Confessions of an Irish bartender working in New York City

Despite lots of expererience tricks of the trade much different in the good old USA

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SEAN BROSNAN shares his insights into why bar-tending in NYC is do different to his experiences in Ireland

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Back when I was in college I worked in a big three-star hotel in Meath as a bartender, and on my first day of orientation the owner told me about the “secret” motto.

“We’re a three-star with five-star service so make sure you always smile,” she said without a smile.

That was the end of the talk about service. I was shown how to pour a pint properly, how to make a drink and how to serve food. That’s all I needed to know for the two years I worked there. That sufficed. Good enough.

The hotel had about six bars – a lounge, a restaurant, a lobby, a function room, a late bar and a nightclub. In one 12-hour shift I could be swept from one to the other, all with different types of customers.

I could go from serving hot ports in the lounge to an elderly lady, with gentle background music playing, to throwing out pints at a roaring wedding in the function room and then on to the drunken vodka-fuelled depravities of a nightclub, all in the same hour, and nothing would change in my demeanour.

I got the same money regardless. Why would I change?

Working in a bar in America shocked me. You have to learn quickly, and you have to adapt. Your demeanour changes with every customer, let alone every bar. You can go from talking sports and cursing with your typical, young American man to watching your language and reminiscing about the good times with your typical, elderly Irish woman.

In Ireland, you’re a faceless machine in a bar. Put in €5 and get your drink.

But in America you’re the face of the bar, the way actors are the face of a new Broadway show. People go to see you. And you can never disappoint them.

One thing that struck me about bars over here is the amount of people who drink on their own. They expect the bartender to be an instant best friend, someone to introduce them to other friends.

“Oh, you’re in advertising? Go talk to Liz over there, she’s also in advertising!,” and just like that a new friendship is made through the medium of you.

In Ireland, people who come into bars on their own are ostracized and marginalized. “What the hell is that weirdo at in here on his own?”

Such overt friendliness does not come naturally to most people. There’s a reason why budding actors and actresses make the best bartenders.

Being behind the bar becomes a stage, a stage they feel natural on. The lights come on, the curtain drops, the smiles go up.

The smiles go up because they have to go up. It all has to look effortless, even to you.
Bartenders over here are a little like hamsters running on a wheel, unaware that it all stops moving when you stop running.

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