Baby, you can conjugate me all night long.

I was alerted to the following music video, T-Pain's "I Like the Bartender" by Mark, who is very smart and certainly up on all the hottest new tracks. OK, so it's probably not new. But it's still awesome.

The words that speak to me most? "She made us drinks to drink. We drunk 'em, got drunk."




I expect, if pressed, young Tal would concur that dating me is very similar, glamour-wise. I wear short-shorts whilst pouring beers (it helps me show off the sweet bruises from walking into the beer cooler and knocking heavy ice buckets into myself). Also, he keeps it real by drinking triple shots of Patròn with lime. In fact, I think I might start calling him T-Pain.

In other bar news, the fall beers are in.

From our taps, I enjoy:

- Pennichuck's Big O. Nice malty flavor as ever, with a certain sweetness I'd forgotten about since last year.

- Long Trail's Harvest. Delicious, smooth, and a gorgeous dark color.

I also like:

- Brooklyn's Oktoberfest and Smuttynose Pumpkin Ale.

Top of my list to try is Red Hook's Late Harvest (while we're at it, let's enjoy the bartender character on their website. Look how he polishes glasses and points cheerily at imaginary customers out in cyberspace!)

I do not enjoy: Peak Organic Pale Ale. OK, I know it's not a fall beer, but I drank a few yesterday, and I must say, it smells suspiciously of (bad) pot. Also, when it repeats, it tastes of pot. Very weird. And kind of fulfilling people's notion that organic beers are made by stoner hippies on communes in Vermont.

I am in the business of breaking promises, jaws.

I broke my promise to Josh's butt (see previous entry), and for that I am sincerely sorry. However, it's not because I've been sitting around eating bonbons and wathching soap operas. No indeed. My summer has been chock-full of excitment since I returned from Scotland. I ventured north to Vermont to see a kickass Wilco show with my fella, witnessed some nuptials, dealt with car and cat repairs, and endured some harassment with the local constabulary.

Somehow I managed to find time for all of the above in between many many fun though occasionally stressful bartending shifts.

One of the downsides of tending bar in a place with no public transport is that you have to be extremely careful about how much you serve people. I am legally responsible for every person who has the pleasure to quaff a pint in my bar (we now have Boddington's on tap, btw... very exciting). This, because I'm compulsively responsible when it comes to jobs, can take it's toll and I get nasty and suspicious of nearly everyone who bellys up to the bar. I card people, shut people off, and this summer marked the first time I took away someone's pint (THAT was really not fun... and I didn't serve it to her in the first place, and boy did she have some mean thoughts to share with me). If you couldn't tell already, you can purchase alcohol in New Hampshire, you can drink it, but you CANNOT be drunk. I'm not a doctor or anything, but I have yet to work out the math on that. If any of y'all figure it out, I'd be happy to hear your thoughts so that I might explain it to surly customers who are hell-bent on getting visibly wasted in my presence.

I haven't yet thrown someone out of the bar, but I have a feeling that that's my next step and then I'll really be the tough broad slinging pints in the neighborhood bar. I'll let you know how that goes.

But enough boring nonsense about me not wanting some drunk asshole sending me to jail (or getting my broke ass fined). The benefit of my job is that I get to see lots of live music. Of course, I'm experiencing a fair number of bands well outside of my usual tastes, but it's all part of that potpurri of small music venues.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the miraculous fortune of bartending during a show by SeepeopleS (weird name, I know). Miraculous because we don't tend to get indie rock bands at Harlow's. They're from Asheville, North Tobylina, and they're pretty great. Please enjoy the following musical video:


Not too shabby atall. They're also very nice guys with decent taste in beer. And their live show kicks ass.

I think that brings me mostly up to date. Soon I'll be posting about my fall efforts in the kitchen (now that it's not hot, I don't feel bad turning on the oven), including my experiences with home canning. Wooo!

Beer me that beer, please.

I've been receiving some complaints regarding my delinquency.

I don't have a particularly good excuse for being away from the blog, aside from the fact that I have spent a goodly portion of the past few weeks driving all over the northeast and there isn't much excitement in that. Unless you count the two parking tickets I received in Brooklyn because I'm not quite capable of dealing with alternate side parking like a native.

The trip to Brooklyn was fantastic, however, and I was very fortunate to have the dining company of Josh and Erin as I gorged myself all over the city.

