Jeff Burkhart: The recipe for a good time at a bar

I passed through the front sidewalk patio and breezed up to the little bar. I removed my jacket and spread it over my seat, plopping down.

“Hey, Tommy,” I said, settling in.

“What’s up?” asked Tommy ebulliently, shaking a cocktail.

“You know, living the dream,” I said.

And sometimes that dream includes nothing more than a warm place to sit and a cold drink to sit there with.

Three minutes later, both of those simple wishes had been fulfilled. The simpler you make life, the simpler it is to make that life complete. Needless complications are for people who aren’t looking for fulfillment.

“This martini has too much vermouth in it,” said the man sitting next to me.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Tommy said.

“I’m the customer, and I’m telling you it has too much vermouth in it,” he said to Tommy.

That customer then looked at me but gestured toward Tommy. “Can you believe this guy?”

“I only say that because I didn’t put any vermouth in it,” said Tommy, polishing a martini glass with a lint-free bar towel.

Well, this was awkward. Nothing makes you look less like an expert than not knowing what you’re talking about.

“But I ordered a martini,” explained the customer. “And martinis always have vermouth.”

“You ordered an extra-extra-dry martini, and that means no vermouth,” Tommy said.

And Tommy was right. Many of us have heard the saying “just glance at the vermouth bottle” or perhaps its variant, “just nod in the direction of France.” What do you think that means?

“Would you like me to put some vermouth in it?” Tommy asked.

The martini drinker didn’t know what to say. It’s one of those moments in the service industry where the truth is undeniable. I once had a guy accuse me of forgetting to put in his food order. We went back and forth for a few minutes, with him berating me and me apologizing profusely before I suggested that I could put the order in now and “rush” it, meaning that it would be out in a few minutes. But he had to remind me of what he ordered.

“It was the veal,” he said with no hesitation.

We didn’t carry veal. In fact, we never carried veal. Awkward.

My customer had left. I guess being wrong was just too much to bear. Tommy’s customer was different. He stayed. He stayed through my appetizer. He stayed through my dinner. He didn’t make it to my dessert. But in that time, he learned something. He learned that he actually liked vermouth in his martinis.

“You handled that pretty well,” I told Tommy.

Tommy just shrugged. Another day, another dollar.

Tommy and I talked about that guy. We talked about basketball, and we talked about cars. We even talked about martinis. You see, Tommy and I are friends on social media. And social media can certainly bring people together. Who doesn’t belong to a group that has a specific topic? I know I do. If I’m looking for an obscure ingredient, or a sports trade rumor, or a local recommendation, or even a car part, why not? You’d be foolish not to. It’s a great way to gather information, if in fact that’s your goal. It’s also a great way to disseminate wrong information.

“Hey, Tommy, here’s a picture of that bigfoot I was telling you about,” said another customer.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you again. There isn’t a family of bigfoots living at the reservoir,” Tommy said. “If a black bear wandering into town makes the TV news, I imagine a family of 8-foot apes certainly would.”

The man looked dejected. He turned to me.

“Do you want to see?” he asked.

“Why not?” I said as the sports team on the TV was behind by too large of a margin to possibly make up.

Tommy looked at me sideways. The man’s grainy, out-of-focus picture didn’t really show anything, much less anything resembling an ape or even a reservoir for that matter.

“See,” said the man, very satisfied.

I looked at Tommy, and he gave me that “I told you so” look. I didn’t look at any more pictures from that guy.

When my dessert was finished, so was the game, and so was my evening. Overall, it was a great experience: excellent drinks, excellent service, interesting company and a most satisfying dining experience. Some people call it wasting time in a bar, but enjoyable time is never a waste.

I paid my bill and got up to leave.

“Great to see you, Tommy,” I said.

You too, dude!” Tommy said.

And I headed out the door.

Leaving me with these thoughts:

• You can’t learn anything if you aren’t able to be wrong.

• Quality vermouth is actually quite tasty.

• True hospitality is a truly unforgettable experience.

• Part of the experience of sitting at a bar is inviting in the strange company.

• In retrospect — and I’m pretty certain about it now — I don’t think Tommy had any idea who I was.

Jeff Burkhart is the author of “Twenty Years Behind Bars: The Spirited Adventures of a Real Bartender, Vol. I and II,” the host of the Barfly Podcast on iTunes (as seen in the NY Times) and an award-winning bartender at a local restaurant. Follow him at jeffburkhart.net and contact him at jeffbarflyIJ@outlook.com