Monday, July 25, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Day 3
Wow...I had no idea how truly prophetic my last post would be.
(Before reading, you may want to scroll down and click on the video/song...this one's a doozy)
As seen on TV, last Thursday was a defining moment in my life. A moment when I stood tall for my beliefs, my morals and values. Those that my father taught me at a very young age. Honor thy mother. Yes, I know it says somewhere very important that you should honor your Father too...but Dad only taught me the first part. He thought that was of paramount importance.
Last Wednesday afternoon I arrived to work after writing all morning on a couple of proposals for my owners, one of which was a cookbook proposal posted and dated on this blog (so don't get any ideas Chef) for our Chef/Owner. When I arrived to work, my female owner who was married to my Chef/Owner called me over. "Don't send him any more emails," she said. Why? What had happened since Saturday, July 2nd, when I walked onto a stage with him and made drinks for a crowd of 75 people as a representative of his restaurant? "He's been cheating on me," she told me. Turns out it was with our new AGM who was a big breasted blond from Nevada who was married herself. My heart sank below my belt line.
This power couple of the Denver restaurant scene had taught me everything I know about how to play this little game of the elite. I learned flavors and experimentation from my Chef. I learned PR and Marketing from his wife. I learned how to send out press releases when I had something minor to talk about and STILL get it in print. I learned how to weather storms and rise above all of the management changes. I learned how to create a bar program when my beverage director walked out on a Saturday. I made my name in this restaurant, with the help of this power couple.
But my allegiance was with her. When I had a problem at work, I called her, and she listened. She fought for me in the press. She patted me on the back when I was down and believed that I was one of the most essential members of the staff. She is like my older sister. And I hurt for her.
She told us she wanted to be strong, so she asked the two of them to leave the restaurant. We all wanted Chef to take some time off and regroup. We all wanted Mom and Dad to work it out. I would remain as long as she did, but somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it was all over.
I walked into that restaurant two years ago and fought each and every day to make that place a special home for all of us. I tried to be a leader in the best way that I could. I was the oldest brother in a family full of brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles. Our owners preached "Family First" in every meeting we ever held. And here our Chef was, forgetting family. Losing sight of his wife and kids, his employees who had stood beside him — even when other people said hateful things about him — to get his name out in bright lights.
We worked that night, Wednesday, July 6th, 2011. In shock. And awe.
The next morning I called her to see how we would handle the PR when Chef announced he would be taking some time off. But before we got into all of that, she started crying. I knew then. She wouldn't be staying. She couldn't stay. How could she walk into that restaurant that she built with her husband and work day to day like nothing had gone wrong? How could she step into that office to run the evening reports when she knew that was where the affair began? All in all, the name on the door was made up of his initials. No one can blame her for walking away.
His hubris was too much. He believed in the hype that she and I had created for him. Furthermore, he owned the restaurant outright. Everything was in his name. He wouldn't be taking any time off, he told her. He would be bringing his AGM/Mistress back to help manage. He didn't care if we all walked away. Nothing mattered except for him and her. "If they don't like it, they can fucking leave," he is rumored to have said.
"Well that makes my decision easy," I told her. "But don't worry. This isn't the end of us."
I called Ali. "We have to quit."
"Ok," she said. "I'm coming over."
I tried calling all of the management. No one was answering. The only thing to do was to go in to work. I had to tell our bar manager that he would be losing half of his staff immediately. That was the right thing to do. I needed to talk to our General Manager. That was the right thing to do. I needed to collect my bar books and belongings...do you know how much that stuff costs??
We went into our sister restaurant down the street where we found our bar manager. He took us aside and explained what I already knew. "I'm 100% out," I said. "I will not work one more minute and make one more dollar for that man."
"Well, then I suppose I'm done too. I'm headed to Boulder to get my old job back," he told us.
The text message came at 2:45ish. All the managers had just gotten out of their meeting with Chef. "Meet in Ally."
I've never seen anything like it. I'd imagine this is what it feels like when a fire starts in your bedroom closet and you stand in your front yard watching the house you own and all your belongings burn to the ground. Every manager was standing back there, either on their phone or hugging through their tears. It was over. Everything was over.
"You're either with me or against me," was the reported sentiment and he thought we were all bluffing. He believed that at the end of the day, money and greed would win. That is his major failure in all of this: Money, Greed, Power, Fame...it had consumed him, and he believed we would all succumb to his Achilles Heel. But my honor cannot be bought. My sense of right and wrong cannot be compromised. So we walked. Sixteen of us all left together that day. Nearly half of his restaurant's staff. It may be a complete turnover by the time it's all said and done. I can't imagine anyone staying after what's happened. The dream has died in us all.
