The Cappuccino Martini

Those of us who opt for the delicious combination that is coffee and booze, know exactly what we’re doing. Although it most often shows up in the form of an Irish Coffee (I’ll eventually straighten out the misconceptions about that one), there are plenty of other ways to both imbibe, keep oneself awake, and look damned good doing it.

NOTE: if you’re over 25, quit drinking retarded Jager Bombs and Vodka-Redbulls. Those drinks belong only at frat parties… they’re bro drinks. There are a handful of cocktails that scream ghetto classless. Anything with Redbull is on that deafening list.

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Bar Rot on Steroids

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Word to the wise: Don’t let your bar rot (Paronychia) go untreated. Heed my words or you’ll wind up in a doctor’s office or E.R. facility like this guy above. This level of infection is what used to happen to my Bangladeshi barback just about every other week. Poor guy. He’s a dirt-ass however and rarely followed proper hygiene nor did he bother to see a doctor about his finger puss problem. I’ve often wondered exactly what he was doing with his fingers when he’d disappear during my shift for 20 minutes at a time. Regardless, bartend frequently, and your fingers will get fucked up. You girls who relish long, sexy salon nails – it may be best to consider another profession or just keep your man-scratchers short and simple. Just sayin…

SHTF Cometh This Sunday

As many of my brethren on the Eastern seaboard know, it’s hurricane season up in the heezy. Those of you in the panhandle of the Sunshine State, know it a just a bit more than you probably care to acknowledge. You guys are repeatedly hit with the brunt of Mother Nature’s shit show. Up here in New York City, we generally don’t give two shits about no stinkin’ hurricanes – that is, until we do. City dweller’s typical idea of hurricane preparedness is ensuring the subway’s running and making damned sure that the nearest local watering hole has an available stool or two. That’s why I’m shocked as shit when I visit the local grocery and big-box stores, 3 days ahead of Hurricane Sandy’s predicted landfall, only to watch in horror the soccer moms, old farts, and just about everybody else start prying every last pseudo-survival item off the shelves.

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The Dublin Mudslide

 

I’m not one of these dudes who’s a afraid to veer a little left. A good contigent of my bros routinely give me shit for lifting a pinky and sipping on something off-beat (read: something other than Jamesons, Jack Daniels, Bud and Coors Light). Even in The Great Liberal North-East – NYC being the epicenter of “live and let live” – there is still a bastion of meathead’ish, old school, “straight-guy logic” that outs itself in force when boozing time rolls around. There’s a set of unwritten rules to abide by. Among a half-dozen, mostly straight dudes, few other things can incite fierce stare-downs and raucous shit-talking faster than ordering a “girly” drink (like a milkshake, fruit-juice highball, or the poster-child for metrosexual and homosexual men – The Cosmo). Having the balls to order such a drink in a sea of seemingly straight men has sometimes even lead to drunken skirmishes.

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The Fine Art of Queuing Up – British Style

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Let’s face it: our forebearers, forefathers – or whatever you want to call them – on the other side of the pond, have a few things not going so well for them. The lot of them have got grills fresh from the tannery and uric acid treatment facility, arranged in the antithesis of symmetry. They desperately cling to the powerless puppet show called a Monarchy, where the biggest claim to fame these days is (1) random, spied, Duchess boob – in and of itself, a non-event and (2) a worldwide devotion to said Duchess’s hotter, younger sister’s, pretty fabulous ass. The U.K. also has the dubious distinction as being the first in line at the political trough, shamelessly following the U.S. into the latest/greatest, unjustified, Imperialist , invasion like a dumb puppy on a leash – misinformation be damned.

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Lifers

There comes a point in one’s Hospitality career where one must make a decision – veer left or veer right. Get the hell out of the Service Industry or concede that you’re well on your way to becoming “Lifer.” You’re not going to be doing “much else” besides slinging drinks and serving slop to alkies, social imbibers, and the dregs of humanity – or so the social elite (my parents, unfortunately) keep telling me.

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How to Get a Bartending Job in NYC

Having been behind the stick for nearly two decades now, along with owning a tenth of .001% of el Blogosphere-O real estate for a short while, I get my fair share of interesting questions. Looking back, if I could tally them, I’d say some of the most frequent are (1) can you hook me up [booze-wise] (2) you get laid a lot working here, don’t you [or some variation] (3) how much money do you make and (4) how do I get a bartending job?

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The Truth About the Slop Called the Staff Meal

I often work in gourmet eateries frequented by the likes of the Firecrotch, KimYe and every Tom, Dick and Harry in between. Oh, they’re no Alain Ducasse type of places but shit – they sure do put on a great front (and mostly fail). Yet, the bar/restaurant/lounge going public couldn’t care less how many Michelin Stars these spots aren’t bestowed. From their perspective, the eats are damned good and the eye-candy, even better. So when you roll into my restaurant bar, peruse the menu, and ask me “what’s good?,” be prepared for a big, fat, fake-ass smile. Brace yourself for a litany of grad-school approved, Madison Ave fluffed superlatives suggesting the priciest (read: bigger tip percentage) McNuggets on the menu and how scrumptious I say they are. There’s just one problem: it’s all a big fat fucking lie.

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Myths of Mixology Debunked

A few dashes of vermouth

Fancy Fingers Pouring Technique – For Mo’ Better Flavor

Folks calling themselves “Mixologists” are truly strange characters. The truth is that they almost all suffer from an elevated inferiority complex. They bend over backwards to have you identify them, not as the plebian “bartender,” no… but as something much more – someone who studiously and methodically “crafts” your “beverage.” They’ve gathered their Turbinado Sugar, Organic Basil, Candied Ginger, and Fennel Seeds and have them all on tantalizing display in the bar trough – almost always in fancy little mason jars. There’s just one major problem: these people are fucking retarded slow at making drinks.

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How To Pour Multiple Shots

So you want to be a bartender, eh? Oh, it’s not that hard – or is it? Like many other of life’s pursuits, the job is what you make of it. Meaning: you make it difficult or you make it easy. The more you study (not necessarily books), the more knowledge you absorb, and mostly – the more experience you acquire, the better you will be at bartending and easier your job will become. Notice, I didn’t say “…the better you will be at slinging drinks.” If you’ve been reading my blog a while, you’ll know that there’s a shit-ton more to being a great bartender than just memorizing index cards with drink recipes that you gleaned from (God-forbid) Mr. Boston.

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