Thursday, July 01, 2004
Football
I'm pretty pissed off right about now. I dropped by Monaco and saw the manager again, and while he was glad to see me, he was irritatingly noncommittal about training times, saying he wasn't on top of it, and that he was really busy, so he didn't know when would be good. So I asked when should I come back next week, and he replied that it'd be better if I waited for a call. I don't know about the restaurant world, but in theatre, that's pretty fucking clearly universalese for "no." I hope it's different in the service world. Maybe he honestly is going to call. I am going to be very, very annoyed if he jerks me around any more. I really don't want to go back out on the pavement, as I hate popping into every fucking establishment I pass and simpering to the manager. In any case it's too early to go back out there. I hate this. Deeply, deeply hate this.
On another note, it's been settled: the football match to which I'd like to bring a small army will be Liverpool FC v. AS Roma, two excellent teams, at Giants Stadium on August 3rd at 7:45pm. We've chosen this match because a friend of mine from college, Natty, and a friend of hers will be coming into town and staying with us right around then. Both Natty and this friend, Katie I think is her name, were Roma supporters when they lived in Rome and hail from English households who support Liverpool. So that's settled. Tickets will be $35-40. Anyone who's interested, let me know.
On another note, it's been settled: the football match to which I'd like to bring a small army will be Liverpool FC v. AS Roma, two excellent teams, at Giants Stadium on August 3rd at 7:45pm. We've chosen this match because a friend of mine from college, Natty, and a friend of hers will be coming into town and staying with us right around then. Both Natty and this friend, Katie I think is her name, were Roma supporters when they lived in Rome and hail from English households who support Liverpool. So that's settled. Tickets will be $35-40. Anyone who's interested, let me know.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Tammany Hall. I just like saying it. Tammany Hall. Tammany. Great word.
The Bataan Death March is progressing well. Last night I went down to Tammany Hall to do some guest bartending for a half hour. It's only for NYBS students, and not an open thing, which is cool, so I saw a few of the people I was in class with. They had gone to Plantain last night and made nothing but Mojitos, which I consider a great reason not to go to Plaintain. Mojitos and Caipirinhas are a pain in the ass to make. It involves taking a muddling stick and pummeling the snot out of the slices of lime, ice and sugar you've got in the glass. Though Rachel and Shannon didn't actually have to muddle the limes and sugar, since they had some kind of mix on hand. But all the same, it is my desire never to work in an establishment so willfully negligent of the welfare of its service as to feature muddled or (which are much worse) blended/frozen drinks on its menu. It's just not nice.
So I spent some time yesterday at Isabella's on 77th and Columbus. They seem to be hiring, but they don't seem to be hiring me. After filling out an application, I had to take a written test. Now, they don't have separate tests for bartenders and servers because "we hold all of our service to the same standard, plus we're great walloping cunt-bags." So I sat there staring at this typo-ridden test ("what is the right temperate (sic) for tuna?" I thought temperate was some kind of technical term), having no idea what side of the guest one is supposed to serve the food from, not being able to name three types of mushrooms (Portobello, button, magic?), etc., and wondering if I shouldn't just hand the damn thing in and say I'm sorry, I think I've made a mistake. But then I turned to the second page, which was all bartending questions, and all easy. How do you make a cosmo, how do you make a margarita, what do you ask when someone orders a martini, name three gins and three vodkas, etc. Nailed that sucker. Then they asked What is couscous, and I was sure it was a trick question. I said a type of small-grain rice. Buh. They also wanted us to memorize a list of specials, which we would then repeat to the manager. Of course we weren't going to see the manager, they just lied. But it occurred to me that I'm not really comfortable eating any foodstuff which is accompanied by a procession of five or more adjectives: Streusel stuffed roasted White Georgia peach." It's a FUCKING PEACH!
Oy. Well, I'm not getting hired there. Fuckers. Honestly, my inability to name three types of lettuce really shouldn't interfere with my ability to mix a damn drink. Oy. Fuckers. At least the guy seated next to me looked totally baffled.
