Entries categorized as ‘Uncategorized’
Enough! There are enough different brands of vodka. We don’t need any more variety thank you very much. All vodka entrepreneurs please turn around and walk right back to the drawing board because it is time to start over. No new vodka brand is going to make any money.
It seems like every time I walk into the bar there’s a new vodka on the market selling itself as the most “upscale, premium blah blah, in the blah.” Listening to the liquor reps trying to sell it to you is painful.
- “This one’s distilled eight times.” so?
- “It’s unique because it’s French and made from grapes.” That doesn’t sound like vodka but what do I know.
- “This is Irish vodka. It’ll sell because it’s made from potatoes.” Irish+Potato= $$$? I don’t think so but one day we might look back and laugh.
- “This one is special because it’s a soy vodka. Very healthy.” You need to leave. Now.
I’ve seen so many marketing tricks and angles over the years and none of them work. Funky bottles, elegant names, catchy drink recipes… all resulting in a bunch of unsold vodka with uppity presentation sitting in the basement because nobody wants it. The reason is simple. Vodka is vodka. The garbage in the well is pretty much the same stuff as the garbage in the Grey Goose bottle. (In many clubs it’s the exact same stuff if you catch my drift)
I did a blind vodka tasting with a group of bartenders not too long ago and the results were surprising. (this was before the article in the Times) Fleischmans vodka was my favorite. If you’ve never heard of it before that’s because Fleischman’s is one of the cheapest vodkas around. Orange juice costs more. Bars carry Fleischmans to use in the well and in most bars that also means that it’s the spirit we pour more than any other. I wasn’t alone in putting Fleischmans ahead of Grey Goose, Absolute, Stoli, and Sky. Our well-$5-a-bottle vodka got more votes than any of the others which sell for much more than $5 an ounce.
My point here is that vodka is cheap to produce. You might as well pay less for it. All this “Premium Distillation” stuff is nothing more than marketing.
Vodka is the #1 selling spirit in the US by far and since it’s cheap to make I can see how people would view this as a gold mine. It may very well have been that way not too long ago but these days the market is way too saturated for a newcomer to come in and take a chunk of the profit.
If you’re looking to make some booze and a buck at the same time I have a suggestion. Thanks to the popularity of Apple Martinis (yuck!) bar owners have seen the wisdom in Apple Schnapps. I think Peach Schnapps could easily become a big money maker. Seriously.
People love peach schnapps. One of the easiest ways to make a sweet delicious drink is to add peach schnapps. Bartenders use it all the time when a customers ask for “something my girlfriend would like.” Ask your local barkeep yourself if you don’t believe me. Now, if you made a higher proof peach schnapps and put a little craftsmanship into it I’m positive people would be shooting it left and right. They already do in Austria, Switzerland, Germany- basically all places Swiss Alp. The mixological options are endless as well. You’d be getting the 5th Avenue Crowd and the College Crowd at the same time which means $$$$$$.
Trust me Mr. Vodka salesman, this bar doesn’t have room for any more vodka brands. Vodka already hogs most of the shelves behind me. I don’t care if it’s Kosher… I don’t care if it’s from Connecticut but looks like it’s from Russia (that would be Smirnoff)… I don’t care if it’s got guarana in it and will make me bounce of the walls all night long. People won’t buy it. Plain and simple. Bars are a business. Come back with something that will generate some new business.
Can I copyright a high-end Peach Schnapps? I’m going to buy www.itsjustpeachy.com right now.
Categories: Nightlife · Uncategorized
Tagged: Bar business, Business, Liquor, Peach Schnapps, Premium vodka, Spirits, Vodka
So out of the blue Friday night was all about Jaegermeister. It began when my partner behind the bar explained that he didn’t think his health was all that good due to late nights, early mornings, and brutal drinking habits.
—————————————————————————————–
Him: I might not drink anything tonight. Just stay sober.
Me: Say it ain’t so. (pause) Seriously?
