My corner seat at the bar gives me a good perch from which to observe the passing scene. Last week there were a couple of vignettes which help to describe the wide spectrum of our clientele. We have recently been given a small quantity of a new, very fine Moroccan wine, so exclusive that it’s not to be listed on our wine list and it should be presented to the clients by me. Monday night we had a group of regulars at the bar…after several cocktails they decided to take a table and one asked about a nice wine. The barman suggested I propose the “Lumiere,” which I was happy to do…not quite what the distributor had in mind, I’m sure as I approached him, leaning against the bar with a glass of scotch in his hand. “Is it good wine?,” he asked. “Yes, it’s excellent, I tasted it myself and can say that…” “Ok, we’ll take it,” he cut short my sales pitch. Later when they were seated and the wine was poured I passed by and asked how it was. “Exxsschhellent,” was the reply, as he dug into his chili con carne! The next night a couple came in and took the two tabourets closest to mine. They ordered, and when the barman brought two pots of tea I immediately groaned in recognition of a previous visit. Then they ordered two pots of tea and began demanding tapas and other bar snacks normally reserved for orders of a second or third round – consumption being the point, not whether or not the drinks are alcoholic. To be polite the barman had given them tapas even though they were on their first round of tea (!). I asked for a small plate of canapes with my own stock of cheddar cheese and when it was served the woman had the nerve to ask the barman for a similar plate. He explained it was my personal stock, and she did not look pleased. So on this visit when the tea was served I caught the barman at the other end of the bar and said don’t dare serve tapas, just peanuts and olives. He said the woman had already asked for cheese canapes and was told there were none – they’d get peanuts and olives. I said, “Ok have the kitchen prepare my canapes with cheddar.” “They’re already working on it, Madame,” he said, familiar with my “pixie” personality. I resumed my post and had my Jameson in hand when the canapes arrived. The woman, seemingly obsessed by now, said, “We’d like some canapes like that or some tapas, or something more to eat.” We gave them the restaurant menu, and explained that the tapas went with a second or third round of drinks, and if they’d like more tea…they said no but they could pay for the tapas. Ok, that would be fine. They huddled, looked at the menu, whispered, sipped the final drops of their tea, asked for the check and left. And I relished my final sips of Jameson and the last morsels of cheddar as calm came back to my corner. |
