Like Liquid Poetry in Motion

What began as a fairly low key and casual birthday celebration ended up as a bartending tour de force.

A friend was celebrating her birthday at Balliceaux so her paramour sent out invitations to the select few, tempting all with, "Mr. Bobby Kruger will be manning the bar that night just in case you want a tasty cocktail."

I didn't but I did want to see my friends, so I RSVP'd yes.

The reply? "Please try and refrain from planning 3 events that night so you can actually spend some time. Worst case, arrive a bit late but don't leave at like 8:30 p.m. and give me some lame excuse."

This is one bossy host.

So I cleared the decks, not difficult on Christmas Eve eve, and showed up promptly at 7:10 to celebrate.

Bobby was prepared for our party, having devised several cocktails for the evening using the birthday girl's favorite flavors, but he'd also kept me in mind knowing that I'm not a cocktail drinker.

Thus tonight became my introduction to mezcal with Del Maguey Chichicapa mezcal, enjoyed neat and recommended by Bobby as vegetal and slightly sweet.

For a woman whose only spirit is tequila, mezcal is not much of a leap and yet I found it to be a spicier flavor profile than tequila and more complex.

My friend the host reminded me that we'd met at this very bar and, being a numbers guy, even know when - three years, six months and eleven days ago.

Yea, he's that guy.

At the party were several of the couple's friends whom I'd met at his birthday party a couple of years ago, along with a mutual bartender friend who very recently moved back from Colorado.

Early on in the evening, there was a lot of drink tasting as Bobby made new cocktails for someone in our group and they were passed around for consideration and comment.

It was a recipe for sharing germs, not that anyone cared.

Bobby admitted most were so new they hadn't been named, but a blueberry miso got a lot of thumbs up and a frothy cardamon cocktail with balsamic had the birthday girl licking the bottom of her coupe, always a good sign.

Me, I just stuck with more Chichicapa, sharing sips with those interested.

The birthday girl took some ribbing about her new haircut, a proud father talked about how different his small children were, another bartender friend showed up and a couple announced that they intended to finish three bottles of champagne by noon on Christmas day.

Before long, members of the RVA big band began showing up and setting up in the back while our party mowed through multiple plates of finger foods like charcuterie and cheese, tandoori fried cauliflower, truffle fries, garlic edamame hummus with pita and fried oysters.

Next thing we knew, Balliceaux was packed and while we were taking up the front bar and the area right around it, soon Bobby was inundated with people wanting to drink.

The funniest moment came when a duo asked for a cocktail and a certain beer. "You know that beer is smokey, right?" he asked. "Judging by the look on your face, that's not going to work for you."

It didn't and she got a National Bohemian instead.

From the back, the strains of "Santa Baby" could be heard over the roar of people talking and asking for drinks.

The beauty in having arrived so early was that we'd established a beach head and enjoyed our space at the bar even while all hell was breaking loose around us as people continued to stream in.

It was like the holiday floodgates had opened and everyone had made a beeline for Balliceaux.

Since I knew from previous holidays that things get crazy at Balliceaux, I wasn't the least shocked at the mob scene that was developing, but my friends were amazed by it.

Considering how many places are closed tonight, where do you expect the pretty people to go and be seen before the drudgery of forced family fun begins?

Things finally got so crazy that Bobby had to stop making craft cocktails, limiting his service to beer, wine and basics like highballs and shots.

Finally, my friend, a former bartender at Amuse, couldn't stand it any longer and asked Bobby if he needed help.

The grateful look on his face said it all.

With two people back there, they plowed through the crowd more quickly than before, although people kept arriving at an alarming rate.

When it became clear that more help was needed, we lost another in our party, this time a former bartender from Acacia, who rolled up his sleeves and started washing and polishing glasses between pouring beers like the Sweet Baby Jesus chocolate peanut butter porter.

Granted, one of the earlier cocktails had been referred to as "banana nut bread in a glass," but isn't that a bit much for a beer?

By the time the three pros were all behind the bar together, things finally began to settle down as everyone got served quickly and efficiently and our party watched our two friends (and former party guests) pick up the slack when their rightful place was on our side of the bar.

Of course, none of the customers realized what had just happened, but I'm sure to Bobby it felt like a Christmas miracle.

My slightly loopy host probably thought the miracle was that I stayed all night.

That's my guess because for the first time in three years, six months and eleven days of friendship, he kissed my cheek when I went to leave.

I can't wait to remind him that now he's that guy.