Him: I guess since it’s early this might be a hypothetical discussion
Me: I can remember one time I had a fever over a hundred and I knocked it out with a bunch of margaritas.
::Twenty minutes later::
Him: I might have some Jaeger
————————————————————————————–
And with that, the black syrupy joy that is Jaeger flowed out of our fridge and down our throats. After a few shots my bartending peer looked at me and reaffirmed his decision to hit purple stuff. The next thing I know everyone at the bar is ordering Jaeger. I don’t know if it’s because they saw the bartenders pounding it, but suddenly we’re pouring Jaeger for everyone. I even saw some dudes using Jaeger as a chaser for warm vodka shots. (I wonder how that guy felt the next morning)
Jaeger Meister translates to “Lord of the Hunt” and supposedly when St. Bernards are on duty rescuing avalanche victims, it is Jaeger in the little barrels around their necks. “But where on earth did this purplish ooze that tastes like licorice and pine needles come from,” you ask?
Who else? The mother-fuckin Nazis that’s who! Seriously.
Jaeger Meister was named as a tribute to a man named Hermann Goring. He was the head of the Luftwaffe and Hitlers’s right hand man. (one of his titles was ReichsJägermeister) Towards the end of the 1930’s Jaeger became available to the people in Germany and just a few years later Nazi soldiers used it on the battlefield as a cure for everything. “Got a cough? Headache? That bullet wound looks painful- not feel like crushing Poland today? Have a swig of this!” Before you can say “Blitzkrieg!” these guys are rolling all over Europe.
How on Earth did this stuff go from the battlefields of good and evil to frat houses and dive bars all across America? This is baffling to me. Jokes are made all the time about Jaeger’s origins but I never seriously thought the stuff had such ominous beginnings. No wonder fights break out so much in college bars- dudes are guzzling war-juice.
I woke up the next day and felt like a gorilla had crapped in my mouth but it was such a beautiful day that some sport was definitely in order. When I say sport, I mean wiffle ball (ohhhh yeah) and despite my hangover we destroyed the opposing team. Let me rephrase- We crushed their insolent skulls beneath the treads of our tanks… actually it was the treads on our flip flops but whatever. I had a Nazi-esque hangover and I don’t believe in coincidince.
Categories: East Village · Lower East Side · New York · Nightlife · history
Tagged: Bar, Jaeger, medicine, Nazi, shots, wiffle ball
Often bartenders get trapped in conversations they don’t want to have with people they don’t want to talk to. You can imagine how many wackos there are in the bars of New York City. For every one of those lunatics there’s a bartender who got stuck having some sort of conversation in order for them to buy a drink. Luckily, we’re pretty good at getting unstuck when the crazy folks start leaning across the bar to make their point. (which was what again?) If it’s busy then there’s not a problem… tons of things for us to pretend we have to do. When the joint is dead, we’re screwed. It’s a new type of torture. I’ll call it The Lower East Side Liquid Death Sentence.
Imagine being forced to talk to drunk Scientologists. I’ve actually had people follow me around while I helped other customers, yelling over their shoulders. (this is often about sports)
There’s no polite way to tell someone you don’t want to talk to them. Every time I’ve tried people get upset. The bar then transforms into a cage and I feel like a monkey at the zoo. Daydreaming comes easily for me, always has. (was real handy in detention) Usually when lunatics are talking to a trapped me behind the bar I’m thinking about something that has absolutely nothing to do with the present conversation. It was in this manner that I came up with a way to save us from the Earth’s imminent energy crisis. It will involve photosynthesis, highly combustible oxygen atoms, and these new baggy-things I saw in an infomercial that prevent veggies from going bad for “up to thirty days.” I’ll be back with more on this after I talk to my inventor friend… time for another Ideas Night.
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: Energy crisis, lunatics, monkeys
“I used to come in here and listen to AC/DC,”- Friday 3:00 in the A. M.- Fergalicious booming throughout the bar the second time tonight.
Yes, I know you did. That was before the new internet jukeboxes started popping up in all the bars of New York City. These devices are nothing other than gigantic rip off machines both to customers and cash registers.