The article was printed in the Westword on Friday. She spoke on behalf of herself; I spoke on behalf of all who left that day. He chose not to speak. We kept the AGM's name out of it.
The comments section has grown nasty. I've stopped reading them.
I've begun my journey to finding a new home and have received nothing but support and love and more than a half-dozen job offers and interviews have followed. I'm not tooting my own horn here. Just posting the facts.
I had the feeling that I had grown beyond the walls of that restaurant. Since May, the food had been coming out slower and our Chef was rarely seen cooking in the kitchen. People did nothing but complain. Management was rarely on the floor during service. Our regular guests had dwindled to almost nothing. When I first took that job in 2009, Chef hardly took a day off. That's how I knew I was working for a good man. When he stopped showing up, that was a red flag.
When he was on the line he was distracted, flustered and grumpy. He yelled at me for not picking up a Cod quick enough, then yelled at me for picking up the wrong one. I'm a bartender. I was walking by to get limes. I was just trying to please an unpleasable man.
He'd turn the lights up all the way over the bar on a Friday or Saturday night. They burned our eyes and the brightness heated the air. We begged him to turn them down to a more intimate and sexy vibe. He refused. We just waited till he left and fixed them.
There were fruit flies everywhere. The chairs were badly in need of a paint job. Just months before, you needed to book a table two weeks in advance on a Thursday. Now you could just walk in.
On Saturday morning our AGM's Husband (and who has even thought about HIM during this entire diatribe) walked into the restaurant, strolled right up to the Chef, and punched him in the face.
I was playing guitar out on my patio, watching the rain.
Sorrowing Man
By City and Colour
The Fruitlessness of Sorrow
2 oz Gin
.75 oz White of Egg
.5 oz Campari
.5 oz Lemon Juice
.25 oz Simple
2 Dashes of Peychauds
Will be reddish white and very bitter. Serve without ice like a fizz. No garnish.
(Before reading, you may want to scroll down and click on the video/song...this one's a doozy)
As seen on TV, last Thursday was a defining moment in my life. A moment when I stood tall for my beliefs, my morals and values. Those that my father taught me at a very young age. Honor thy mother. Yes, I know it says somewhere very important that you should honor your Father too...but Dad only taught me the first part. He thought that was of paramount importance.
Last Wednesday afternoon I arrived to work after writing all morning on a couple of proposals for my owners, one of which was a cookbook proposal posted and dated on this blog (so don't get any ideas Chef) for our Chef/Owner. When I arrived to work, my female owner who was married to my Chef/Owner called me over. "Don't send him any more emails," she said. Why? What had happened since Saturday, July 2nd, when I walked onto a stage with him and made drinks for a crowd of 75 people as a representative of his restaurant? "He's been cheating on me," she told me. Turns out it was with our new AGM who was a big breasted blond from Nevada who was married herself. My heart sank below my belt line.
This power couple of the Denver restaurant scene had taught me everything I know about how to play this little game of the elite. I learned flavors and experimentation from my Chef. I learned PR and Marketing from his wife. I learned how to send out press releases when I had something minor to talk about and STILL get it in print. I learned how to weather storms and rise above all of the management changes. I learned how to create a bar program when my beverage director walked out on a Saturday. I made my name in this restaurant, with the help of this power couple.
But my allegiance was with her. When I had a problem at work, I called her, and she listened. She fought for me in the press. She patted me on the back when I was down and believed that I was one of the most essential members of the staff. She is like my older sister. And I hurt for her.
She told us she wanted to be strong, so she asked the two of them to leave the restaurant. We all wanted Chef to take some time off and regroup. We all wanted Mom and Dad to work it out. I would remain as long as she did, but somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it was all over.
I walked into that restaurant two years ago and fought each and every day to make that place a special home for all of us. I tried to be a leader in the best way that I could. I was the oldest brother in a family full of brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles. Our owners preached "Family First" in every meeting we ever held. And here our Chef was, forgetting family. Losing sight of his wife and kids, his employees who had stood beside him — even when other people said hateful things about him — to get his name out in bright lights.
We worked that night, Wednesday, July 6th, 2011. In shock. And awe.
The next morning I called her to see how we would handle the PR when Chef announced he would be taking some time off. But before we got into all of that, she started crying. I knew then. She wouldn't be staying. She couldn't stay. How could she walk into that restaurant that she built with her husband and work day to day like nothing had gone wrong? How could she step into that office to run the evening reports when she knew that was where the affair began? All in all, the name on the door was made up of his initials. No one can blame her for walking away.