Instead of loading up on Brooklyn Brewery beers this time around, I made a trip to Bierkraft with Josh, where I purchased some bottles from the venerable Victory Brewing Company of PA. We can't get that up here, you see. As the weather warms, my palate yearns for hops. So, Hop Devil seemed a logical choice. I'd never tried it, and I was quite pleased with it, I must say. It's hoppy all the way through with a nice bitter kick at the finish. I definitely recommend it.

Meanwhile, stay tuned for a backlog of photographs.

I'll have it in my veins, please.

Dear People of the Internet,

Something wonderful has happened.

Saturday night found me behind the bar, slinging beers and the odd Toasted Almond (the smell of which gives me a hangover). I was all by my lonesome back there, so things were moving at a feverish clip when the Otter Creek Stovepipe Porter (fabulous beer, btw) kicked. Pretty hard, too. It nearly hit the ceiling and splashed merrily across the bar. Anyway, this prompted the old run to the beer cooler for a keg change, my first such foray of the shift.

Down the stairs I trot, fellow waitress Chelsea in tow (she was desirous of a Keg Changing 101 refresher course). I pull open the door, and what is nestled among the Harpoons, Pennichucks, and Magic Hats?

That's right. A whole keg of delicious Brooklyn Lager. Brewed, if my two times on the brewery "tour" serves me, in Brooklyn. Brooklyn Lager! From Brooklyn! In the beer refrigerator at my place of employ (while I'm not exactly a bar-hopper here in the great state of NH, I have yet to see my beloved Brooklyn beer anywhere on tap or in a store)!

Scaling back my hours at the bar has meant that I'm a wee mite out of the loop as far as what's coming on tap, what's leaving, what bands are playing, etc. So, when I do work, keg changes are kind of like Christmas morning.

On Saturday evening in the beer refrigerator, my excitement could only have been greater by walking into the beer cooler to discover Clive Owen, shirtless (naked would be just weird... I mean, it's a giant refrigerator), sitting atop the keg of Brooklyn Lager, clutching a giant bag of money with which to pay off my student loans.

Chelsea patiently watched as I hopped up and down, screeched, and then hunkered down to awkwardly hug the keg like a lost twin.

Then, ever the professional, I recovered myself and we transformed that Otter Creek Stovepipe Porter into Magic Hat's Circus Boy (a MH that I actually like...such that I've...*gasp* purchased it!). So the Brooklyn Lager is waiting in the wings for its big moment. We have the nice weighty tap handle and everything.

Happy Beermas to me!

All the news that's fit to drink.

I suppose you could say that I'm just now shaking out the cobwebs from a St. Patrick's Day bender. Last year I went all out with my St. Patty's post, but for whatever reason, didn't have it in me this time around. Before I launch into a very late roundup of the weekend's beer-related thoughts, please enjoy this video of the Dubliners playing "The Irish Rover" with The Pogues.


Shane McGowan. Wow. Just wow.... Anyway, where was I? Ah yes. I pulled a shift waiting tables on Saturday, which was at once fun and frustrating. Fun because people were jovial, frustrating because they wanted to be jovial and hang around while I waited for them to pay me so I could escape to the wilds of Northampton, MA to get MY beer on.

The thing that amused me most about the wannabe-Irish boozing crowd (no, it was luckily not like the UES wannabe Irish boozing crowd, well-documented here) was their drinks of choice.

Granted, there were a fair number of straight-up Guinness (or, according to Tobs, "Gayness") drinkers in the mix, keeping our lovely bartenders busy drawing shamrocks in the head. In my section, however, the most popular drink was by far the Black & Tan.

The Black & Tan, while a delicious beverage (and wrong as it may be for a stout to float, it is pleasing to the eye and ever so much fun to pour), is named for the paramilitaries who shored up the Royal Irish Constabulary when it came to squashing the IRA and Sinn Fein's declaration of an Irish Republic.

Now, while I'm aware that the common wisdom is that St. Patrick's Day has something to do with whacking snakes or something, I do find it a little humorous that people can shout "Erin Go Bragh" whilst hoisting the drink named for a group of people who did their darndest to keep Ireland under British rule. I mean, snakes aside, people like to celebrate their Irishness or wannabe-Irishness on that day by getting plastered (conveniently forgetting about the despair and so forth).

I considered suggesting these people opt for a Half & Half (Guinness and Harp Lager), but decided to keep the trap shut. I did manage to disabuse people of the notion that they wanted to drink Harpoon's Hibernian, so it wasn't a total loss. We also have Smithwick's on these days, and while I object to its color while you're pouring it (weird muddy brown during the "cascade"), it settles into a nice deep amber color and is quite tasty.

For anyone who's interested (mostly Josh)...