So then, after crashing and burning, I went to Tammany's. It was perfectly pleasant. I only had to make five drinks in my half hour: 2 Jack & Cokes (which my father and I have determined to be a way of fucking up two perfectly good beverages), 1 Grey Goose & Tonic (sucker), 1 White Russian, and best of all, a pint of the black stuff.
Now I don't know what rocks they've got in their heads in this country that they tell you to tap a Guinness without tilting the glass. I wanted to belt the bartender (who was otherwise a perfectly cool guy) when he instructed me to just leave it flat on the rail and pour till it was an inch and a half from the top. No. That's what you do if you're really, really under the gun. There's not a bartender in all Ireland will let you behind their bar if that's how you pull a pint. You're supposed to hold it at a 45° angle, gradually bringing it more and more vertical as the glass fills. It says so on the Guinness coasters, damn it. And then you place it in front of the client and you make his drunk ass wait. You wait over a minute before you fill it. Bah. Stupid Americans. I did get off two leaves of the shamrock, though. I'll get 'em all next time.
So I spent some time yesterday at Isabella's on 77th and Columbus. They seem to be hiring, but they don't seem to be hiring me. After filling out an application, I had to take a written test. Now, they don't have separate tests for bartenders and servers because "we hold all of our service to the same standard, plus we're great walloping cunt-bags." So I sat there staring at this typo-ridden test ("what is the right temperate (sic) for tuna?" I thought temperate was some kind of technical term), having no idea what side of the guest one is supposed to serve the food from, not being able to name three types of mushrooms (Portobello, button, magic?), etc., and wondering if I shouldn't just hand the damn thing in and say I'm sorry, I think I've made a mistake. But then I turned to the second page, which was all bartending questions, and all easy. How do you make a cosmo, how do you make a margarita, what do you ask when someone orders a martini, name three gins and three vodkas, etc. Nailed that sucker. Then they asked What is couscous, and I was sure it was a trick question. I said a type of small-grain rice. Buh. They also wanted us to memorize a list of specials, which we would then repeat to the manager. Of course we weren't going to see the manager, they just lied. But it occurred to me that I'm not really comfortable eating any foodstuff which is accompanied by a procession of five or more adjectives: Streusel stuffed roasted White Georgia peach." It's a FUCKING PEACH!
Oy. Well, I'm not getting hired there. Fuckers. Honestly, my inability to name three types of lettuce really shouldn't interfere with my ability to mix a damn drink. Oy. Fuckers. At least the guy seated next to me looked totally baffled.
So then, after crashing and burning, I went to Tammany's. It was perfectly pleasant. I only had to make five drinks in my half hour: 2 Jack & Cokes (which my father and I have determined to be a way of fucking up two perfectly good beverages), 1 Grey Goose & Tonic (sucker), 1 White Russian, and best of all, a pint of the black stuff.
Now I don't know what rocks they've got in their heads in this country that they tell you to tap a Guinness without tilting the glass. I wanted to belt the bartender (who was otherwise a perfectly cool guy) when he instructed me to just leave it flat on the rail and pour till it was an inch and a half from the top. No. That's what you do if you're really, really under the gun. There's not a bartender in all Ireland will let you behind their bar if that's how you pull a pint. You're supposed to hold it at a 45° angle, gradually bringing it more and more vertical as the glass fills. It says so on the Guinness coasters, damn it. And then you place it in front of the client and you make his drunk ass wait. You wait over a minute before you fill it. Bah. Stupid Americans. I did get off two leaves of the shamrock, though. I'll get 'em all next time.
