Some of you may know about where I came from, others may have just started to read this blog and not even know what I look like. My parents owned restaurants from the time I was 5 years old until was well into my 30's. I grew up in a restaurant, literally. My brother and I would ride the bus to the restaurant after school everyday. We would walk in the front door of the Wagon Wheel, the first restaurant they owned, and belly up to the bar. "Kitty cocktail please, and make it a double." We would then walk into the brightly lit kitchen, drink in hand, book bag hitting our feet as we walked, and grab a blank server check. "BLM....two all day, both with fries, hit the buzzer when it's ready dad." We would order BLT's without the tomato add mayo (which we affectionately renamed the BLM) and head straight to the office to say hello to our mother. Our mom was the payroll/accounting person. I can still see her sitting at the desk, her pencil in hand, glasses on, shaking her head at something that my father bought because the salesman was a pretty woman. "Michael, did we really need to order 500.00 in cigars?" My father would stand behind the line in the kitchen, spreading mayo on our sandwiches, two little faces staring at their parents waiting for the answer while they ate the cherries out of their drinks. "well, I thought it would be something the customers would want." He turns to pull the fries out of the fryer and with a turn of the hand empties them onto the plate. My brother and I grab our food and stab the check on the little stabby thing on the line, then head back out to the bar.
I am about five years old at this time, and my brother is about 9. We pull ourselves onto the high red leather bar stools and start to talk to the bartender whose name is...uhm....Gary. Gary keeps the kitty cocktails coming and the customers are interesting to talk to. On some occasions, a customer named one armed Joe will hand Paul and I each a roll of quarters. We head out to the game room and I start to play Ms. Pac Man and Paul heads to space invaders. I can still hear the song that Ms. Pacman played with the space invaders noise in the background. We would hang out in the game room for hours. Keep in mind, this is before the days of Atari and Nintendo....but this was so much better. My dad would get whatever games we wanted in the restaurant..it was amazing.
On some occasions, I would come home from school and find five or six customers at the bar. I would get up on the bar stool and perched on my knees talk to the bartender and the rest of the patrons about my day at school. I remember when I had an easy bake oven, I would set it up at the end of the bar, smoke hanging in the air from the cigarettes, the smell of whiskey and pbr, and whip up a cake for everyone. I can still see the five guys, all with one empty seat in between them, clutching their drinks in one hand and a small bit of cake served on a cocktail napkin in the other. At the age of five, I had already developed a knack of serving people...and they loved it.
My father was the one that taught me everything in the restaurant industry. He taught me to shake hands with a firm grip and look people in the eye when you meet them. "always say their name back to them so that you can remember it next time you see them." I developed a knack for remembering names early on because of this. I also would create a great talent for remembering what people drink. A customer that I got to know very well would drink Christian Brother's brandy, and another would drink Manhattans. It only made sense that my father would teach me how to make the drinks.
so began my career in bartending.
It was when I was 8 years old that my parents took over the management of a hotel downtown. The hotel was only five stories high, and we lived on the fifth floor. Where most kids had backyards to play in, I had a 1200 square foot banquet room. Most kids had fireplaces and comfy chairs in their living room, I had a hotel lobby complete with a front desk and coat room. I was pretty popular growing up.
On Friday and Saturday nights, my father would bartend, and I would be right by his side watching him with such interest and admiration. I loved the noise the ice made when it hit the glass. I was in awe of how bottles of fun colored liquid could be garnished with swirly lemon twists and blue cheese stuffed olives. "want to learn how to make an old fashioned?" My father asked me one day. I jumped at the chance to take part in that big glass with all the dollar bills in it and grabbed the ice scoop. "nope, we are going to do this first." my father said. He grabbed two packets of sugar and poured them into the bottom of the glass, then grabbed the cherry container and strained the juice into the bottom of the glass. He then filled the glass with ice and shook two drops of bitters onto the ice and poured two shots of whiskey in the bottom of the glass. "Now, if it is a whisky old fashioned SWEET, you top it off with seven up. If it is a whiskey old fashioned SOUR, you are going to top it off with sour." I watched as he stabbed an orange and cherry onto the toothpick and finished the drink with two straws. This was amazing!! Most kids my age were watching MTV or playing with Lego's. Not me...I was learning how to bartend.
