It's the Making Drinks That'll Be Tough

There are shooters and then there are shooters. This one began with the jamminess of fresh blackberries and pink peppercorns on the nose, ending with a lingering basil finish. It was as far removed from a Jager Bomb as can be imagined (not that I've ever done a Jager Bomb).

And of course, it came courtesy of master mixologist Bobby of Julep, except that tonight he was mixing and pouring at Fanhouse, his new Wednesday night gig. As much as I hate the TVs there, I was curious about what the night might hold.

Bobby's inaugural night at Fanhouse was as good an excuse as any to meet up with a friend recently returned from Paris whom I hadn't seen since my birthday festivities at Ipanema, here (he made sure to remind me of my loopiness that night, but qualified it with, "It's really hard to tell if you're drunk."). I dubbed tonight "The Summer Drink."

For a change, I had better stories to share than he did, although he disagreed on my handling of a couple of recent situations, insisting I should have just gone for it. "Are you crazy? What are you waiting for?" he asked (true love?).

I got a huge kick out of hearing about him and his friends doing re-enactments of a couple scenes from Godard's Band of Outsiders, one in the Louvre and the other dancing at a cafe. Best of all, a cafe patron actually realized what they were doing and said something to them. Talk about satisfaction!

An unexpected girlfriend spotted me from the far end of the bar and sent a few non-spitballs flying in my direction to catch my attention, but her aim was off and one hit a nearby beer drinker looking for a refill. She was not amused, even after my friend apologized and assured her that no actual spit was used in the making of the wads. No sourpusses at the bar, please.

A guy asked my friend and I if we'd move down a stool and as soon as he and I looked at each other, we knew we'd met before. And when I spoke, he said, "I recognize that inflection. We've definitely talked before." His brain made the connection faster than mine; he was a photographer I'd met when his show opened at the Belvidere.

I saw the WRIR DJ who seems to be at every single event I attend; we'd just seen each other at the Interpol show Thursday. I think we may be leading parallel lives in different bodies.

A friend who couldn't make it tonight had told me to have a Crazy Dumpling for him, but I had more like six of them and more for me than for anyone else (okay, S., one was for you). It was clearly the appetizer of the evening and we saw easily a dozen plates of dumplings go by as we sipped our drinks and chatted.

It was when we asked for our bill that Bobby lured us into staying for the purple shooters with the secret alcohol component. When we finished those and really got up to leave, I made it barely three steps before hearing my name called. It was Jason from Olio and he invited me to join him and his cohort Ricky for some wide-ranging conversation, beginning with a compliment on my (90s!) dress and including a dissection of Richmond Mag's Best of foolishness.

It led to a discussion of the personal qualities of a great bartender, especially the ability to engage and to amuse. After one of my many smart-assed remarks, Jason said, "You have a quick wit, Karen. You'd make a great bartender." All except that I don't know a thing about bartending except tequila + ice= Karen's drink. But I thanked him anyway for the compliment he intended it to be.

I was reminded of what Angus Winchester, a global bar consultant, had to say about how so many bartenders today have lost their sense of fun and that it's important to remember why people go to bars to start with.

"Bartenders get paid to flirt with girls and boys all evening. It's about hosting."

Come to think of it, I can host and I can certainly flirt. Maybe it's time to consider a new career path...