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MisterOblivious
Mar 17, 2010

by sebmojo

JawKnee posted:

Dark and Stormy's

Rum buck

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MAKE NO BABBYS
Jan 28, 2010

JawKnee posted:

tip out whenever someone comes on shift or goes off shift

Man, that always ends up with people having to stay on the clock to count or being off the floor when they're needed.

I think we just used different terms for the same thing. Not to be pedantic; probably a regional thing, but "tip pool" to me means something wildly different than a "tip split," one is loving awful and involves owners trying to use tips to float lovely shifts without paying a living wage or compensating reasonably, or get their hands into gratuities surreptitiously, one is a standard division of colleagues working a shift together in conjunction with one another.

E: the places I generally choose to work do things exactly like Veggie Melange described, other than my current stop-gap job.

E2: I put in my notice tomorrow at my lovely stop-gap job and move back to the city tomorrow... IM SO EXCITED

MAKE NO BABBYS fucked around with this message at 10:35 on Jun 9, 2014

Frozen Horse
Aug 6, 2007
Just a humble wandering street philosopher.

Gropes posted:

I'm trying to come up with a new cocktail for our summer menu. What are some rum cocktails you guys enjoy during the hotter season? As of now I'm thinking of using Zaya rum and making a mango cordial since they're in season here but want some inspiration to fill the blanks.

How about bumbo?

Sondheim
Dec 10, 2007
FUCK YOU SANDY

Vegetable Melange posted:

I didn't know you were NYC. Come by for a drink sometime.

Love to. Where you at again? PM me if you don't wanna post itt.

Sadly, the only lesson I learned last night was: DO NOT EVER WORK FOR THE loving PLAZA HOTEL.

Do you hate organization? Does the idea of a proper bar setup with all the necessities (the simplest ones - ice, liquor, and mixers) invoke feelings of dread and anger? Do you enjoy having completely contradictory instructions yelled at you for three hours by two short bald men both named Daniel? Then the Plaza Hotel is your place, buddy!

Literally the biggest clusterfuck I have ever worked in about 4 years doing this on and off. Showed up at 10 to a thousand people running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Nobody knew poo poo about dick, nobody knew where anybody was supposed to go, where to sign in, who to talk to, what we were wearing, what to put behind which bar, NOTHIN'. I got shuttled around the innards of the hotel being told to go here by one dude and there by another dude (I made pit stops at 5 separate bars) until I finally said "gently caress it", broke off from the bustling pack of black-clad workers, found a table with a few bottles of Jack, Dewars, and Absolut on it, and stood behind it. The disorganization did give me a little down time to talk with Bryan Cranston, who had snuck in early to beat the crowd and is an absolutely wonderful man.

Doors opened at eleven, I had wound up at a 3-person bar in the main hallway reception area. We had, in no particular order: no pour spouts, three shakers, two pint glasses, 6 huge crates of mixers for 10 bottles of liquor, no sink, no garnishes, no garnish tongs, and one SALAD BOWL full of ice between three bartenders. Like literally a bowl that you would serve a salad out of. Ice was gone by 11:05. I ran to go get some and not a single person among the staff who, I'm assuming, work at this hotel every goddamn day, could tell me where to find it. I stumbled on a kitchen on the third floor and found a big bag of ice, grabbed a plastic crate, threw the bag in it, sprinted back, and found the bar about 7 people deep with Questlove from the Roots first in line. I had been introduced to two guys when I set up shop at this bar, and found two completely different guys behind the bar when I got back with the ice. Turns out the dude to my left had never tended before, though the dude on my right said he was a pro (and, to his credit, backed it up with some serious volume work). I muttered some introductions, threw my suit jacket behind me, rolled up my sleeves, and started cranking out the messiest fuckin Cosmos I've ever made in my life.

Brief impressions through the night:
Questlove is also an awesome guy. Tipping at an open bar is always a little weird but he threw me a fiver for making two club sodas.

Mark Rylance, the world's greatest living Shakespearean actor, enjoys his cranberry juice in a tall glass and wears a jaunty porkpie hat.

Daniel Day-Lewis likes cheap wine and rarely buys a bottle that costs more than 16 bucks.

Jan Maxwell is adorable.

Richard Kind isn't loving around when he says he wants a double Absolut no ice in a pint glass.

Jeffrey Tambor doesn't mind if it takes you a long time to make his drink because you're out of ice again.

Tony groupies are a sad, sad bunch, and they do exist.