His hubris was too much. He believed in the hype that she and I had created for him. Furthermore, he owned the restaurant outright. Everything was in his name. He wouldn't be taking any time off, he told her. He would be bringing his AGM/Mistress back to help manage. He didn't care if we all walked away. Nothing mattered except for him and her. "If they don't like it, they can fucking leave," he is rumored to have said.
"Well that makes my decision easy," I told her. "But don't worry. This isn't the end of us."
I called Ali. "We have to quit."
"Ok," she said. "I'm coming over."
I tried calling all of the management. No one was answering. The only thing to do was to go in to work. I had to tell our bar manager that he would be losing half of his staff immediately. That was the right thing to do. I needed to talk to our General Manager. That was the right thing to do. I needed to collect my bar books and belongings...do you know how much that stuff costs??
We went into our sister restaurant down the street where we found our bar manager. He took us aside and explained what I already knew. "I'm 100% out," I said. "I will not work one more minute and make one more dollar for that man."
"Well, then I suppose I'm done too. I'm headed to Boulder to get my old job back," he told us.
The text message came at 2:45ish. All the managers had just gotten out of their meeting with Chef. "Meet in Ally."
I've never seen anything like it. I'd imagine this is what it feels like when a fire starts in your bedroom closet and you stand in your front yard watching the house you own and all your belongings burn to the ground. Every manager was standing back there, either on their phone or hugging through their tears. It was over. Everything was over.
"You're either with me or against me," was the reported sentiment and he thought we were all bluffing. He believed that at the end of the day, money and greed would win. That is his major failure in all of this: Money, Greed, Power, Fame...it had consumed him, and he believed we would all succumb to his Achilles Heel. But my honor cannot be bought. My sense of right and wrong cannot be compromised. So we walked. Sixteen of us all left together that day. Nearly half of his restaurant's staff. It may be a complete turnover by the time it's all said and done. I can't imagine anyone staying after what's happened. The dream has died in us all.
The article was printed in the Westword on Friday. She spoke on behalf of herself; I spoke on behalf of all who left that day. He chose not to speak. We kept the AGM's name out of it.
The comments section has grown nasty. I've stopped reading them.
I've begun my journey to finding a new home and have received nothing but support and love and more than a half-dozen job offers and interviews have followed. I'm not tooting my own horn here. Just posting the facts.
I had the feeling that I had grown beyond the walls of that restaurant. Since May, the food had been coming out slower and our Chef was rarely seen cooking in the kitchen. People did nothing but complain. Management was rarely on the floor during service. Our regular guests had dwindled to almost nothing. When I first took that job in 2009, Chef hardly took a day off. That's how I knew I was working for a good man. When he stopped showing up, that was a red flag.
When he was on the line he was distracted, flustered and grumpy. He yelled at me for not picking up a Cod quick enough, then yelled at me for picking up the wrong one. I'm a bartender. I was walking by to get limes. I was just trying to please an unpleasable man.
He'd turn the lights up all the way over the bar on a Friday or Saturday night. They burned our eyes and the brightness heated the air. We begged him to turn them down to a more intimate and sexy vibe. He refused. We just waited till he left and fixed them.
There were fruit flies everywhere. The chairs were badly in need of a paint job. Just months before, you needed to book a table two weeks in advance on a Thursday. Now you could just walk in.
On Saturday morning our AGM's Husband (and who has even thought about HIM during this entire diatribe) walked into the restaurant, strolled right up to the Chef, and punched him in the face.
I was playing guitar out on my patio, watching the rain.
Sorrowing Man
By City and Colour
The Fruitlessness of Sorrow
2 oz Gin
.75 oz White of Egg
.5 oz Campari
.5 oz Lemon Juice
.25 oz Simple
2 Dashes of Peychauds
Will be reddish white and very bitter. Serve without ice like a fizz. No garnish.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Day 2
I'll call this one, el dia de independencia...
Yes, I'm well aware that isn't correct.
Yesterday, July 4th, 2011, marked the arrival of Off the Cuff. Although I did not set this blog up to brag, as the great Tupac would say, "If you got it, better flaunt it, let the liquor help you get up on it."
Presenting...The Firecracker (You can find the recipe back on Day 1). It popped up on People.com over the holiday weekend, and I have to say I am more than stoked. Apparently Leonardo DiCaprio, Katy Perry, Jay-Z and the chick from Gossip Girl would all imbibe. You can check out the full article here.
In other Cocktology news, This is Ali and I.
