August, 2005
Little Nightmares
I walked in the bar off Exchange Street, a lazy afternoon, and
saw just the bartender and a couple lazy drinkers sitting at the long
mahogany bar. The place was spotless but full of character; a
bar that had a history, was comfortable in its own skin, and hadn’t
come out of some marketer’s box of themes. My heart expanded
with pleasure and I took a seat at the bar (stools at the perfect
height, with a rail). I glanced left at the draft handles – Coors
Light, Bud Light, Miller Lite, and Michelob Ultra? Do you have any
bottles? "No, sir, we only serve the freshest of draft beer!"
I slumped, disappointed – and woke up.
Ah, bed. It was just a bad dream. I rolled over, and drifted off
again…
Cathy and I walked into the restaurant, led there by a trusted
friend’s recommendation. ‘The food,’ he’d said, ‘is excellent,
a Scandinavian/Mediterranean fusion I’ve never seen before that
works amazingly well.’ We’d been meaning to try it for weeks,
and finally put together a sitter for the kids and a night off from my punishing
schedule of brewery and distillery visits. Original oils dotted
the walls: Phoenician traders off-loading bales of reindeer hides
from their long-eyed ships, Vikings harpooning giant octopuses,
Hercules trading blows with Thor. We sat down and the waiter brought the
menus. ‘Can I bring you something to toast your arrival?’ he
asked with a hearty smile. Sure, what beers do you have? ‘Oh, we
have everything!’ Damn…
Hoo, that was bad, haven’t had that one for a while. Cathy’s
snoring; shake her a bit, back to sleep…
Now, this is a tap selection. Augustiner Maximator,
Diamond Knot IPA, New Glarus Double IPA, Penn Kaiser Pils, Blue
& Gray Stonewall Stout, Wachusett Blackshack Porter, Budvar Dark,
Cantillon Iris… and that’s just right in front of me. The taps
stretch off to my left and right, over 200 in all, and finely
selected. There are five handpumps: Fuller’s London Pride,
Three Floyds Pride & Joy, Yards ESA, Stoudt’s Pilsner, and
Two Brothers French Country Ale. Oh, my… I’ll have that Budvar
Dark! It arrives…cloudy. It smells of a sewer. I send it
back, no problem, sorry, what else? Oh…let me have the Bluebird
Bitter. It’s sour. Southern Tier Phin & Matt’s? Flat.
Speedway Stout? Lactic. Yuengling Porter? Chunky.
Cantillon Vigneron? Sweet. Bud Light? Ropey. Noooooooooooooo!!!!!
This time I wake up sweating, and Cathy’s got her hand on my
shoulder. ‘Are you all right? You were thrashing around.’ I’m
fine. Now. Whew. Just a dream…
I pushed the Passat through a last drift, the diesel
alternately chugging and roaring as the ESP relay chattered and flipped,
deftly juggling power between the wheels. There was the light I’d
seen through the storm, a country inn where I could hole up while
this surprise blizzard blew itself out. The weather reports now
said it would dump a total of 28 inches, followed by bitter cold;
I could be stuck here for days. I grabbed my bag and plowed my
way to the door, to be greeted by a smiling young woman who took
my bag and pointed me to the bar; ‘I’ll take this up to your room,
sir,’ she said. I shook off the snow and the cold and walked up
to the busy bar, feeling the hard, cold miles drip from me in the
warmth of the camaraderie I felt from fellow travelers. ‘What can I
get you, sir?’ asked the man behind the stick, an experienced,
older man in starched whites. I leaned on the mahogany and examined
the backbar: Jack Daniel’s Green Label, Tangle Ridge, Heaven
Hill White Label, Ten High, Kessler’s…
I sat up in the bed so fast my butt left the mattress, rode
the bounce off the bed and hit the ground running. Down the stairs to
the kitchen and pulled a BridgePort IPA out of the fridge, got a
glass and the Hirsch 16 Year Old out of the closet. A few
delicious sips of nectar later, I indulged in a bit of oneiromancy.
What did these nightmares mean?
It was pretty plain. Despite massive strides in the
availability and appreciation of better beer and whiskey, it’s still far
from a perfect world out there. Taplines are neglected and
kegs are not moved fast enough. There are still many bars and
restaurants that haven’t heard the word, or simply continue to ignore
the desires of some of their customers. Staff training lags,
and so does manager and owner training. Enthusiasm isn’t enough,
it needs to be tempered with experience, education, and
experimentation.
I’m talking to you, bar owners. Some of you get it, and for
you, all I can say is well done, keep it up. For the rest of you,
I’d like to offer some help. First, fix what you’ve got.
If you’ve got bottles in a cooler lit by fluorescent tubes, replace
them with low UV tubes or turn
off the lights (and let people know why): they’re skunking
your beer. Your taplines need to be cleaned every week, by
someone who knows what they’re doing and who has the right
equipment. There are services out there; find one. If there isn’t
one in your area, learn how to do it yourself. The payoffs
are real, especially if you let people know you’re doing it.
Maybe your selection could use some help. A good way to get a
clue on what to do is to hit a website like Pubcrawler
or BeerAdvocate, find the places
in your area that get the highest ratings for beer selection,
and go see what they have on. Don’t just go with what your
wholesaler suggests; they’ve got their own agenda. (Don't
ignore them, either: chances are, they've got some good stuff.) If
you don’t really get the whole "great beer" thing, hire
someone who does and give them a little freedom. If you don’t
get whiskey, buy a book: Jim
Murray’s are excellent. Or, you could drop
me a line.
People can’t order what they can’t find. Make up a list
with names, sizes (for beers), and price at the very
least, it’s better if you can add some descriptions. Have your
full beer selection and your high-end spirits; if your rail
booze is special, note that: "Our house bourbon is Jim
Beam Black Label." Keep It Simple: don’t make it a
hardbound book that you won’t want to change! Keep it all on two
sides of a piece of paper if possible, print out plenty of them,
slip them into clear protectors, and scatter them along the bar, place
them on every table. And when things change, hit PRINT on your
computer and change the lists. If you have rotating taps, you
might want to consider a chalkboard, in addition or instead.
You’ve got the drinks, now train your staff. There’s only
one thing that gives a worse impression than a place with a short
beerlist, and that’s one with a good list where the servers are
butt-ignorant of what they’ve got. Your staff should be familiar
with what you have available; they should know what beers are similar
to them, they should know what they go with on your menu,
they should know the strength. Ideally, they should taste
everything that comes in. I’ve done staff training, and the
interest – and payoff – is remarkable, particularly once they
realize that better beer gets them better tips.
That’s better. Back to bed, scrunch down under the covers, give
Cathy a quick kiss, and drift off to sleep again… Life could be a
dream, sweetheart… ‘Yes, sir, we do have the 1994
Cuvee Rene, may I suggest the moules frites with that? And
would you like me to pour, or would you prefer to pour for
yourself?’ Shaboom!
