Sympotein!

Good Evening, cherubs!

My absence this time? A pleasantly boring vay-cay in the Arabian Desert; in a town where one needs to have an ‘alcohol license’ to drink – and where two official government websites pertaining to acquiring one 404. Shocker.

I will not tell you where the place is, but I’m sure a clue won’t hurt.

It’s One. Big. Construction site.

(Like the aforementioned websites)

Anyway, my lack of alcohol led me to attempting to brew mine own aqua vitae, and considering I still have full use of my arms, limbs and genitalia; Date Liqueur is my current Magnum Opus.  The blessings of owning one’s own date palms. I’ll let you in on the disastrously easy recipe in my next article, but for now, I thought of going in a slightly different direction tonight. Instead of reviewing bars, we shall deal with YOU.

The Patron.

Bars, being haven for the inebriated, sometimes (underestimate) lead to patrons being pissed out of their minds and blaming the ‘tenders for all their work.  Even bliss comes at a price, which is bar etiquette.

A bar is NOT a pub. A bar is NOT your couch. A bar is NOT your private brothel. True, different bars will demand different degrees of etiquette. What you can get away with at The O Bar (see: ‘O, oh?’, update 3^rd May, 2010), you will not be able to get away with at the Amuse Bouche.  You will be expected to determine this difference yourself, and this is YOUR responsibility. It is also the bar’s responsibility to show you respect appropriate to your behaviour. If you act like a moron, you will be treated as such. Bars still reserve the right to kick you out with a whim

I am not saying that a bartender is immune from being a twat, but that you need show respect to get it.

Take a deep breath, this may sting.

• ·         Know Your Bar.

There’s a reason blogs like ‘WYV?’ exist. Websites, TimeOut guides, USE THEM. If you’re out and are looking for a bar, remember: Just because it’s packed, does NOT mean the bar’s a good one. The Bastille was packed in 1789. Look for a bar where tables are in demand, or at worst, you will need to wait for a table, but not long.  You don’t want to wait millennia for that Tom Collins.

As aforementioned, not every bar is gonna know how to make said Tom Collins. If you’re lookin at one with a decent fill on liqueurs in the back, you’re in business. If not, stick to a simple classic. If you’re stuck in a pub, well. You know what to do. This leads me to my next point:

• ·         Know Your Venom.

Let me tell you mine. If I’m in a bar with a plain, decent back (and no menu): I avoid the Martinis. If you want to keep that discerning palate of yours, you should too. I keep mine simple for these occasions: A Tall Black Russian.  3 parts vodka, 2 parts coffee liqueur, fill with coke. If it’s Smirnoff, I avoid it altogether and go for a Gin and Tonic (Gordon’s, horrific as it may be, is slightly more palatable than that pathetic excuse for drinking alcohol.  I like G&T with Hendricks).

Effortless, easy, elementary. And if that bartender is inexperienced enough to ask you how a Tall Black Russian is made, uncomplicated to describe. FIND a simple concoction for the moronic. Very handy in pubs where pubtenders (I know it’s not a word, but it should be) need not serve cocktails at all.

Most importantly: If you don’t know what’s in it, DO. NOT. ORDER IT. If you’re asked how to make it and you stand dumbfounded before ‘tenders, you’re a laughingstock.

• ·         Observe Your ‘Tender:

If you are in a venue where you must go up to bar, remember: The bartenders govern their bar, you don’t. They call the shots, you just drink them. This is their territory, and must be treated as such. Remember watching hyenas scavenge around a territory of a lion pride on Animal Planet (Or Lion King for the less intellectually exploratory)?

Most often, your bartender has a method. S/He will select who to serve, and you, young hyena, must observe their patterns.  Perhaps they go from one side to the other. Perhaps they go for groups of pretty people first. Perhaps they like to entertain the people forced to the second row, purely out of kind-heartedness.  Patterns in everything, observe, note, attack.

And this is where the etiquette comes in:

• ·         Contact Your ‘Tender:

Eye contact. Smile. This does not ensure immediate service, but it ensures a good first impression, which is VITAL. They will not forget you for the night. This lion has to deal with a whole crowd of you inebriated lot, so deal with their momentary indifference.

Make your way to the front row; do NOT wave money in their face. Your cheap-ass debit card won’t work either. Do NOT snap your fingers. Do NOT whistle at them.  And for the love of all that is deliciously drunken, do NOT call them nicknames. No boss, no chief, no bro, no dude, NOTHING.

Sir, bartender or their name if you know it. Stick to these titles. This is for your own good. Consider your bartender your psychopomp to the Divine; treat them as such.

• ·         Will that be Cash or Tab?

For those who don’t know what a tab is, it’s a bar taking your credit/debit card for the evening and you pay the entire bill at the end.  Now, couple of reasons why cash is better than tab:

Tabs, on a particularly drunken eve, can result in a forgotten card, or arguments with the bartenders because one of you believes you drank more or less than you did. Or that friend who thinks you’re a walking bank account. Or that creep on the next table who hears your name. Or the fact that bars tend to add a ‘tab service charge’. Or that it takes you the whole night to realize you don’t have enough cash on your account.