A note on the Juke- Music has always helped add atmosphere to bars and therefore increase sales. As far back as you want to go, if there was a watering hole, there was music. The Juke Box is only a recent incarnation of what proprietors have always had in their place of business. Think about it… Swing music roaring in the speak easies of the 20’s, bar wenches hanging around guys in bowlers banging on pianos in saloons across the wild west, peasants dancing jigs around the minstrels in Medieval inns, Mead Halls filled with Saxons listening to some dude singing Beowulf- it goes all the way back. People hate drinking in silence. You do too… it starts to feel really alcoholic.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard a person recommending a bar to someone adding “they’ve got a great juke box.” The music selection inside that juke adds to the character of the bar, how can it not? Example much? sure. I loved singing Merle Haggard at the Village Idiot with a can of Pabst and a shot of… well a shot of anything. (man that place was fun: may it rest in peace) If someone walked in there and threw on Justin Timberlake there was an actual chance that he/she was going to get an ass whuppin’ and a justified one at that. Zima had more of a home at the Idiot than pop music.
These days “Internet Juke Boxes” have swooped in and booted the traditional Juke out the window and bars city wide are losing their identity. No longer do I walk up to a preselected collection of music and pick random songs that “I can’t believe they have here.” Now, if I’m Joe Schmo Douchebag and I’ve had Rihanna stuck in my head all day I can play it in your favorite local dive. I can shatter the groove and I can even pay an extra buck to skip your songs and “Make Mine First!” Barf… Bar owners assume that they’re going to make more money with this unlimited song library that they can charge a high dollar for.
This is not the case.
A good atmosphere is what makes bars money. This is why clubs pay DJ’s so much and I’ve worked in them enough to watch it turn into buckets of dollars. What owners should be doing is going on ebay to buy those same old school juke boxes that are currently collecting dust and loading them up themselves. Bar specific music selection…. not a new idea. They can keep the money that goes into it instead of splitting it with whoever services those overpriced machines- which, I must add, break down frequently leaving the bar in silence. (see paragraph 3 notes on a juke) A silent bar is one of two things… empty, or a hang out for really old men. Neither is a good for business.
I don’t know why so many managers are fooled by this half-assed device. Yes it takes credit cards. No it will never keep the songs you’ve downloaded meaning it will cost a dollar a song EVERY SINGLE TIME. Yes it will be broken a third of it’s bar life. No they won’t come fix it right away. Just because you can eat someone else’s left over french fries out of the garbage doesn’t mean you should. Perhaps I should clarify. The manufacturers know these things are pieces of shit and that’s why they’re pushing them so hard on everybody. A well rounded ipod can make more money than a broken juke any day. This “internet juke box” is just a way for sales men to appeal to bar owners who are out of touch with technology. The music selection isn’t even all that. (for example try playing 2pac’s “Changes”)
It’s sad in a way but I wonder if bar owners know how much of their own money comes out of the register and goes into that machine so that bartenders know they won’t have to listen to reggaetone all night. It’s twenty dollars a night at my bar. Split that with the service company and we’re eating $3,650 dollars a year. (and that doesn’t count the refunds when the crappy things don’t work right) Good business? not so much…
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: atmosphere, Bar, internet juke box, juke box, music, proprietor, Village Idiot
I usually medicate myself with Tequila while I’m behind the bar, but last weekend I just wasn’t feeling the agave plant. Our selection is lacking to say the least and I’m bored with Sauza. I needed something different. What would do the trick? It’s times like these that the “kid in a candy store” feeling is appropriate. Imagine- me staring at all those colorful bottles filled with liquid joy- I decided I wanted a clear liquor. That rules out Bourbon which tends to make counting difficult for me. Vodka seems so blah. Rum? well that could be fun right?
Before I know it, I’m pouring myself a shot of gin and clinking glasses with the other bartender. He’s looking at me with the face I’m all too used to. It’s his what’s-wrong-with-you face… like he’s trying to figure out where my DNA is mutated.
