monica Farmer’s Market at 8:30 this morning. Yup. I’m an early riser. My son wakes up at 6:30 a.m. This morning, against my better judgement I…

  • When Bartenders Dream

    The sleeping hours are not always about mai tai specs, pristine white beaches, and flair competitions. No. When bartenders dream it’s most often about opening their own place. Why work hard for someone else and not yourself? Yeah. My own thoughts have turned there quite often. What the average punter doesn’t know is just how…

  • The Eight Bottle Bar

    Welcome weekend warriors. Strap in. You are about to experience a few mediocre paragraphs of free advice pertaining to your home bar program. Yeah. Almost no one is a professional bartender, so why should I expect any jackass that comes in to know the difference between rye and bourbon? I have just a sprinkle of…

  • Two Can Superman

    My advice to you: Don’t get old. Not even a little bit. Now that we have that out of the way, we can begin. I say this because once again the demons crept in on me at work last night. The little devils who whisper in my ear, “You can’t do this forever. How long…

  • Spork

    Good evening and welcome to Spork. What is our ethos? Well, we have several. First, let it be known that this is a profit sharing organization that gives all excess money back to its employees. Yes, do you see those shining faces walking about? They all actually give a shit about this place because each…

  • Bar Hack: Incognito Fruit Fly Catcher

    This will be my claim to fame and it’s not even my idea. Denise came up with it and I took all the credit. I’ll make a million dollars off the invention, then she’ll take me to court, sue me, get paid, and I’ll die alone and penniless in a pauper’s grave. Hopefully one of…

  • Farmer’s Market Loot: 1.12.23

    Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day. Daddy wants to play. Rain, rain, go away. Yeah, if you haven’t heard, it’s become a real problem. Many of the farmers were blocked from making it down to LA because the 101 freeway was washed out by a landslide. So I wandered yesterday in a ghost…

  • My First Bartending Job: Part Two

    Wasn’t this post supposed to be about my first bartending job? Fear not, dear reader. It’s a long winded two parter and I’ll get to the point eventually. One of the best things about working at Sfoglia, aside from the money of course, was being closed on Sundays. It really helped moral. We were a…

  • My First Bartending Job: Part One

    In 2007 I landed a head chef job, after following a Craigslist ad, at a vegetarian restaurant in the Lower East Side. As I toured the basement kitchen with the owner and GM, chatting with them about this and that, shaking hands with the prep cooks, a couple of dire truths about the whole situation…

  • New Cocktail: Hummingbird

    This one came to me mid service like a lightening bolt between the eyes. One and done. No tweaks necessary. A bunch of people were at the bar and I shook this one out, tasted it with a spoon, and said to Denise, “I’m back, baby!” The people seated at the bar looked up from…

  • Office Chronicles: 1.8.23

    Once upon a time, your friendly neighborhood bartender quit his gig waiting tables at the shabby but quaint Dogwood Cafe in Jamaica Plain, MA, in order to seek out the good life. Holidays off, paid vacations, three day weekends, lunch breaks, working from home on occasion. Ah yes. Commuting on the train in the morning.…

  • Service Musings: 1.7.23

    There’s a point in all our lives (at least I hope) where we look at what we’re doing and wonder what the hell happened. How did I get here? What twisted path led me to Santa Monica? A rich stew of regret and wonder, of awe and bewilderment. I’m just a dumbass kid from Vermont…