On the whole, the winners/nominees/people from the shows conducted themselves incredibly well, while a lot of serious poo poo-talking was going down amongst producers, investors, and hangers-on. It's almost like a bunch of people who originally wanted to be actors but couldn't hack it turn out to be bitter, lovely assholes....

Portly DeVito type, to me: "Man, I gotta tell you, the party's GREAT out here. Doesn't look too good back there."
I just gave him a death stare because seriously what the gently caress kind of talk is that.

Drunk Girl in Dress, After Last Call: "Uhhhh you guys are supposed to close at 2, right?"
Me: "Ish, yes"
DGIDALC: *in tone of incredulous indignation, displaying phone* "My phone says 1:59. I want a drink."
Me: "Okay, what do you want?"
DGIDALC: "Let me get a.... uh.... do you have vodka?"
*phone switches over to 2 am*
Me: "Whoops, too late! Water it is."


Breakdown of the bar was even more of a mess than setup, if that's possible. I wound up stripping the whole thing myself, dumping the liquor in a walk-in fridge, and bailing at 3 am. One of the Daniels tried to tell me I had to wrap up the hors d'oeuvres for another half hour, to which I laughed and told him no. All in all a pretty fun night, despite being an absolute mess. My roommate got kicked off one of the other bars for being drunk, apparently.

Ally McBeal Wiki
Aug 15, 2002

TheFraggot

Sondheim posted:


Sadly, the only lesson I learned last night was: DO NOT EVER WORK FOR THE loving PLAZA HOTEL.


This sounds like a blast. poo poo goes wrong, and you fix it, and fuckin get to help make a party happen and people are understanding and appreciate you for doing it (even with relatively light tipping, considered)? Yep, count me in.

Sondheim
Dec 10, 2007
FUCK YOU SANDY

FaceEater posted:

This sounds like a blast. poo poo goes wrong, and you fix it, and fuckin get to help make a party happen and people are understanding and appreciate you for doing it (even with relatively light tipping, considered)? Yep, count me in.

For sure, the gig itself was a blast once it got underway, but during prep, the utter lack of anything approaching organization or leadership surrounding a 3000+ person afterparty was just mind-boggling.

Like for real if you've got a three-person bar right smack in the middle of the VIP hall, feet away from the entrance, and there's a dance floor in the next room, one would assume that stocking more than 2 750-ml bottles of water FOR THE ENTIRE NIGHT would be a priority.

Applebees Appetizer
Jan 23, 2006

Gropes posted:

I'm trying to come up with a new cocktail for our summer menu. What are some rum cocktails you guys enjoy during the hotter season? As of now I'm thinking of using Zaya rum and making a mango cordial since they're in season here but want some inspiration to fill the blanks.

Classic Blue Hawaiians are great. People love blue drinks for some reason, whenever I make a blue Long Island or Hawaiian everybody at the bar wants one.

In other news, the economy must be doing better because tip percentages are consistently fuckin crazy here even after season going into the summer. I've never done this well during the week it's awesome.

Ally McBeal Wiki
Aug 15, 2002

TheFraggot
^blue poo poo in a cup makes bank. Congrats on the tips man.

Sondheim posted:

For sure, the gig itself was a blast once it got underway, but during prep, the utter lack of anything approaching organization or leadership surrounding a 3000+ person afterparty was just mind-boggling.

Like for real if you've got a three-person bar right smack in the middle of the VIP hall, feet away from the entrance, and there's a dance floor in the next room, one would assume that stocking more than 2 750-ml bottles of water FOR THE ENTIRE NIGHT would be a priority.

Yeah. People who just put on events with "OPEN BAR" often don't get this kinda basic sutff.

I worked a catering gig for a while, and the people that I worked with at the "BAR" were trainable, for sure. But they had been there almost a year longer than me and had no clue what a gimlet was. And the only reason I knew was because I had memorized it as part of the basics instilled in me by reading this thread. Not saying I made I great one my first time out either, but at least I knew how it was supposed to go.

Point being, their prep was also usually terrible for a bar setup. They had their basics down, but cutting more fruit than what had been pre-cut in the kitchen earlier that day was impossible (until I got there) behind the bar because they didn't keep a knife or small cutting board behind the bar "because they weren't on the event requisition bar setup form." And hadn't been. Since the bar started. Among other things like rotating stock, which wasn't ever done until they hired a new manager. Ha.

