Is Your Bartender a Professional?

A recent trip to the Twin Cities refreshed my outlook on restaurant employees and the industry as a whole. I don't know if it was because Minneapolis and St. Paul have become the hottest restaurant Mecca in the country over the past ten years, or, if it were due to my return – after a lengthy hiatus- to the area where I first laid claim to the title, restaurateur. But whatever the reason, a two day say was invigorating, especially since the financial world is in such turmoil and the trickle down effect is taking its toll on everyone.

 

The last time I sat on a bar stool in the Monte Carlo, John Rimarcik's art deco Minneapolis landmark was over five years ago. And aside from a few, unrecognizable faces at the bar, nothing has changed. The bartender claimed I looked "familiar", and Mark looked equally familiar to me.

 

The Monte Carlo has always held a top position of my list of enjoyable venues that transforms a customer, local or tourist, regular or newbie, into a welcomed regular. And for the Monte Carlo to have been able to maintain to captivate, allure, and entice its clientele over the years, with the influx of good restaurants in downtown Minneapolis is somewhat of a feat.

 

One of the restaurant's most valuable assets is the staff that has been there for a long period of time. This is not to say that the professionals that guide the property, each night, into culinary prosperity are old and weathered. They are not. They are a seasoned staff of professionals mixed with less seasoned professionals that all work with a semblance of synchronicity while taking there jobs very seriously.

 

I was in Minneapolis to attend the Suburban Newspaper Association conference. Since my associate was landing at 9:30 p.m. the late night serving Monte Carlo was the perfect place for dinner. 

 

The back bar is a mirrored full wall with glass shelving stretching it's entire 18 foot or so length. Hovering ten feet above the tallest bartender's head, the shelves play host to every libation imaginable, all gleaming and glistening from the lightly rose tinted light that pours through each bottle. Magnificent is the only word that describes the design.

 

Gotham's got nothing on the Monte Carlo. New York restaurant owners would fight for the room and on the Upper East Side the space would be a temple for Martini worshiping regulars. Equally important as the bar is the bartender.

 

As I said, Mark did look familiar; however, I couldn't recall his name at first. Once I had asked him about a mutual friend, infamous restaurateur, Michael Morse, we realized our paths had crossed before.

 

As my associate and I were discussing the convention we would be attending, Marc asked what brought us to town. The conversation soon evolved into whether people read newspapers anymore. To my surprise, the hip, 30-something bartender claimed he was the only one in his group of friends that still gets the newspaper everyday.

 

You don't read every section, do you I asked, attempting to prove the point that newspapers, for years, had printed and delivered sections that many people never read.

 

"Actually, I read every section of the paper," he said, adding, "It has to do with my job."

"I read every section. Not every page, but every section. I have to know about the Twins and the Vikings, so I read the sports page. I have to be able to talk stocks, so I read the business page. People are always asking me where to go and what to do, so I have to read the entertainment section. And, you have to know the news, so I read the front section."

 

"That's an incredible explanation. You should be doing an ad for the Newspaper Association of America, along with the National Restaurant Association. It's great to see someone so professional that takes their job seriously," I said.

 

"Well, I have been here for 15 years and I do take it seriously. I only work two nights a week now, I have a recording studio. But I enjoy it here." Marc said.

 

"Plus, if you're going to work at a bar, you might as well work at a real one," adding, "This is a real one," pointing to the illuminated wall of distilled, bottled artwork.