We have Harpoon Hibernian Ale on draft at the bar.

My review..... meh.

Predictable, really, considering Harpoon's tendency to occupy the gross-to-meh spectrum.

If you want a real Irish-style red ale, I'd avocate seeking out the Pennichuck Engine 5. It's delicious.

How to Pick Up Your Bartender

It's a full-service establishment around here, and don't you forget it.

Allow me to tell you what to do (and what not to do) when you find yourself smitten with the barmaid (I suppose it could work for the barman as well, but most of the anecdotes that spawned this list are from my experiences and my sister's tales of working behind the bar in Scotland, and we're both ladies, y'see).


First off, I suppose it warrants mentioning that since men seem to find women in the beverage service industry very appealing (guys, correct me if I'm wrong here, but this is what I've heard), so you should probably keep in it in mind that she deals with a lot of douches throwing themselves her way, so you'll need to work pretty hard to prove you're not one of said douches. There are a few easy ways to do this.

1.) Be careful with the tipping. Too little and she thinks you're an asshole. Too much and it seems like you're trying to buy her attention. Always tip fairly ($1 per drink, maybe more for cocktails. Probably lots more if you order sissy cocktails.), with the occasional sympathy over-tip if you go in on a really busy night and feel bad for her. This is something a bartender appreciates over time, which brings me to...

2.) Cultivate status as a "regular." We like regulars. They are comforting. We know they don't get out of control, we know they don't run out on bills, and they're not going to go for the reach-around if we run down to change a keg (all of those things are unappealing in a dude, by the way, so don't do those things). Also, a bartender is much more likely to chat with a regular than some one-off dude who waltzes in and throws a wad of money on the bar and then expects she'll take him home. Also, being a regular means coming in for non-busy hours, which is more conducive to chatting with a non-busy bartender.

3.) You are what you drink (in that we remember what you drink). Don't drink sissy drinks. Nothing with "Breeze" in the name. In fact, you should get into the theme or specialty of the establishment itself. Some young men once asked me to select their beers for them, which was great. It allowed me to nerd out about Julius Echter and Fuller's ESB. Chances are, the bartender enjoys a tipple herself, so it's a nice icebreaker to ask her opinion on a beverage selection. There really is nothing worse than rattling off the tap list and getting hit with the old "I'll just have a Mich Light." I, in my growing beer snobbery, have begun to expand my disdain toward guys who unadventerously go for the Bass Ale... yes, it's a solid beer, but c'mon! Live a little!

4.) You may notice the spot where she's spending a lot of time washing glasses. The sinks may necessitate bending over at the waist. Do not sit in front of that spot. You will be able to see right down her shirt. She will know that you can see right down her shirt. She will find that it creepy if you sit there.

5.) No matter where you're sitting, don't stare. You won't be able to will her into conversation with you. You'll only succeed in augmenting the feeling of being a caged animal. Wait until she comes by to check on you to make light conversation. Once you cultivate the regular status, familiarity will grow and you'll be in business.

6.) Don't get wasted and ambush her. Don't get wasted and stay as she's closing the place down. Don't leave your number unsolicited. If you get wasted, you should probably keep to yourself, because she's going to remember the idiot things you said even if you don't. This harks back to my cardinal rule for picking up chicks: do not be more wasted than she is if you really want to score. This is tricky because bartenders are stone-sober. Or, they're supposed to be (at least in N'Hampshah).

7.) Take a friend. Become regulars together. This will help you to avoid sitting at the bar and silently waiting for her to talk to/look at you (which is creepy.... at all times, you want to avoid being creepy.). I don't tend to engage men who are solo at the bar (fearing the creep factor), but a pair or small group is manageable.

Above all, I think the important thing is that you must crawl before you can walk... befriend before you go for the digits. There are plenty of guys who hit on lady bartenders in alarming ways. Don't be that guy.



As an extra special bonus, I have a few important "Overheard From Behind the Bar" guy-to-girl pick up (or take home) lines that I'd like to share as a cautionary tale (be ye not so ridiculous):

"Mmmm. You smell fertile. No, seriously. That's a compliment."

(I am not making that up. I really overheard that. I very nearly puked into my sink. The sad thing is, the dude had only had two beers. )

"You're gorgeous. I just want you to know that."
"We don't need to have sex. We could just hold each other."
"I'm not just a one-night stand. I need love to get erect."

(These gems are all from one very wasted dude. I am also not making them up. It should be noted that in the latter line, he sort of pronounced it "luuuv." You'll be pleased to know, however, that the gentleman went home alone.)