Ah, memories.

Ally McBeal Wiki fucked around with this message at 01:37 on Jun 12, 2014

Ally McBeal Wiki
Aug 15, 2002

TheFraggot
doublepostin quote not edit

bloody ghost titty
Oct 23, 2008

tHROW SOME D"s ON THAT BIZNATCH

FaceEater posted:

doublepostin quote not edit

Do it nice or do it twice.

Mr. Tibbs
Aug 4, 2012

They call me Mister Tibbs!

Gropes posted:

I'm trying to come up with a new cocktail for our summer menu. What are some rum cocktails you guys enjoy during the hotter season? As of now I'm thinking of using Zaya rum and making a mango cordial since they're in season here but want some inspiration to fill the blanks.

I've been getting really into caipirinhas this summer. Tasty and refreshing.

Choom Gangster
Oct 29, 2006

Gropes posted:

I'm trying to come up with a new cocktail for our summer menu. What are some rum cocktails you guys enjoy during the hotter season? As of now I'm thinking of using Zaya rum and making a mango cordial since they're in season here but want some inspiration to fill the blanks.


Cobra's Fang
2 oz Rum
1.5oz OJ
.5oz Lime
.5oz Passionfruit syrup
1 tsp Grenadine
2d Angostura
2d Absinthe

Make a variation with the mango.

martinlutherbling
Mar 27, 2010
My formerly fun job has really started to suck in the last couple of months.
A little (long) backstory: I work in a restaurant that seats roughly 240, with a 34 seat bar section. We used to run 3 bartenders on Friday and Saturday nights, which is totally overkill. Six weeks ago, a bartender called out so we ran with two- It was awesome. Worked hard, everything got done, service bar times were fast, zero customer complaints, and we made bank. You know, how a loving bar shift should be. For the next few weeks we did the same thing and it worked out great. Then management, who are big fans of over staffing (the service will be so much better! And staff is so loving cheap!) decided we could keep 2 bartenders, but we had to lose a 12 seat section. gently caress it, we rocked our little 22 person section and the service bar and still did okay.
I walk in last night, and lo and behold there was a third bartender there. Did we get our 12 seats back? Nope! So there were 3 of us taking care of 22 guests at a time. All the while getting glared at by the GM (owner's 24 year old son with 6 months SERVING experience at an IHOP, also owned by his family) and our new "bar manager" (the worst bartender we've ever had, doesn't work weekends because no one wants her lazy rear end there, got the job by kissing an inordinate amount of rear end. Actively pushes to gently caress over the weekend bartenders).
This is the most recent example, but the bar is constantly being undermined, belittled and poo poo on by management.
The lovely part is that aside from management, I love my job. I love the 28 craft beers on draft, freedom to experiment with new cocktails, and most of all I love the chill rear end, intelligent customers. During the week we may not do crazy volume, but I genuinely like talking to our customers and average 30% from all of them. But 3 bartenders on a 22 person section is hosed. I guess my real question is, and TLDR at an interview, when they ask me why I'm leaving my old job, how can I say "Because management is a bunch of incompetent, unqualified fucktards" without coming off like a poo poo employee?

martinlutherbling fucked around with this message at 18:30 on Jun 14, 2014

MisterOblivious
Mar 17, 2010

by sebmojo
What more do you need to say than "management at my current/former workplace feel 3 bartenders serving a 22 seat section is appropriate"? Either they understand or you thank them for their time and head to the next interview, right?

martinlutherbling
Mar 27, 2010
That's a good point, I just remember as a kid when I first started working, I had a drilled into my head to never complain about the management of your previous job because it would make you look like kind of a douche and a difficult employee.

bloody ghost titty
Oct 23, 2008

tHROW SOME D"s ON THAT BIZNATCH
"I am leaving due to a conflict of perspective with the current management with regards to effective use of labor and flow of service policies". Or, "I think I can make more money here". Or "loving idiots couldn't run a foot race, let alone a bar".

Sondheim
Dec 10, 2007
FUCK YOU SANDY
The kind of job that will understand your complaint is the kind of job you want to have. The best jobs I've landed have been the ones where I've been completely honest and up-front in the interview. I can't work these hours, I won't do this side work, I left my job because it sucked and management was awful. If you lay it all out on the table, they understand you from the get-go and they're still willing to play ball? That's the kind of job you want to keep.

