Spilled at the Wine Bar
A free report of what I’ve seen, heard, and overheard at a little boutique wine bar in Southern California in the past week.
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Apologies - this edition was delayed due to unforeseen scheduling conflicts.
Monday
Last time, in “Spilled #1,” I mentioned that our little boutique wine bar fills with teachers on Friday afternoons, but only during the school year. So of course, the first people in on Monday afternoon are a giddy trio of thirty-something women in tank tops and cutoff shorts who announce to me, “We’re teachers, free for the summer! Teachers gone wild!” In truth, they are teachers gone mild, but they do enjoy a few rounds of Sauvignon Blanc and Moscato. When I mention that we usually see teachers on Fridays, they laugh. Oh, we’ll be back, for sure.
I love to see families come in. Parents celebrating a first (legal) drink with their kids. Reunions ahead of a graduation, or a wedding, or not infrequently, a funeral. They often end up at our six-seat rounder in the corner, surrounded by our retail bottles, and so it was Monday night, when a group of five settled in at table T6. Dad, Mom, Daughter and Sons 1 and 2. Moscato for Mom, a Bartender’s Choice flight of 3 samples for Daughter, a beer for Son 1, nothing for Son 2 - tonight’s family driver, and a big, juicy California Cab for Dad. Time comes to settle up, and Dad jokes: “He’ll pay,” nodding to Son 1, who feigns ignorance and gets up to inspect the retail section. I return a few beats later, and Dad confides, “I lost again. I never really had a chance.”
A former wine club member comes in. She canceled in the spring but is ready to rejoin the fold, so I set her up with her July wines — a California Grenache and a Rhône blanc blend — and pour her a California Arneis. We aren’t very busy and we get to chatting and she notes the wildly popular restaurant next door to us. “You know, I’ve never been. It’s always too crowded, too busy, too loud. I don’t do crowd and loud.” I realize then that she’s carefully selected a seat almost at the end of the bar. Almost. The two seats to her right are rarely occupied, since they are at a lower bar height for easy wheelchair access. And three seats are open to her left. Halfway into her second glass, all five of those seats fill up, and everyone is chatty — dude on left getting a long overdue haircut nearby at girlfriend’s insistence. He can’t wait to tell Renewing Member and me all about it. She finishes quickly, settles, and scurries out.
5: Requests this week to use the bathroom we don’t have
I may as well come clean: I am guilty of exaggeration in service of a good story. Last time I also told you that we “must see 100 people a week” who come in only to ask for the restroom, and then finding we don’t have one, to ask for the entry code to the community lavs down the walk. This week, it’s only five. But it still feels like a horde, ok?
Update: Our property manager has taken pity and erected a sign opposite our side door, directing lost souls further down the path to the restrooms. So, that surely accounts for the drop in drop-ins.
Tuesday
More families. A Mother and her Adult Son with heavy business to discuss over two rounds of Bartender’s White of the Day and Mexican Lagers.
And later, on the patio, a young couple with an infant. Sorry, we’re a bar and can’t have minors — but we can serve you just beyond, in the public areas. Hazy IPA for Dad, Sauvignon Blanc for mom. “Don’t judge me. I’m pregnant, but I’m just going to have a taste and he’ll finish the rest.” No judgement here, friend.
Wednesday
No trade tastings today, so it’s slow in the bar all afternoon, but for a couple who take a corner table. It’s game day, and one I don’t recognize at all. A couple makes room for a small, rectangular wooden board on their table — Red of the Day for her, Rose for him — and each player sets two pegs into holes while scanning a hand of cards. I don’t recognize it, what game are you playing? “Cribbage.” Now, that’s retro. Turns out they found the game at a thrift shop.
Thursday
I’m on my feet all shift — four to six hours a day, five or more days a week — and I’m sort of amazed that after three years of this, my back, legs, knees, and hips haven’t built up more stamina. Instead, my pegs, man they can ache.
Into the bar on this achy day comes a young woman who tells me between rounds of Sauvignon Blanc that she’s headed to the chiropractor. Oh, I say, do you need a couple to settle your nerves? “No, no, I love my chiro. I just had some time to kill first.” And so I end up with a recommendation for a chiro, who I’ll have to try, some day.
Overheard at the bar:
“If there’s one thing I’m good at besides wine, it’s inheriting money.”
Friday
The theme today turns out to be weddings and wedding shopping.
First, a woman sits at the bar and announces that her daughter-in-law and daughter are on the way. They’ve just finished shopping for wedding dresses, and Daughter picked the first one she tried on. Amazing — I’ve never heard of such a thing. They decide that rather than waste time trying on more, they’ll come hangout at the Wine Bar. Wise women.
And then, two women sit on the patio. Sisters, planning the engagement party of the younger. I pass along the story from earlier in the day of the one-fitting wedding dress selection, winding up with my amazement at the result. They are … unimpressed, and cut straight to ordering. Two rounds of rose and a cheeseboard. What a whiff by me!
Finally, just as the Friday afternoon bar traffic picks up, in strolls a sales rep. Not for wine, but for cash register systems. Way back, decades ago, this was my first “professional” job out of school, and it is clearly hers, too. “Oh, this is my new favorite place,” says she. “Do you use (her brand)? No? Do you use (another brand)?” I come clean and tell her that we use (yet another brand). Well, I guess I’m going to have to come here with my boyfriend, anyway. He locked me down, we’re engaged.”
Thanks for reading
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