Monday, June 28, 2004
Oof
Mein feets. They hurt. All day I have spent a-roving the byways and highway of the Higher Best Side, turning into every bar and restaurant I passed, asking, "Excuse me. Hi. Is the manager here? Oh. Well then. Nice to meet you. I was wondering if by any chance you were hiring bartenders at the moment? No? Well, would you mind terribly if I left my resumé? Here you go. Okay, then. Cheers!" By the end of the day, all I really had was one mostly pointless interview at Pizzeria Uno with a dizzyingly fidgety manager, pointless because in the end I found out they were only really interested in servers, and a few loose ends, restaurants that were opening up, in to which I will pop on the morrow. There was one, though, which looked promising. At 3pm I stopped into Monaco on 80th and Amsterdam, a lovely little spot. The two very genial waitresses informed me that they were indeed hiring, and that the manager would be in at 6pm. I went back at 5:40, at the end of my ramble, and he still wasn't there. I returned 40 minutes later: success. Success!
In a manner of speaking. He likes me, likes my resume, wants to "see me in action" and will call tonight or Wednesday to set up training times (all prospective bartenders have to go through training. The head bartender takes charge and puts you through your paces, and if he likes you, you get the job. Training can last a week, but I think only one person does it at once. Plus, I think I'll have to fuck up something serious to blow this. Kinehora). I'm very glad he seemed to like the resumé, which is funny, because my resumé, um, is, well, a work of fiction. To put it lightly. Here. I print it for you, as I hand it to managers:
Samuel Benjamin Ashworth
Certified Bartender/Mixologist
133 West 82nd st
New York, NY 10024
Cell:646-436-9110/Home: 212-787-8629
Objective: to obtain a F/T or P/T position as a bartender
•Experience
October 2003-May 2004: Bartender, Mother Reilly’s Pub, Dublin, Ireland
•Handled all aspects of bartending in local pub.
•Prepared and executed opening and closing procedures.
•Worked in team atmosphere with up to four other bartenders at once.
Summer 2003: Server, CityCrepe, New York, NY
•Prepared and served crepes to clients.
•Operated computerized cash register.
•Responsible for behind-counter organization.
•Other work experience
Summer 2003: Administrative assistant, Department of Pediatrics, Bronx-Lebanon Hospital Center, South Bronx, NY
•Instrumental in editing, design and creation of department’s website.
•Aided residents in the organization and presentation of medical findings.
•Diverse forms of data entry.
Summer 2001: Office intern, Alan Hevesi Mayoral Campaign, New York, NY
•Called volunteers and contributors.
•Organized and campaigned at fundraisers at restaurants, bars and clubs.
•Wrote and edited form letters to constituents.
•Qualifications and skills
Summer 2004: New York Bartending School, New York, NY
•Completed intensive state-certified training course in real bar scenario.
•Knowledge of fine table wines, sparkling wines, dessert wines and single malt whiskies.
•Learned all drinks and spirits served in Manhattan’s top clubs
•Emphasis placed on customer service, speed mixing and trendy cocktails
•Enthusiastic, animated, creative and articulate, proficient with POS systems.
•Bilingual French speaker
<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>
In fairness, most of that is true. I am certified. But you may be wondering--that is, if you've not got the brains God gave grout--why, if I spent eight months working at Mother Reilly's, why I never mentioned it here. Well, obviously, because nothing I do is withheld from your glowing screens, that's because it's, uh, a HUGE FUCKING LIE. I made it up completely. Do I feel guilty? Not one bit. Have I covered my ass? Yes. If anyone wants a reference number, I'm giving them my friend Dave MIsstear's cell phone number, and letting him pretend to be the manager there. I should call him tomorrow and let him know. But hey, you know, I did spend more than enough time there. As for why I took a class after having gotten so much experience? Well, there's not much of a cocktail culture in Ireland, and if I ever wanted to cut it in New York, I was going to have to know what I was doing. I just want to be the best that I can be. I always told you I didn't have scruples.
Come on. I'm definitely not the only one doing this. We were actually COACHED in how to lie on our CV's. We were told, either choose a place in another state or country, or choose a trendy New York place which has since gone under. Adam, my teacher, told us about this place called Litchkoe's that used to be really trendy, but then went belly-up. Apparently, EVERYONE in town has it on their CV. I figured my beloved Ma Reilly's was a bit safer. And hey, I'd work there. I love it there.