When I got to the city, everyone told me to be diplomatic, polite, and undemanding and because of that I landed a series of jobs that didn't meet my needs for various reasons and took my politeness as license to work me like a dog and not pay me enough for it. The second I started telling people the amount of poo poo up with which I would not put, the industry turned into the magical support system it was reputed to be.

Just my 2c.

nrr
Jan 2, 2007

"Because I'm LeBron James and those guys are the Cavs. Do you wanna win a championship? Cos I wanna win a championship, man"

Then dunk in his face.

Applebees Appetizer
Jan 23, 2006

"I'm looking for the potential to make more money" Is all you really have to say, you'll have to feel out the interview to see if it's cool to go into details or not. If you're not comfortable doing it, don't.

nrr
Jan 2, 2007

loving hell, yesterday I caught one of my other bartenders making honey syrup with loving sugar.

Somebody kill me

bloody ghost titty
Oct 23, 2008

tHROW SOME D"s ON THAT BIZNATCH
That's a paddling.

bloody ghost titty
Oct 23, 2008

tHROW SOME D"s ON THAT BIZNATCH
Also I should feel ashamed about volunteering the name "life's a peach" for a cocktail but I just can't be hosed to think about anything that isn't money whiskey or sex on my Monday.

nrr
Jan 2, 2007

Sex on the peach

JawKnee
Mar 24, 2007





You'll take the ride to leave this town along that yellow line
fuzzy beaches

89
Feb 24, 2006

#worldchamps
What drinks would you guys bring to a beach for a week? I'm in a unique position in that I'm allergic to caffeine and I've lost my taste for most fruity drinks (and there's too much sugar anyways). Ironic that I don't drink 90% of the drinks I make I suppose. I always do a few Pina Coladas and I'll probably mostly do some Mojitos and Vodka & Soda Waters + fruit (and lots of beer). But, I'm trying to think outside of the box here. Cause I'm not gonna be drinking any Sex on the Beaches or Blue Motherfuckers or anything that's heavy on sugar except for maybe every once in a while. I like the idea of incorporating soda water.

nrr
Jan 2, 2007

I'm thinking some sort of badass iced tea thing (not a long island cos too many ingredients - keep it simple) Like maybe throw in some whiskey, squeeze up some lemon juice, a bit of honey, and then brew up some tea and pour it all over some crushed ice. Crushed ice is really your friend in the heat. Depends on what your plan is really, are you going to batch up some stuff, or just make em as you go?

Or do some mint juleps. Easy as hell, and you could make up a simple batch that you just pour over crushed ice in a tin/glass whenever you want a new one. You could go with gin instead of whiskey too, for something crisp and refreshing. Here's a little Julep variation I made with gin last year that's tasty and refreshing as hell and you could batch up pretty easily too.

Monocle Tan

1.5oz gin (you could just go 2oz and skip the aperitif to make things easier if you couldn't be bothered buying extra bottles though)
0.5oz blanc aperitif like Lillet or Cocchi Americano
6 or so fresh basil leaves
.3oz simple syrup (to taste)
couple of dashes of orange bitters if you can find some

Bash them leaves up a bit, then throw the rest in. Add some crushed ice, stir that poo poo up and *blam* I say what the devil are you uncouth bastards drinking at the beach? Is that an ale? In a can?! Heavens to Besty!

My only suggestion if you're batching stuff with fresh herbs like mint or basil though would be to leave them out of the batch and add them as you make each drink to keep them fresh.

89
Feb 24, 2006

#worldchamps
Thanks! I'll probably do both of those. I'll have to take it easy on the juleps though. It sounds like from the recipe, I'm practically just sipping on a shot since there isn't any mixer, ha.

Anybody have some solid margarita recipes that go beyond margarita mix + triple sec + tequila + ice they personally prefer?

Luceo
Apr 29, 2003

As predicted in the Bible. :cheers:



89 posted:


Anybody have some solid margarita recipes that go beyond margarita mix + triple sec + tequila + ice they personally prefer?

Margarita mix is blasphemy.

1.5oz tequila
1 oz agave
0.5 oz lime juice

I personally add more lime because I like it that way. :)

Stunning Honky
Sep 7, 2004

" . . . "
Modern Drunkard resumed print this month after a too-long hiatus.

One of their finest pieces:

quote:


Do you have a favorite drunkard?

Some amazing man or woman, past or present, who stands colossus-like atop the Big Keg, the ground below littered with crushed empties and the blacked-out carcasses of lesser beings? A verging demigod, whose prowess with a bottle leaves you shaking your head in pop-eyed adoration? Lots of us do.

