Take a gander at this miraculous device… you know you want it.. Look, this thing serves absolutely no purpose behind an operational bar – I don’t think. At home though? That’s another story. I love vino! Don’t you? Being that I’m hogtied to a chick who’s been (and will be) on the wagon in perpetuity, I find myself – not only strategically hiding bottles of this, that and the other thing, all over the house- but frequently retrieving my lost stash and imbibing at home alone. Therefore, it behooves me to keep my – uhh – grape juice, as non-vinegary as possible, for as long as possible. Well, if you’re an anal aficionado like me, how the hell do you do that once you pop the cork (if you’re not gonna chug the whole damned thing at once)? Modern technology is your ticket… Enter: The Coravin Wine Access System 1000.
Last night’s grand interaction:
[Me] Hey fellas. How are you? What can I get for you?
[Whiz Kid] Yo! Wassup? What do you got that’s cheap?
[Me][Slight pause and look of confusion] Well, all the drinks are kind of inexpensive here. Why don’t you give me an idea of what you normally drink and I can give you some suggestions?
[Whiz Kid] What’s less than $10?
If you’re an adult past the legal drinking age in your ‘hood, and have had the good fortune to make it back alive from an evening of even moderate imbibing more than a few times – then chances are you’ve run into a particular type of drink slinger, who with his/her less than pleasing demeanor, has left a particularly nasty scar on the memory of your otherwise stellar evening. At best, you may simply been treated like a cold number by an unexpectedly austere ingrate. On the flip side, perhaps you flashed your cash (and cleavage), while repeatedly gesturing for service at a 3-deep bar, only to have waited (from your perspective) an extraordinarily long while. Upon finally being paid some attention from the barkeep, (a) your drink tasted like murky, NYC Summer Subway Puddle (b) your round was missing a drink (b) you were overcharged (c) he/she slammed down your cold Salade au Chèvre Chaud with cold abandon and (d) the resultant argument with the manager got you escorted to the curb by two terrifying, seemingly uneducated, 375-pound, 6’7″ men. To add insult to injury, the local constables then threaten to cuff you for theft of service lest you sign the [already gratuitized voucher]. What a farse! My friend, you’ve been shat upon by the all to common Douchebag Bartender. There’s only one problem: Bitter Bartenders are made, not born.
Food Republic’s mixologist-snob article induces chuckles a plenty. Here’s a snippet:
2. You are serious about ice. So much so that you have a guy for it. As in, someone who delivers cubes to your door shaped like oversized jewels, hand carved from wild ice illicitly harvested off the coast of Newfoundland. Each cube is graded, like a diamond, for cut, clarity and density. You have a whole series of shots on Instagram of your designer rocks, which are so crystal clear in the glass they’re invisible.
Head on over for the full article.
Shoemoney – I need me some. Above, are my recently deceased bartending kicks. They’re in desperate need of burial-at-sea, and replacement. They’re Clark Roars and they were actually quite stylish, comfortable, affordable and stank-free when new. They finally shit the bed last week at the most inopportune time: mid-shift. The soles separated from the leather. My Clarks lasted me 10 months of nearly daily use under extremely toxic conditions. That’s not bad for a $100 pair of leathers. If you’re bartending routinely, uber-comfortable, stylish (and hopefully water-resistant) dogs are essential to your health and happiness. Unfortunately, comfy almost never plays nice with stylish and waterproof, at least not for a shoe intended for harsh bartending environments.
It’s 4th of July people… yeah, you know what that means: you’ll be guzzling whatever cheap pisswater your second best BFF has so generously [not] spent a ton of money on at his shitty BBQ. And oh, you won’t be complaining about it. Cuz any hooch that’s bite-ass cold (and gets you buzzed) has got to be ok, right? It’s like a broke-ass, glory days of Freshman year redux only, it happens every year ’til you check out. You sure as shit know Dave has him a kitchen fridge teaming with ice cold Leffe, Old Engine Oil, Chimay Blue and Lagunitas. But you, Mr. 4th of July Party Guest, ain’t gettin’ none of it!. You’ll be relegated to quenching your thirst with this jizz above as you freeze your hand off deep-diving into a ginormous Coleman cooler of some sort. Oh well, the shit is free, right? It can’t be all bad.