My opinion matters.

In descending order, my favorite winter ales:

1. Smuttynose Winter Ale - Oddly enough, I first tasted it in Brooklyn. I fervently wish we had it on tap at the bar, but alas. We already have two winter ales, which leads me to...

2. Long Trail Hibernator - Great one. No weird spices or flavorings. We've had it on for a while, and it's consistently popular.

3. Woodstock Inn Brewery Wassail - Not too bad. Again, no flavorings commonly associated with fancypants winter ales. It tastes strong, though the abv isn't on the barrel, so I can't confirm how strong it actually is. I definitely prefer other Woodstock offerings over it, like the Red Rack Ale and Old Man Oatmeal Stout.

And now, the yucky winter ales:

Harpoon Winter Warmer - Ick. Too sweet. I am, for the most part, unimpressed with Harpoon. I really dislike the IPA (I had an awkward moment last week when I ranted againest the Harpoon IPA to a ground of friends and they all looked at me like I'm nuts, because they all inexplicably love the stuff.). It kind of reminds me of Rolling Rock, in that it tastes like beer-flavored soda.

Magic Hat Roxy Rolles - Automatic disdain for being from Magic Hat (though I do like Fat Angel). A customer described it as "tastes like hops and that's about it." This proves my theory that Magic Hat beers are by and large one-note.

Another day, another shitty bottled beer.

So, I've been waiting tables at a pub here in New Hampshire. I've only worked 5 shifts, and while I'm not really good at it yet, it's interesting (after 5 shifts... I imagine that will soon morph to "annoying" and then later, in several months, perhaps "soul-crushing") to be serving the drinking public. I'm interested in what people drink.

According to the liquor class we had this week, 35% of wine coolers consumed in the U.S. is by underage drinkers (the other 65% would be.... people with no taste buds?).

Also according to the liquor class from this week, the number 1 purchased edible good in New England is Budweiser beer. Number 2 is Bud Light.

The pub where I work has many more interesting beers than Bud and Bud Light (though we do have those in bottles). I enjoy rattling off what we have on draft, and even utzing people into drinking some of my favorite brews. And I'm always confounded when they slip through my grasp and drink swill. Sample conversation from today:

Customer: "What do you have on tap?"
Me: "Guinness, Harp, Bass, Newcastle Brown Ale, Hoegaarden, Pennichuck Engine #5 Red Ale (brewed locally, and my personal favorite), Wolaver's Organic Brown Ale, Geary's Hampshire Special Ale, Long Trail IPA, and Harpoon Oktoberfest."

A handsome selection, no? Surely you can find something there to wet your whistle? Just wait...

Customer: Pause. "I'll have a Mich Light."

Then he took his fork and poked me in the eye.

OK, so maybe everyone has a right to drink what they like, but jeeeez. Mich Light? To our regular patrons' credit, we have some sophisticated beer drinkers in our midst. The 9% Geary's HSA is a staple on our taps. And for every person I encourage into the local Engine 5, there are another two who've had it and love it.

In other beer news, I poured two pints of Guinness yesterday and they both came out perfectly. Like, perfect head and everything. It was awesome.

In non-beer news, here's the view from one of the windows in my room:



I also took this picture to document Carson's war of attrition to become Gus's friend. He has two approaches: 1) bark and make gremlin noises until Gus runs under my bed, and 2) Inch closer to the cat as he sleeps and then pretend to be asleep as well. This is an occurence of the latter.

Here's the first shot, which is pretty close for a cautious cat and an excitable Chihuahua.



And then, five minutes later:



Shortly after this was taken, I believe Carson fell back on the barking and gremlin-noise approach, so Gus went under the bed to wait it out. I expect Carson believes that Gus will eventually give up on this "run and hide" nonsense as long as he's persistent. I'll keep you updated on how it goes.

And finally, my "thing de la resistance." This sign was spotted by me when Hayley pulled the car over this evening on the way home from driver's ed. Apparently we neglected to put the top down all the way, so the car was dinging indignantly (you see, the visibility is better in the convertible when the top's down, and Hayley's learning to drive, so we want everything to be as visible as possible, even if that means freezing my butt off in the passenger seat). I took the picture without the flash, because I was afraid somone would come running out of the shop thinking I was some kind of terrorist (in a black hoodie, chaufferred in a Volvo convertible by a 17 year old student driver). It didn't come out all that well, but I hope you can read it.




Yes. That would be the "It's Never To Late" bridal shop.

Well, they got the apostrophe....