Warm. Tree. Bark.
So that’s how it started. I was going to drink nothing but warm gin for five hours. I rationalized it as a social experiment. We’ve all heard people say over and over “You don’t want to see me drink Gin,” it’s a notorious spirit: responsible for making people aggressive or over emotional and let’s not forget those zitty gin blossoms that pop up on peoples noses. It’s probably what’s really responsible for the French and Indian War. –cue Brit accent- “I say, lets just fight them both at the same time. The bloody colonists will do all the fighting work anyway. Cheerio! More Juniper Berries!”
Anywho, here are the results of my Gin experiment. I drank it warm so that it wouldn’t be watered down. Pure gin, that was the goal.
- 1st shot- About two minutes after my initial consumption I noticed that my brain felt a little dry. Then I noticed that I was thinking, “My brain feels dry.” This would not be the only time I reconsidered being the Gin-ny pig.
- 2nd shot- Brain is still feeling the dryness and I’m surprised at how hard it’s hitting me. I’m not trashed or anything but the end of the night seems like forever away and the bottle of Beefeater is starting to intimidate me. I could feel his eyes on my back… following me around the bar… like a jealous lover.
- 3rd, 4th, 5th shot- Now I’m really wondering if I’m going to make it through the night without embarrassing myself. The dry brain thing is persistent as well as my newfound speech impediment. Not that i’m slurring (much), but more like my mouth has a mind of its own. Some words just won’t come out (conference was impossible to say) and others that aren’t part of my normal vocabulary (womb for example) have moved in and taken over. It’s also during this period of the evening that I hear myself saying, “it’s not me, it must be the gin.”
- 6th shot- A Breakthrough… as in I feel as if I just broke through a brick wall. Suddenly a sense of clarity descends upon me as soon as i put back the shot. The dry brain feeling is long gone. I can control my mouth. (sort of- still can’t say conference though, I really tried) The sluggish drunken feeling is replaced by one of “I’m the man. I can drink for the next two days and not black out. Just listen to what I’m saying and you’ll understand the secret of life.” Twisted- this is how Eve felt just after the first bite. Thinking back on it I’m surprised my horns weren’t showing. It’s when I’m this kind of drunk that I start pulling pranks on myself. You know, hiding your own wallet in ridiculous places, or launching your cell phone across Houston street to “free yourself from the grid.”
- 7th shot- This is to be my final shot of the evening for it’s time for me to descend and start closing down the registers. The only thing remarkable I can say is that somehow #7 turned into #’s 8+9
- 8 & 9- Just more and more clarity. Everything is so sharp. This shit is great! I can do anything, I know everything and I can’t wait to explain it to you. At some point during my shift the register was screwed up and all I had to do was take a good look at it and I would have noticed. I normally do that all night long- check to make sure everything’s working correctly. Mr. Juniper diverted my attention elsewhere though and before I knew it I pulled an equation outta my ass, an equation I haven’t thought about since Algebra two (that’s right bitches algebra 2) . x+y=z and somehow I recreated the lost sales numbers for the night. and those numbers are right.
“It’ll make you be able to fly and bulletproof too.” That’s what my friend said when he came in and learned why I was so “in the moment.” Gin is an enabler. He’s the guy they talk about at AA meetings that allows people to keep up their lifestyle. Gin’s reputation is well deserved and the biggest danger is that you feel like another drink is the perfect idea of that moment. (cue that Brittish guy again) “You must continue drinking!” It’s very drug-like. At least 9 shots of warm gin and I was doing freakin algebra on the bar at 5 in the A M… without a calculator. Doesn’t that say it all? All around me are dead tired drunk people and I’m sitting there scribbling credit card totals and sales figures on scratch paper like a maniac!
I was a little fuzzy the next day but not skunky-hung over. I was positive that if anything this experience would put some distance between myself and a pre-dinner martini. Just the opposite. It sounds great to me right about now.