In addition to their wrist-raising abilities, we deify great drinkers because they indulge their lust for intoxication while simultaneously operating at the peak of their powers in whatever their chosen profession. In other words, great drunks are also great writers, actors, athletes, scientists, statesmen, philosophers, and so on.

I have a favorite drunkard. He was an athlete—a professional wrestler in fact—but he was also a gifted entertainer and a true artist. His parents named him Andre Rene Rousimoff, but we knew him as The Eighth Wonder of the World, Andre the Giant.

For two decades, from the late 1960s through the mid 1980s, Andre the Giant was the highest paid professional wrestler in the business and a household name across the globe. Promoters fought tooth and nail to book Andre, as his presence on a card all but guaranteed a sell-out. Fans cheered his every move, and mobbed him on the street as if he were a great big Beatle.

For proof of his drawing power, look no further than Wrestlemania III in 1987. The main event was Andre vs. Hulk Hogan. The show drew the first million-dollar gate in wrestling history, set a pay-per-view record that lasted a decade, and set the all-time indoor attendance record for any live event ever—78,000+ butts in seats at the Pontiac Silver Dome in Detroit—destroying the previous record set by some rock band called the Rolling Stones. His rematch with Hogan two months later, broadcast live on NBC, attracted 33 million viewers, making it the most watched wrestling match ever.

Known to his friends simply as “Giant” or “Boss,” Andre was born on May 19th, 1946, in Grenoble, France, the child of Russian immigrants. Shortly after his birth, he was diagnosed with a rare glandular disease, acromegaly, which caused his body to over-produce growth hormones. As a result, Andre grew to a height of somewhere between 6’11” and 7’5” and a weight of over 500 pounds (his actual height and weight have been speculated about for decades—the business is notorious for inflating wrestlers’ statistics—but Andre’s illness sometimes made him slouch or bow his shoulders, so he might well have been the advertised 7’5”). He first wrestled as Andre the Butcher, but it was Vincent J. McMahon Sr., owner of New York’s World Wide Wrestling Federation (WWWF), who christened him “Andre the Giant.”

While it can be argued that a miniscule handful of professional wrestlers matched Andre’s in-ring achievements (Gorgeous George back in the ‘40s and ‘50s, perhaps; Dusty Rhodes in the ‘70s, and Hulk Hogan, without a doubt, in the ‘80s), no other wrestler ever matched his exploits as a drunkard. In fact, no other human has ever matched Andre as a drinker. He is the zenith. He is the Mount Everest of inebriation.
As far as great drunkards go, there is Andre the Giant, and then there is everyone else.

The big man loved two things: wrestling and booze—mostly booze—and his appetites were of mythic proportion.

First, consider the number 7,000. It’s an important number, and a rather scary one considering its context, which is this—it has been estimated that Andre the Giant drank 7,000 calories worth of booze every day. The figure doesn’t include food. Just booze.

7,000 calories.

Every day.

I don’t know about you, but it makes my brain turn somersaults. Hell, it makes my brain perform an entire floor routine, complete with colored ribbons.

When Andre arrived in New York to begin his long working relationship with the McMahon family, his reputation as both a serious student of the nightlife and an extravagant spender was already a topic of speculation and wonder among East Coast wrestlers and promoters. Andre might make $15,000-$20,000 for a single appearance at Madison Square Garden, and a substantial amount of that went to settling the bar tabs he piled up as he boozed his way up and down Manhattan until sunrise. Andre’s generosity matched his size. He often invited a gang of fellow wrestlers along for the ride, as he disliked drinking alone, and picked up some truly staggering tabs. Andre was going to have a good time and went out of his way to make sure everyone else did too.

Worried about his headliner, Vince McMahon Sr. assigned a “handler” to the Giant—long-time wrestler, manager, and road agent, Arnold Skaaland, whose only job when Andre was in town was to keep him out of serious trouble and get him to the arena in time to wrestle. Skaaland was an old-school drinker in his own right, but Andre blew his mind. On one occasion he could only watch goggle-eyed as Andre went about demolishing a dozen or so quarts of beer as a “warm-up” for a match.