So here's me hoping there's no such thing as justice. Because "all I need is one big break, just one big break, then mister, watch my speed."
Okay, so none of you have ever heard Flora the Red Menace? Bummer. It's a great score. I'll play it for you sometime.
In a manner of speaking. He likes me, likes my resume, wants to "see me in action" and will call tonight or Wednesday to set up training times (all prospective bartenders have to go through training. The head bartender takes charge and puts you through your paces, and if he likes you, you get the job. Training can last a week, but I think only one person does it at once. Plus, I think I'll have to fuck up something serious to blow this. Kinehora). I'm very glad he seemed to like the resumé, which is funny, because my resumé, um, is, well, a work of fiction. To put it lightly. Here. I print it for you, as I hand it to managers:
Samuel Benjamin Ashworth
Certified Bartender/Mixologist
133 West 82nd st
New York, NY 10024
Cell:646-436-9110/Home: 212-787-8629
Objective: to obtain a F/T or P/T position as a bartender
•Experience
October 2003-May 2004: Bartender, Mother Reilly’s Pub, Dublin, Ireland
•Handled all aspects of bartending in local pub.
•Prepared and executed opening and closing procedures.
•Worked in team atmosphere with up to four other bartenders at once.
Summer 2003: Server, CityCrepe, New York, NY
•Prepared and served crepes to clients.
•Operated computerized cash register.
•Responsible for behind-counter organization.
•Other work experience
Summer 2003: Administrative assistant, Department of Pediatrics, Bronx-Lebanon Hospital Center, South Bronx, NY
•Instrumental in editing, design and creation of department’s website.
•Aided residents in the organization and presentation of medical findings.
•Diverse forms of data entry.
Summer 2001: Office intern, Alan Hevesi Mayoral Campaign, New York, NY
•Called volunteers and contributors.
•Organized and campaigned at fundraisers at restaurants, bars and clubs.
•Wrote and edited form letters to constituents.
•Qualifications and skills
Summer 2004: New York Bartending School, New York, NY
•Completed intensive state-certified training course in real bar scenario.
•Knowledge of fine table wines, sparkling wines, dessert wines and single malt whiskies.
•Learned all drinks and spirits served in Manhattan’s top clubs
•Emphasis placed on customer service, speed mixing and trendy cocktails
•Enthusiastic, animated, creative and articulate, proficient with POS systems.
•Bilingual French speaker
<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>
In fairness, most of that is true. I am certified. But you may be wondering--that is, if you've not got the brains God gave grout--why, if I spent eight months working at Mother Reilly's, why I never mentioned it here. Well, obviously, because nothing I do is withheld from your glowing screens, that's because it's, uh, a HUGE FUCKING LIE. I made it up completely. Do I feel guilty? Not one bit. Have I covered my ass? Yes. If anyone wants a reference number, I'm giving them my friend Dave MIsstear's cell phone number, and letting him pretend to be the manager there. I should call him tomorrow and let him know. But hey, you know, I did spend more than enough time there. As for why I took a class after having gotten so much experience? Well, there's not much of a cocktail culture in Ireland, and if I ever wanted to cut it in New York, I was going to have to know what I was doing. I just want to be the best that I can be. I always told you I didn't have scruples.
Come on. I'm definitely not the only one doing this. We were actually COACHED in how to lie on our CV's. We were told, either choose a place in another state or country, or choose a trendy New York place which has since gone under. Adam, my teacher, told us about this place called Litchkoe's that used to be really trendy, but then went belly-up. Apparently, EVERYONE in town has it on their CV. I figured my beloved Ma Reilly's was a bit safer. And hey, I'd work there. I love it there.
So here's me hoping there's no such thing as justice. Because "all I need is one big break, just one big break, then mister, watch my speed."
Okay, so none of you have ever heard Flora the Red Menace? Bummer. It's a great score. I'll play it for you sometime.
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