Next time I’m in a conundrum and there’s no solution, I’m going to hit the bottle hard for a thinking-outside-the-box-session. Wait a sec, is this how it starts?
“I’d like a Tanquerey Martini up with a twist please.”
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: Algebra, Bar, Gin, Juniper
Zen –noun
| 1. |
Chinese, Ch’an. Buddhism. a Mahayana movement, introduced into China in the 6th century a.d. and into Japan in the 12th century, that emphasizes enlightenment for the student by the most direct possible means, accepting formal studies and observances only when they form part of such means. Compare koan, mondo. |
| 2. |
the discipline and practice of this sect. |
Every once in a while the bar will be a mob scene early in the evening and people party like sparklers on the 4th of July, that is to say that they burn hot and bright for a very short while before their breakneck alcohol consumption catches up to them. Then there’s a mass drunken exodus out the door leaving a nearly empty bar in their wake. Bartenders love it when this happens because the bar has made it’s money, we’ve made our money, and the last few hours of the night are stress free allowing us to chill and hang out with our regulars. Or play foosball. Or Scrabble. as was the case Friday night- there was indeed a Scrabble board (and a Scrabble dictionary) on top of what would normally be a beer soaked bar at two thirty in the A M. Yes, it’s a little pathetic I know but don’t go pointing your fingers at me. I wasn’t the one playing. It was the other guy behind the bar (lil honesty here- only reason I didn’t play was because there were already four people) and he stormed back to victory by dropping a triple word score in the final minutes with three little letters… Z… E… N…
Arguing. Lots of it. Apparently Zen is not acceptable as a word in Scrabble. It’s not in the Scrabble dictionary. (it’s not in the online one either) “Zen is a proper noun” said the Scrabble nerd. Maybe it used to be but it’s not just a proper noun any more and why isn’t scrabble up on this? and why are there people sitting at a bar at three in the morning arguing about it?
I’ve always felt that English is a continuously growing language. It breathes, it lives, it adapts to the times– it is not stagnant. That would be no fun. “What do you mean?” you say? ——– Examplelalingo!
Day bartender: I hate cutting fruit all the time
Night bartender: I Don’t. I find it very zen. It’s nice to relax and not have to concentrate on what you’re doing. (notice——NOT a proper noun there)
Exampladocious Two
Customer: Whatcha doin Sunday night?
Bartender: “Inappropriating. That’s what Sunday’s are for right?” (If congress can appropriate, I can in-appropriate)
BARTENDING OBSERVATION: No matter how it feels to you, cocaine will not induce a zen-ic state. I can tell by the way you chew your face off. or your dentures. (That’s right Ricky) While we’re on the topic… when you’re doing blow you don’t sound smart either. Actually you’re pretty annoying and you sound stupid and insecure. Other people are trying to talk too. Let them.
BARTENDER: This crowd is lame
DJ: Word
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: Bar, bartend, cocaine, foosball, language, Late Night, Scrabble, Zen
“You’re one crisis away from being a rock star.”
That was what my partner behind the bar said to me when I walked into work this weekend. Now what does that mean? am i destined for suicide? heroin? reality television? Can I just meet him in the middle and go on Ninja Warrior? I know there’s a chance I can make it through the first two stages.
I thought about it all night.
I thought about it while trying to exact some American Justice against two Italian tourists on the foosball table. Just like the last world cup, the Americans didn’t realize their true potential. The Italians were over matched but once again sleezed their way to victory.
Bartending Observation: The weak dollar has flooded the streets of New York with young Euro Travelers who can now come and kick it around the Big Apple for the same cost as what they would have spent on a hostel in Amsterdam. Can’t blame them. They still don’t tip or wear deodorant though so I don’t have to be nice to them.
He said it again at the end of the night too.
The money had been counted. The masses had gone home. Arms into jackets. Handshakes all around. “Good nights” and “Be safes” -”Good work” “Thanks for everything” “One more for the books” “You’re one crisis away from being a rock star.” huh? “errr…Good night.” I think. The thing is he said it like he was proud of me.