With Skaaland on the job, Vince Sr. knew Andre was in capable hands, but the promoter still worried about how the Giant would cope with the insane amount of travel required of a wrestling superstar. Andre loathed flying—no commercial airliner could accommodate such a massive man without resorting to the luggage compartment—and his opinion of most cars wasn’t much sunnier, because aspects of his disease caused intense pain in his knees, hips and lower back when he remained too long in a cramped position. When a tight schedule left a plane or car as the only option, Andre eased his discomfort by getting good and hammered.

Vince Sr. pondered the situation and arrived at a novel solution. He wanted to keep the big man happy, so he bought a trailer and had it customized just for Andre. With plenty of room to spread out and relax, Andre could now travel in a semblance of comfort, which allowed him to do some serious boozing. During trips Andre consumed beer at the incredible rate of a case every ninety minutes, with bottles of vodka or top-rate French wine thrown in for variety.

Sadly, the trailer wasn’t available outside the WWWF territory; Vince Sr. wasn’t about to do the competition any favors. Andre didn’t expect other promoters to pony up a trailer just for him, so he commissioned a customized Lincoln Continental. With the front seat now positioned about where the back seat would normally be, Andre had a little leg room. He carried his luggage and wrestling gear in the trunk and towed his necessities in a trailer. Lined with plastic tarps, the rickety trailer was filled with ice and cases of Budweiser tallboys. As he cruised the nation’s highways, Andre kept a case on the seat beside him, stopping only for food, more ice, and another case or two if he ran low.

As famous as Andre was in this country, he was even bigger in Japan. He spent a few months out of every year over there, where he was treated like a living god and pocketed five-figure payoffs for a single night’s work. That being said, Andre didn’t really like Japan. Everything was too small. Hotel beds were like bassinets and it was all but impossible for him to shower or go to the bathroom in their Lilliputian facilities. He was known to rip the door off his hotel bathroom and make use of the toilet by sitting sideways with his legs sticking out into the main room.
Getting from show to show presented its own problems. Japanese promoters preferred to transport the gaijin wrestlers by bus, vehicles which steadfastly refused to house giants. In order to placate their star import, promoters removed several rows of seats from the back of the bus, creating something of a private cabin for Andre, a place spacious enough for him to stretch out or catch a nap. Mostly, though, Andre used the space as a comfortable spot to do his drinking.

A very green rookie wrestler named Hulk Hogan toured Japan several times with Andre and witnessed the Giant’s alcohol consumption first hand. According to Hogan, Andre drank, at a minimum, a case of tall boys during each bus ride. When he finished a can Andre would belch, crush the can in his dinner-platter-sized hand, and bounce the empty off the back of Hogan’s head. Hogan learned to count each thunk, so he could anticipate when Andre was running low. Whenever the bus stopped, it was Hogan’s job to scamper off to the nearest store, buy as many cases of beer as he could carry, and make it back before the bus departed, a sight that never failed to make Andre roar his bassoon-like laugh.

On one tour, Andre’s Japanese sponsors rewarded him with a case of expensive plum wine. Andre settled down in the back of the bus and started drinking. Four hours later, the bus arrived at the next venue, and Andre was polishing off the last bottle of wine.

Sixteen bottles of wine in four hours is a considerable feat, but it gets better. Andre proceeded straight to the ring and wrestled three matches, including a twenty-man battle royal. The 16 bottles of plum wine had no discernible effect on Andre’s in-ring ability. By the end of the evening, Andre had sweated off the wine and found himself growing cranky. He dispatched Hogan for a few cases of beer. Hogan hurried to do as Andre asked, knowing from painful experience that a drunken Giant was a happy Giant, and a happy Giant was less likely to fracture some vital part of an opponent’s anatomy in a fit of grumpiness.

In 1977, “The American Dream” Dusty Rhodes wrestled Andre at Madison Square Garden. Afterwards, the old friends went out on the town. They adjourned to one of Andre’s favorite watering holes and took stools at the bar (Andre occupied two). Several hours and some 100 beers later (around 75 of them were Andre’s), they decided to head back to their hotel. Andre looked at taxis with the same scorn as most other conveyances and announced that he and Dusty would walk, which was problem because Dusty was having trouble maintaining a vertical position. Andre studied the situation, and a twinkling grin blossomed across his huge face. People who spent any time with the big man quickly learned to watch for that grin. It was a harbinger of danger. It meant that Andre was contemplating something risky, something with potential legal ramifications, but also, most assuredly, something fun.

