Breaking the Rules

Last night I broke one of my "bartender rules." I make them, I set them, and I keep them. They're in place to keep me on the straight and narrow. And to keep my job feeling like a job. And to keep me safe. And then I broke the big rule (not the first time mind you, but...): Do not go out after work with bar patrons (at least until they become regulars and you know them). It's normally common sense and should apply in all situations. Do not go out with someone you met at a club after dancing all night, etc. Trust is something that should be built. Good things take time. There are plenty of adages either way.

However, "Harry," was the father of a teenager, and a rock and roll collector and a MOT. And I was hungry, and he was suggesting Korean food, and it was close by, and well, I was hungry and the conversation was lively. So I went for it. My instinct told me everything would be ok. It was. I had amazing dumplings and something called bipbipbop. And sake. And house made cinnamon tea---which perhaps one day after I become a regular there, may show up in some of my cocktails. And he promised next time he's in town, something signed from my namesake. And now I have a closer, after hours spot for those nights when a late night slice isn't the answer.