If you’ve recently been to Town that bald guy behind the bar isn’t the bald guy who used to be behind the bar. That was Dean, who told everyone he is my better-looking younger brother. (In truth he is older, which makes his better-lookingness even more unbearable). Dean pinch hits for us from time to time when we need him, but he’s just as happy to come and sit with a Peroni and watch his daughter Kathleen working hard in her duties as expo (assembling single dishes into either ‘table’ or ‘to-go’ orders) or host. The new old guy behind the bar is me.
Steve (professional bartender, great guy, guitarist, singer and music trivia mavin) has recently been engaged in a running internal battle whether he is grateful for the help or petrified that I’m actually making every cocktail just a little bit wrong. Like all things, with practice one gets better. Never mind that I still sometimes forget to add the mint to the cucumber and mint gimlet, the servers have learned to watch for gaffs like this. And Steve has no idea how bad he was when he got started, not because it was too long ago, but because he can’t remember anything that happened between his 18th birthday and his 32nd birthday. He can’t relate.
I’ve enjoyed learning at least a part of the trade and with Steve and Alyssa helping (Alyssa is a Rountree and so, was born a professional) I’ve gotten progressively better.
What’s fun about bartending? All the things that are fun about cooking. Deciphering combinations of flavors is fun. Watching people be happy with something you make, that’s fun. For me, the challenge of remembering the recipes so I don’t constantly have to grab our bar bible is always fun. I like a challenge.
Bartending is more like baking though and this is part of what makes it hard for me. When I cook I rarely use recipes. I understand ingredients, know flavors and balance and taste my way to success. Bakers measure. If a recipe says ¼ teaspoon adding ½ can knock the earth off its axis, at least in baker world. Bartender world is almost the same. ½ ounce means ½ ounce. People who’ve been doing it for a long time can upend a bottle and pour out the right measure without measuring. People who haven’t been doing it for as long need to measure. So I measure. Most of the time anyway.
Unexpected fun comes in heart-warming little surprises. Like seeing a drink order and knowing who the customer is even though they’re seated outside. (Like Dr. Rich’s martini/gin and tonic combination or another customer’s old fashioned in a cocktail glass (also called a martini glass), or another customer’s very specific Black Manhattan, made with Cynar (which I have learned to pronounce “chinar” which rhymes with dinner only with an “R” at the end… uhm…never mind).
Another fun surprise is pulling an order off the printer and seeing an old friend’s name and knowing how much he would love that when someone orders our house martini they order it by asking for a Rhymer. Most folks don’t know the drink is named for Don. Some think it’s a standard cocktail and I’ve heard funny stories from people who’ve attempted to order it by name elsewhere. (Even the Four Seasons in Maui doesn’t seem to know what a Rhymer is!)
But some people mess it up. A Rhymer, as anyone who drank gin seriously with Don would tell you, never, ever, comes with an olive. It is never dirty. Don and I actually used to argue, not seriously – although for Don this was a semi-religious subject – about whether a gin martini is better with an olive or a lemon twist. Don was adamant, a twist. I actually used to bait him by telling him I thought the brininess of the olive was a better compliment to the gin. It was fun to see his face change from friend to sort of benevolent monk looking at useless knave and wondering how on earth I had made it this far in life. So, a Rhymer is Don’s martini. It is made with a twist and shaken hard. Nowadays we would call it “bruised.”
Friends of Don’s come in together from time to time; the journalist, the anchorman, the engineer, and I know they’re at Town when I see their cocktail order. Three Rhymers, all correct, with a twist. It makes me smile again to know we all remember our friend so vividly, even after the years.
When I started Town I wanted the place to be a place where our community felt safe and special. I wanted to make sure that no matter your preference or economic background, whether you’re coming in from the cloistered heights of La Canada or the nether regions of South-Central La Crescenta, you’d be able to find something that you enjoy. I wanted to make sure our servers always made you feel welcome, not because that’s the job but because they’re actually, truly glad you’re there.
No one could have predicted the whirlwind of these last months. In the midst of it all I’ll admit there were moments when we’d look at each other and wonder how the team could pull the place through. But I think the effort of sewing that ethos into the fabric of Town worked just well enough for you and us to pull through.
We’re almost back. Not quite. But close.
And soon enough we’ll all have a chance to hoist the drink of our choice and cheer the end of these dark times and think of the friends we’ve lost and celebrate the friendships we share and Town will be there and we’ll be there and for me, that’s good enough reason to smile.
Just don’t order your Rhymer with an Olive. That’s not a Rhymer. It’s an “add-your-name-here” martini. And the Four Seasons won’t know what that one is either.
Town’s Black Manhattan
Town’s own, “Rhymer” martini
Barrel aged old fashioneds at Town.