A moment later, the two huge wrestlers attacked a pair of horse-drawn carriages. Dusty threw a handful of paper money at one driver while Andre hauled the other from his seat with one hand. While one driver cursed and the other scrabbled around on the ground collecting his windfall, Andre and Dusty thundered off in the carriages. They raced through the Manhattan streets, dodging cars and pedestrians for fifteen blocks before ditching the carriages and lathered horses a block from their hotel. By the time the cops arrived, Andre and Dusty were enjoying snifters of brandy in the hotel bar, appearing as innocent as angels. The next day, they main-evented another card at the Garden. Another sell-out. Two pros at the top of their games.

Another time, in the ‘70s, Andre was holding court at a beach-front bar in the Carolinas, boozing it up with fellow wrestlers Blackjack Mulligan, Dick Murdoch, and the inimitable Ric Flair. They’d been drinking with gusto for hours when Flair goaded Mulligan and Murdoch into some slap-boxing with Andre, who had poured over 60 beers down his gullet. One of the two “accidentally” sucker-punched Andre. The Giant became enraged, grabbed both Mulligan (6’5”, 250 lbs.) and Murdoch (6’3”, 240 lbs.) and dragged them into the ocean, one in each hand, where he proceeded to hold them under water. Flair intervened, and Andre released the men, assuring them he was only playing around. Murdoch and Mulligan, who had nearly drowned, weren’t so sure, but neither messed with Andre the Giant again. They also picked up the tab.

On another occasion, Andre was touring the Kansas City territory and went out for drinks after a show with Bobby Heenan and several other wrestlers. When the bartender hollered last call, Andre, slightly annoyed, announced that he didn’t care to leave. Rather than risk an altercation with his hulking customer, the bartender told Andre he could stay only if he was drinking, imagining, surely, that he would soon be rid of the big fella. Andre thanked the man, and proceeded to order 40 vodka tonics. He sat there drinking them, one after another, finishing the last at just after five in the morning.

When ill health forced Andre to largely quit wrestling in the late ‘80s, he accepted the role of Fezzik in Rob Reiner’s movie The Princess Bride. Everyone on the set loved the big man, with the possible exception of Reiner himself. Ever the sociable fellow, he kept fellow cast members Mandy Patinkin and Carey Elwes out night after night, drinking and otherwise goofing around. The actors were incapable of matching Andre’s intake, but certainly gave it a serious try. As a result, they often showed up on set still loaded or suffering from the sort of hangovers that make death seem a pleasant alternative. Reiner tried to get Andre to leave the actors alone, but Andre could only be Andre, and the other cast members continued to pay the price.

The shooting schedule required Andre to be in England for about a month. When his part wrapped, Andre checked out of his suite at the Hyatt in London and flew back to his ranch in North Carolina. His bar bill for the month-long stay?

Just a shade over $40,000.


Now, if everything I’ve described so far isn’t proof enough that Andre the Giant was the greatest drunkard who ever lived, these last two stories should set my claim in granite.

You won’t find it in the Guinness Book of World Records, but Andre the Giant holds the world record for the largest number of beers consumed in a single sitting. These were standard 12-ounce bottles of beer, nothing fancy, but during a six-hour period Andre drank 119 of them. It was one of the few times Andre got drunk enough to pass out, which he did in a hallway at his hotel. His companions, quite drunk themselves, couldn’t move the big man. Fearing trouble with cops, they stole a piano cover from the lounge and draped it over Andre’s inert form. He slept peacefully until morning, unmolested by anyone. Perhaps the hotel people thought he was a piece of furniture.

Think about it: 119 beers in six hours. That’s a beer every three minutes, non stop. That’s beyond epic. It’s beyond the ken of mortal men. It’s god-like.

Giants are not made long for this world, and toward the end of his life injuries and health problems caused by the acromegaly caught up with Andre. It became difficult just to walk, let alone wrestle, so he retired to his North Carolina ranch to drink wine and watch the countryside. He declined myriad requests for a comeback, despite promises of lavish payoffs. He was simply in too much pain to perform at the level he demanded of himself. Then he received a call from Vince McMahon Jr.

McMahon was in the midst of taking his WWF promotion national. He’d scored big-time with his Wrestlemania events on pay-per-view, and as Wrestlemania III approached, Vince Jr. was hot to make it the biggest thing yet. To make that happen, he needed Andre the Giant.