Cash could make this psychopomp lion your best friend:

• ·         Tip, Tip, for the love of drunken Bacchus, Tip:

Oh, you’re a student? Oh, you don’t have the money to spend? Oh, well, boo friggin’ hoo, sit at home with your Sainsbury’s Basics Vodka and cry into your sorry ass Tesco’s-bought popcorn.

I won’t lie, there are times I don’t tip. If the drink is not up to par, or if I’ve got a tab (hah). Or if I’ve spent the last of my cash on that Vesper (this has happened more than once).

At the end of the day, bars are an expensive business.  So find that lion, choose him/her, and stick with them the rest of the night.

50p to a quid for a beer. Maybe 2 for a cocktail. Little more if you’re dealing with quality. Hand the ‘tender a note and you’re in. Remember, on your first drink, tip big. Depending on how crowded the bar is and how much you intend on drinking; 5 to 10 quid should do it. For the rest of the night, your tips get smaller. This unspoken deal your ‘tender understands, s/he knows you can’t tip like Bruce Wayne the whole night; but you know how the business works, so s/he knows you’re a hyena worth sharing that carcass with.

In short? Do not go into a bar with less than 30 quid in your pocket and someone rich to flirt with.

Oh, wait, money and flirting!

• ·         The Pre-Drink:

Keep a little alcohol at your house. It’s worth the investment. Before boozing, have two or three drinks at home, depending on your tolerance. Just enough to get the blood flowing, not enough to slur your speech or make you fail a sobriety test. Walk a straight line.

Like I said, bars are an expensive business. If I’m going somewhere I know has fabulous drinks or innovative flavours, I restrict the Pre-Drink to really enjoy the tastes. If I know it’s somewhere blasé, I’ll pound that gin back.

Remember, don’t get so drunk that the bouncers will keep you out. No point leaving the house then.

• ·      Buying Drinks for Others:

Now this is oft screwed up.

When intoxicated, falling for your bartender and demanding to buy them a drink is not uncommon. Sometimes, they might even let you, although I’ve only experienced this outside London.  Now where is the mistake you’re making?

Drinking on the job is most often reprehensible by the bar manager. It. Does. NOT. End. Well. If you’re that desperate for the bartender loins, ask for a card and their name, and contact them the next day, for goodness sake. They will reject your drink 90% of the time and are probably bored of being offered one every 10 minutes.

Oh, it’s usually illegal in the big cities. You’re threatening your cute bartender’s livelihood here.

If you’re anything like the Doctor and shy as a marmoset (when sober), sending a drink is the easiest way to spark a conversation, but also the most unreliable. A cocktail ain’t gonna give you unrestricted access to their bedroom. You might get a reply, you might not. Deal, Goldilocks.

Wait before bombarding s/he with a drink as soon as they walk in. Lovers need not waltz in with them, and heaven forbid they’re a muscle-bound neo-Nazi.

Try to get a cocktail waiter/waitress to send the drink, not the bartender. S/He ain’t gonna chase your target and take the time to explain who sent it when they have a bar to look after. Don’t hand them a drink yourself with your GHB-dosing ass

For heaven’s sake, describe your target clearly (Learnt this one from experience…*shudder*).

If received, look over at said target; because staring into your mate’s eyes while target’s looking for you is creepy, even more so than you waving incessantly at them. A smile and a small wave is enough, and if said smile and/or wave are not returned, chasing target just makes you a stalker, not persistent.

If it didn’t work, well, I warned you.

• ·         “A Round for All!”

Okay, so the night’s worn on, you and your pals are teetering over the edge. You go, “Hey, get a round of Flat-liners for everyone!” Don’t. Please don’t be that person, sometimes, people don’t feel like drinking (shock/awe). Ask your friends before making orders for them. And do this before calling the water/waitress, because they don’t want to stand there waiting for you when they could be earning tips somewhere else.

This next one should be a no brainer:

• ·         “Your clothes... give them to me, now.”

This is London. No one cares for your honour. And ‘winning it back’ doesn’t matter. Protect your reputation in this bar, if you like it – because your bar’s employees will remember you as the guy who resists getting into fights. You wanna get into one? Take it outside. And far away. Better yet, organize for a duel at dawn. A bar that has its reputation stained by your short tempered ass fighting in or around it will remember you. And not well. Losing is a failure; retreat is an art of war.

And the best piece of advice I can give you?

• ·         Be a Regular

If you find a bar you love, and love it. Go there often, befriend a number of bartenders, get to know them, tip well. This is a development of a working relationship. S/He knows your drink, how you like it, your personality and openness to taste and experience, your troubles and how to respond, and how to look after you. Follow the above rules and above ALL, be polite. Doctor’s Orders.

Cherubs! Heed these for a good night out and Dionysos keep you, you inebriated fools!

“For sensible men I prepare only three kraters: one for health (which they drink first), the second for love and pleasure, and the third for sleep. After the third one is drained, wise men go home. The fourth krater is not mine any more - it belongs to bad behaviour; the fifth is for shouting; the sixth is for rudeness and insults; the seventh is for fights; the eighth is for breaking the furniture; the ninth is for depression; the tenth is for madness and unconsciousness.”

-       Dionysos, Greek God of Wine; by Eubulos, from a surviving fragment of a lost play.

-       The Doctor would like to remind you that Ancient Greek wine was devastatingly strong and had to be diluted to drink >; ]

-       And the fact that it is a late, recent play, when Dionysos was made ‘nice’.