That was the moment I felt I had learned something super fun. That was also the moment my father realized he had just found himself some cheap labor. I quickly learned how to make martinis, Manhattans, and tom collins. People would be completely amazed at how this kid was behind the bar knocking out drinks in a way that would make Tom Cruise in cocktail proud. I had no idea this was not what the other kids were doing, I figured every kid knew how to make a long island iced tea and how to cork a bottle of wine. My life had turned into taking care of people and making sure their drinks were full and their wallets empty. I could go over to my friends houses and see their liquor cabinet and tell them what the liquor was just by seeing the shape and design of the bottle. I would say this is impressive, but there is no time in my adult life that someone asked me if I could blindly name 45 bottles of liquor for any type of promotion.
I continued to be by my father's side throughout the four years we were at the hotel. When I was in high school, we took over the management of a golf course restaurant. We would spend fourteen years at that restaurant, and it was a very successful place in our hometown. I worked almost everyday during the summer and then after school and on weekends. My friends got jobs waitressing at the restaurant as well, and the customers became a part of my life. In the beginning, they all thought I was a cute kid. By the time I returned from college, many of them found out that I had turned into a young woman and creepily hit on me during the late night hours. One of my favorite jobs was to run the beer cart on the golf course. I was affectionately called the "Beer cart b!tch" by the guys on the course. My wallet was fat in these years and I was able to live a very frugal life in my teens.
One year, my friends (who all worked for my parents as well) wanted to go to Hawaii for spring break. I had the money to go, so started to look for tickets. "You can't go on vacation, Sarah. I need you to work." My father sprung this on me like a deflated balloon spinning into the air. "what do you mean I can't go?" I said. I have the money dad, and all my friends are going. "That's exactly it, all your friends are going, which means I have no staff and I need you to work." I waited for him to break into laughter, but the only laughter I heard was during the stories my friends told when they showed me the pictures that I was NOT a part of during their vacation. I was miserable that week. My pasty white skin glowed in the dark next to my tan friends. I had no hard rock Hawaii t-shirt to wear the week after vacation, I had no cool bracelet I bought on the beach from the native vendor. All I had were callouses on my hands from opening too many cans of beer in a lunch shift. "Sarah, I tell you what I am going to do." My father looked at me with a smirk as if he was ready to say he would send me on my own vacation this summer with my friends. "I know you are sad that you missed the spring break trip with your friends, but I am going to make it up to you." I sat up quickly and rubbed my hands together, ready for my present. "I am going to take the money that you would have spent on the vacation and buy a new four slot industrial toaster for the restaurant. It will be here on Monday." I stared at him blankly....he was joking right? "Just think, the vacation will come and go but that toaster will be here for years!! You can look at those photos anytime, but the toaster will be right HERE." He pointed over to an area on the counter by the fryer. I rolled my eyes and walked away from him.
Over the years of high school, I missed four spring break trips in all. Here is what my consolation prize was....
Spring break 1989....my friends went to Mazatlan. I got a brand new reach in four shelf beverage cooler.
Spring break 1990...my friends went to south padre. I got an automatic dishwasher.
Spring break 1991....my friends vacationed in Cancun. I got an induction oven.
:Oh, but those pieces of equipment will provide much more entertainment than all those hours in the sun Sarah. See, you can hang out by the induction oven everyday for the rest of your life if you want. Your friends' tans have already started to fade. If you open the door of the induction oven, it is like being on the beach. And if you turn on the dishwasher, you can feel as if you are by the ocean."
I quickly grew tired of his rationalizations and vowed to have many children to drop off at his house after feeding them nothing but snicker bars.
So, now that you have an idea of where I came from, you might have a better idea of what I am about. I did not grow up in a family that sat around the dinner table and had holiday meals together. We would meet up at the restaurant after we served about 400 ppl brunch and then eat all the leftovers. My life was an ongoing buffet line. By the time I made it to college, I could work at any place I wanted to that had food or beverage. I knew more about heat lamps and napkin folds than anyone my age.
But, more than anything, my parents taught me work ethic.
I wouldn't trade my childhood for anything. Yes, I can make any drink you send my way, and I can make it well. I can wait on ten tables at once and keep the food and drinks flowing. If you have a party at your house, I am the one in the kitchen making sure everyone has the drink they want and that the kitchen is clean at the end of the night. I am the one with photos of a four slot toaster labeled "spring break 1988" on the album cover with my dad in the background giving me the thumbs up.
Next time you are at a family owned restaurant..take a look around. I guarantee, the dad is in the kitchen cooking, the mom is doing the payroll, the brother is washing dishes, the grandfather is making salads, the aunt is your server and that 8 year old behind the bar....well she has a really really bright future ahead of her.