Yesterday, we made our way up to Loveland, Colorado for our first ever off-site cocktail catering gig. We made our signature three party-specific "Off the Cuff" style cocktails, had two cases of Stryker Wines, three cases of New Belgium Beer and more fruit than you could shake a muddler at.The afternoon was hot out on the lake, and after I spilled a deli container of blueberry syrup on my shorts the kiddie slide into the lake was a welcome relief. It felt amazing to be making my own money, running my own business and having fun. Might be pretty easy to get used to.
Patriot's Punch
Begin with a Lemon Oleo Saccharum
Add:
50 oz White Rum
50 oz Dry White Wine
37.5 oz Hibiscus Tea
25 oz Blueberry Syrup
25 oz Lemon Juice
Garnish with Blueberries, Pineapple and Strawberries.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Day One
I still haven't figured out the perfect look for this blog, but that's something more akin to procrastination than actual web development skills. Not that you need them for Blogger, but you know what I'm saying...
Our first day in Cocktology isn't just one day, it's more of a culmination of days all leading up to my three-day weekend at Aspen Food & Wine here in Colorado. An event that brought me to the forefront of both the culinary and cocktailian arts. As a guest, employee and newly adopted member of Team TyKu, I was wined, dined and saked through the small(ish) town of Aspen, Colorado. I made drinks for National TyKu Accounts like Famous Dave's BBQ (who loved the Firecracker - recipe below) and Intercontinental Hotels. I rubbed elbows with Daniel Boulud and other notable industry celebs who have their own Wikipedia pages. I saw the Prince of Saudi Arabia's glass-cased bidet. I won a Colorado Cocktail competition using Avery White Rascal, Caprock Gin, White Pepper Hazelnut Syrup, White Grapefruit Juice and Vanilla Wafers (yep...it worked, well) and earned a trip back for Shannon and I to Aspen in the Fall. I drank at Jimmy's Famous Bar with the who's-who of Cocktology. I met my two new sisters Tara and Sydney. I watched Michele fall into a hot tub. I danced in the rain.
What I'm trying to get out, what I'm seriously struggling with here, is that on December 9th of 2009 I was a no-body. A cliche to end all cliche's, I was an out of work writer who had just completed his Master's Degree in English Literature and was in the middle of a nasty little break-up (although, I think if you asked her, we were never in anything worthy of breaking up). In no-exaggerated terms, I was floundering. I believe on December 7th, my graduation day, with my parents on my way to pick me up in my gown, I was sitting on the floor of my bathtub, knees pulled tightly up to my chin, crying desperately as the shower-head shot lukewarm rain at my skull. I was 30.
Sure, I had options: 1) Pack everything up in my truck and run as far away from my god-forsaken state of affairs as possible. Napa Valley maybe? Or Seattle? I still had people in Austin that would take care of me too, if I wanted to head back home. Or 2) End this fucking thing. All of it. Kiss my dog one last time and step into on-coming traffic. Grab my pistol. Drunkenly drive my car off one of those windy roads up in them-there mountains (Ryan Dunn, RIP).
Pathetic. Yeah, I know. It's not like I'm proud of those thoughts now. One Day In Cocktology is much more than your usual Cocktail Blog. Those are popping up every other hour from "mixologists" all over the country with access to a web browser. No. This story about the day I woke up and accepted the world I'd been handed. A world that I had been running from since I was 17. That world behind a bar...a world that, if looked at through the right lens is just as, if not more, creative than the world I had left behind.
Furthermore, this world wants me. It accepts me. It takes me to Aspen and feeds me sushi for free. It lets me sleep in the same cabin that President Bill Clinton once stayed. It takes me to Kentucky to have dinner with Fred Noe Sr., the great-grandson of Jim Beam. It has me dreaming of New York, of Europe, of California. It as resurrected thoughts of opening my own restaurant/bar/deli/menage-a-whatever. Bartending has been my saving grace, my rise from the ashes. It's brought me a new life, a new reason to wake in the morning. It also brought me to the woman I love...but more on that at a later date. Finally, It brought me, more than anything, another future.
Our paths travel in directions we don't plan...but, after the past year and half of professional bartending, after meeting Shannon and discovering a future...I realize this has been planned all along. To do anything but embrace it would be a travesty.
Phoenix Rising (aka. The Firecracker; aka The Wind Up Bird) - Picture TK
2 oz TyKu Silver
.75 oz Thai Chile Agave Nectar*
.5 oz Lemon Juice
3 slices of english cucumber
.5 oz soda water
Muddle cucumber in a shaker and all of the ingredients except for the soda with ice. Shake well. Strain into a collins glass filled with ice and top with soda. Garnish with lemon and cucumber peel.
* To make Agave: Add 12oz of agave to a sauce pan. Dice up two to three thai chiles (depending on heat) and add to the pan. Bring to a boil and simmer for 5 mins. Strain.
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