I thought about it all weekend.
…and I’ve come to the conclusion that I had dark circles under my eyes and my buddy was noticing my resembelence to Nikki Sixx. Ok so I haven’t come to any conclusion. Anyone?
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: Bar, foosball, New York, Ninja, Rock Star
When the word hangover comes up in conversation most people conjure up thoughts of headaches and maybe some nausea. There are other symptoms and it’s time we bring them to light…
If one were to wiki the word hangover (and i did) one would see this… “symptoms that may include dehydration, fatigue, headache, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, weakness, elevated body temperature, hypersalivation, difficulty concentrating, anxiety, irritability, sensitivity to light and noise, erratic motor functions, and trouble sleeping.” Notice please- headaches and nausea are barely the tip of the iceberg and for some stupid reason the randomness of St. Patrick’s day always gives me the full train wreck of “oh my god, why do I feel like such a loser?why can’t I sleep?(yet why can’t I get out of bed?) why are my hands shaking and palms sweaty and holy Sh@$! It’s been almost a week and if I sniff Guinness I’m going to run as fast as i can to the nearest sink and splash cold water on my face cause if I don’t i might just jump out the window. What do you mean we’re on the first floor? So? I’ll jump out that window anyways… maybe the glass will cut me and put me out of this unending misery. You know what? screw you pal! I’m going to kick your ass as soon as I stop shaking you jerk off. Why aren’t you hung over like this you douche? Probably cause you didn’t do St. Patty’s day right, so don’t judge me you squeeky clean loser. I’M NOT IRISH EITHER!”
This brings up two other symptoms not in any dictionary be it web-based or web-ster. Theres the Hangover Demons, the voices in my head that argue incessantly (see above) - There’s also the stupid songs that just repeat over and over in my noggin at really high decibel levels. It’s never anything in good taste. This week I’ve been walking around with one of those freecreditreport.com jingles playing under everything I do. You know the ones where the guy is working at the Fish and Chips restaurant? yikes
As a night behind the bar looms I can’t help but feel like some higher power is having a laugh at my expense. I’m still twitchy, sweaty, and not sure I can handle the tequila I usually medicate myself with on Friday nights. (Jaeger then? maybe- No beer, never beer again) What more just punishment for a person who drank enough to kill a small horse than to make them smell liquor for eight hours straight? By the end of tonight I’ll be wearing that smell. It’ll be in my pores, my hair. I might as well be swimming in it. The thought of it makes me want to try and get my shift covered but then there’s that whole “rent” thing hanging over my head.
Dante wrote about the different levels of hell. I believe that my St. Patty’s behavior puts me smack into the “Glutton” category and according to our man that means that I would be stuck in the Third Circle doomed to eat my own feces for all eternity. Is this a coincidence? I feel kinda like I’m about to spend my weekend doing just that. I challenge anyone who doubts the torturous nature of bartending with a Third Circle Hangover to go out tonight and drink extremely irresponsibly. Need a suggestion on how to accomplish this? No prob
- Lets start with 8 well tequila sunrises- the sugar in the grenadine should do the trick.
- Around number 5 or 6 start sprinkling in a few shots of Southern Comfort.
- Towards the end of the night I recommend drinking a few beers to slow down your consumption. For this I would prescribe Miller High Life. (it champagne after all)
When you wake up tomorrow and feel like a gorilla pooped in your mouth, you’ll know you’re on the right track. After the vomiting and headaches begin to subside and the “I’m a bigger loser than Tanya Harding” depression kicks in, go grab yourself a brandy snifter. (or a thermos, it doesn’t matter) Pour some Hennessy in that sucker and just take a big whiff. Just imagine what it would take to make you drink that stuff. Now dump it on your head and go talk to two hundred strangers.
Hell on Earth? Possibly. Probably.
I’m off to work.
Categories: Uncategorized
Tagged: Bar, Hangover, St. Patrick's Day, Vodka, rum, Tequila, Triple Sec, Hell, Dante, Inferno, nausea
