By: Sweepea
So did I pass the test? I needed to get a 90% or more. I know you’ve all been waiting with anticipation, so here’s the conclusion…
Well, I finish taking the Bartending written exam and take the papers to Betty, who seems pretty proud of herself. I mean, here I have taken Graduate-level courses in college and was never this stressed. But I must look pretty nervous because she says, “So how’d you do?” with a big smug grin on her face.
“You tell me,” I say, and I hear the woo-ee-oo tones from the movie “High Noon” ringing in my head.
She gets out her red pen, and I sit and watch her correct my test. Check, check, check… Hey look at that, I got one right… check, check, check…
Archive for Bartending 101
Bartending 101: Mid-Term Exam – The Test!
By: Sweepea
I decided a while ago that I was going to take the written exam. Well, I did as much “research” as I could (step 1 of The Plan) and also procrastinated as long as I could (step 2 of The Plan). So now it was time to face the inevitable tunes.
I don’t want to fail in front of a bunch of people, so I leave work early and drive to the school. Against my plan, four other people are there, including a guy from my class (a huge basketball player-slash-college student).
“Hey,” I say. “You testing today too?”
“At this very moment,” he says.
“How’s it going?” I ask, seeing that he’s still working on the first page.
He groans and shakes his head as an answer. I’m feeling even less confident now.
Bartending 101: Mid-Term Exam Preparation
By: Sweepea
I decide that I’m going to take the written exam. Yeah, before that whole “12 drinks in seven minutes” practical exam, you have to pass the written exam – which I am told usually takes around 2 hours to complete and is a complete bitch.
I interrogate Betty all week about what the test is like. She says you have to get a 90% to pass the test, and that she has seven different versions of it. More importantly, no one is allowed to take the test home, whether they pass or fail it. Damn, no chance of getting an underground photocopy. There goes Plan A.
Plan B begins to take shape. First I must keep grilling Betty about what’s on the exam. I get out of her that the first part is recipes, where you have to write out complete ingredients for 36 – yes, thirty-six – drinks. Down to the ounce. If you get anything wrong – even a stupid garnish, it’s a point off. The next section is glassware identification, which should be no problem – I’ve been using the glasses the whole time. But then there’s Liquor Dictionary. Not only do we have to identify alcohol types based on brand names, but ingredients and how to make the stuff.
Bartending 101: Pass the Poseur
By: Sweepea
Back at Bartending School, Betty lets us know that the latest trends can change the popularity of drinks ordered. Apparently whenever a new song or TV show highlights a particular drink or alcohol, people flock to it, most of the time not even knowing what the heck they’re ordering.
For example, before you go all Snoop Dogg at the bar and order a gin and juice, you might want to decide what juice you’ll be wanting with your gin. Apparently when posed this question many wanna-bes acquire a vacant expression on their face. Snoop Dogg was not specific, but you need to be. Suggested juices that go well with gin are cranberry or grapefruit juice.
Women who watched “Sex and the City” not only started ordering more martinis (especially Cosmos), but Manhattans. And most were ordered without the knowledge that Manhattans have whiskey in them – a lot of whiskey. If you want to order the trendy Manhattan but not end up puking at the taste, try a Soco Manhattan. The Southern Comfort has a sweeter taste that is easier for a non-whiskey drinker to endure. And you’ll still have that cute cherry garnish, don’t worry.
For those of you who’d like to “Pass the Courvoisier,” Busta Rhyme with a Baby Doll: it’s got Courvoisier, Grand Marnier, and a splash of lemon juice, served in a sugar-rimmed cocktail glass. For something more manly-sounding, try a Georgia: same drink on the rocks, without the girly sugar rim.
Cheers!
Bartending 101 (Not Really): Dumpster Drama
By: Sweepea
So I had this absolutely brilliant piece written that outlined my complete genius in becoming a bartender. It was inspiring, stimulating, and breathtaking, and I guarantee that there would’ve been a tear in your eye by the end. But then my stupid work computer crashed and the doc was lost. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have been doing this stuff at work, but that’s really not the point. The point is that with the SIGD offices closed the past week I really had no motivation to write it all over again. So now you’re stuck with this.
Bartending 101: Don’t F With The Bartender
By: Sweepea
Today in class we learn about basic customer service. What I really learn is…
Don’t Fuck with the Bartender
There are a lot of ways to make a bartender do “tricks” when you order. But beware: bartenders are taught to get even. If you ask for a Cuba Libre NFL-style*, expect a watered-down drink and a lot less attention.
After Betty talks to us about how the customer is always right and good service means good tips blah blah blah, she talks about ways bartenders can mess with the customers when they’re pissing you off.
She starts by showing us how to make it look like you are pouring heavy when you’re actually not pouring much at all. All the bartender has to do is put their finger over the pour hole and touch the tip to the glass. It looks like alcohol is coming out of the bottle, when it’s just the glass image distorted through the ice.
Bartending 101: Alcohol On The Brain
By: Sweepea
All I can think about is alcohol. It’s Saturday night and I am going out for a much-needed Girls’ Night. But all I can think of are drinks based on the color of my friends’ outfits. Gina is wearing pink, so naturally I think of a Pink Lady; Ali’s in a brown halter, so I think of a Dirty Mother. And Ali doesn’t even have kids.
We go to the Liquid Kitty and sit in a corner booth. Loud but slow acid jazz is blaring. I should be relaxing and enjoying the time with my friends. But looking over at the bar, I feel like I’m in an office supply store. It affects me as much as looking at a row of file folders. I’m seeing the bar the way it is in the classroom; it all looks like colored water to me. I can smell the food-coloring and paint. None of it looks appetizing.
Bartending 101: James Bond Is A Pussy
By: Sweepea
I love men. I love your one-track minds, how you yearn for the power of the remote, and how you talk about sports like we discuss “Desperate Housewives.” But the one thing I will never understand is how you guys worship James Bond.
It’s the beginning of another class when Betty announces, “James Bond is a pussy.” There is a collective gasp that fills the room.
I, of course, don’t really have an opinion on Mr. Double-Oh-Seven. Not like I hate the guy, I just don’t have much information to go on. The only James Bond imagery I’ve seen is when it’s spoofed in an Austin Powers movie.
But the men in my class go ballistic. There are hurt expressions and many protests…one dude puts his hand to his heart as if he’s experiencing chest-pains. “What??” one guy finally whispers.
“James Bond is a pussy,” Betty repeats. She looks around the room, knowing the blasphemy she’s committed. And then she tells us why.
Bartending 101: First Day of School
[Ed.Note: Alright class, everybody sit down. Lazlo! Get the Elmer's Glue out of your mouth! I would like everyone to welcome our first female contributor, Sweepea, to the fold with her first in a hopefully ongoing series about bartending school. Enjoy.]
Because my boss has yet to realize my true financial potential, and I got screwed over by my last roommate moving out on a whim, I need to make some extra cash – and fast. After evaluating my limited talents (my proficiency in flirting and the ampleness of my chest), I decide the solution is obvious: Bartending!
I show up to my first class having no clue whatsoever of what’s in store for me. But the minute I see the classroom I feel right at home. The room is an L-shaped bar with stools. It’s the best classroom I’ve ever been into. I wish college classes were like this. We’d all hunker up to the bar, order a round of Jack and Cokes, and talk about Milton’s Paradise Lost. I’d have never ditched class. Hell, I’d be the first one there everyday.