Andre was in France visiting his ailing father when the call came. He thanked Vince Jr. but said there was no way he could get back in a ring, even though he very much wanted to. Not willing to give up, Vince Jr. flew to France to speak with Andre in person. He took Andre to see doctors specializing in back and knee maladies. Radical back surgery was proposed. If successful, the procedure would lessen Andre’s pain and perhaps make it possible for him to get in the ring for Wrestlemania. If Andre was game, Vince Jr. agreed to pay for the entire cost of the surgery.

The time arrived, and the anesthesiologist was frantic. He had never put a person of Andre’s size under the gas before and had no idea how much to use. Various experts were brought in but no solution presented itself until one of the doctors asked Andre if he was a drinker. Andre responded that, yes, he’d been known to tip a glass from time to time. The doctor then wanted to know how much Andre drank and how much it took to get him drunk.

“Well,” rumbled the Giant, “It usually takes two liters of vodka just to make me feel warm inside.”

And thus was a solution found. The gas-passer was able to extrapolate a correct mixture for Andre by analyzing his alcohol intake. It was a medical breakthrough, and the system is still used to this day.

Five months later, Andre the Giant wrestled a “body-slam” match against Hulk Hogan and brought down the house.

Two liters of vodka. Warm and fuzzy. Side by side like that, the two sentences hardly make any sense. For most of us, two liters of vodka means a one-way ticket to Blackout Island aboard the good ship Regurgitania.

After Wrestlemania, Andre retired for good. His beloved father died in 1993 and Andre returned to France to be with his family. He was still there when, on January 26th, 1993, Andre died in his sleep of heart failure at the age of 47.

The key to Andre the Giant is this — even as a youth he knew that his disease would dramatically shorten his life. He knew there was no cure, and lived every day with the understanding that death could shamble around the very next corner. Knowledge of this sort can darken a life.

It did not darken Andre’s.

He chose instead to pack his days with as much insane, drunken fun as they could hold. Instead of languishing in the darkness, he chose to walk in the sun.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again now. Andre the Giant was an inspiration. I would pay a fortune for the opportunity to go back in time 30 years to watch such a master practice his craft, in the ring and at the bar.

Andre the Giant was the very embodiment of what being a drunkard is all about.
—Richard English

(Note: The Author is indebted to the works of Brian Solomon, Ric Flair, Terry Funk, “Superstar” Billy Graham, Dave Meltzer, Bobby “The Brain” Heenan, and Hulk Hogan.)

Luceo
Apr 29, 2003

As predicted in the Bible. :cheers:



What a story. Rest in peace, Giant.

Shooting Blanks
Jun 6, 2007

Real bullets mess up how cool this thing looks.

-Blade



I actually like the Jackie Gleason story even better, but Modern Drunkard is great.

Benny the Snake
Apr 11, 2012

GUM CHEWING INTENSIFIES
So I've heard of this bar in LA, maybe Glendale, where the bartender asks you your favorite novelist and poet and he serves you based on your answers. Anybody heard of it?

Stunning Honky
Sep 7, 2004

" . . . "
That sounds like you're about to get poured a fifteen dollar cocktail over an aesthetically pleasing sphere of ice

Stunning Honky
Sep 7, 2004

" . . . "
Or the worst Uncle Remus joke I've ever heard

Stunning Honky
Sep 7, 2004

" . . . "
To this day I stand slack jawed at the barriers to getting a drink in my hands. Are you kidding me with this poo poo? My favorite novelist is Douglas Adams and my favorite poet is Ogden Nash; I hope you can come up with something shortly. Badump-tish.

Shooting Blanks
Jun 6, 2007

Real bullets mess up how cool this thing looks.

-Blade



That bar sounds like hell on earth.

Stunning Honky
Sep 7, 2004

" . . . "


(thanks to Matt G)

JawKnee
Mar 24, 2007





You'll take the ride to leave this town along that yellow line
If you say Charles Bukowski do you just get a jug of 5 dollar wine and cheap beer?

PT6A
Jan 5, 2006

Public school teachers are callous dictators who won't lift a finger to stop children from peeing in my plane
Hemingway and/or Hitchens (did he write anything other than non-fiction)? That's how you get straight rum and whisky.

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Monday_
Feb 18, 2006

Worked-up silent dork without sex ability seeks oblivion and demise.
The Great Twist
Do bartenders ever get annoyed when one of their regulars decides to quit drinking but still shows up for non-alcoholic drinks? I've sobered up but I still like to drop by my favorite bar and just have a couple Cokes. I tip 100% since I'm not spending much, but my bartender still teases me about it.

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