A few weeks ago I celebrated the 40th anniversary of my becoming a bartender. My under-the-table employer ran a high volume college bar located just off State Street in Madison, Wisconsin, home of the University of Wisconsin. It was appropriately named University Klub. I guess spelling club with a “K” is what made it so swank.

Anyway, I started out as a bar back. I washed glassware, poured draft beers, fetched buckets of ice and cleaned off the bar top. On game nights the place was jammed to the rafters with hard drinking frat boys and draft dodgers. On non-game nights the place was just seedy and classless, and jammed to the rafters with hard drinking frat boys and draft dodgers. It was a tough place to work. Not many Martini drinkers there.

After about four months, I felt I had learned everything there was about washing glasses, pouring drafts, fetching ice and wiping down the bar top. So after memorizing a handful of recipes in Old Mr. Boston’s Drink Guide, I tendered my resignation and went looking for a real bartending job.

I was lucky. I got hired on at a medium-priced restaurant and started working with a hulking, short-tempered bartender. I spent half my time fearing the man and the rest of the time trying to stay out of his line of sight. He was, however, a fast, efficient and highly skilled bartender from whom I could learn a lot. At first I was relegated to washing glassware, pouring draft beers, fetching buckets of ice and cleaning off the bar top. Over time, though, Lurch let me start making drinks. Despite being a smart-ass neophyte, I gradually learned the ins and outs working the stick. Continue Reading