THINGS I WISH MY BAR MANAGER HAD TAUGHT ME
Sips
There are jobs you don’t choose because you love them. You choose them because they fit around something else: your life, your friends, your studies, or whatever you thought was more important than finding a “real” job.
Bartending, at the time, was that kind of job for me. Not a calling, for sure not my dream job.
Today, it’s different. People study for it. They plan it. Curses, masterclasses, minorclasses, whateverclasses!
But back then, at least for me, you became a bartender because you hadn’t studied. It was one of the few things you could do without a school certificate.
The alternatives were limited.
You could clean, or you could work in a kitchen as a dishwasher.
I tried the dishwasher job at seventeen. I got fired after two days.
As for cleaning, they wanted two years of experience.. which still feels like a joke, considering it was supposed to be my first job.
Bartending, somehow, was the reasonable option.
Most of the things you learn at the beginning of a job are practical and immediate: table numbers, colleagues’ names.
Drink recipes, drink notes, wine notes, food notes, allergies, guests’ preferences. You learn where things are kept, which coasters are for still water and which ones are for sparkling.
Understanding comes later..if it comes at all.
moments you learn to avoid
Behind the bar, this gap between doing and understanding is very visible. Not because bartending is special, but because it’s exposed. You’re always on display, always responding, often before you’ve had time to think.
And so you learn to avoid certain moments.
The guest who leans closer to the bar and starts scanning the bottles behind you.
The pause that feels too long.
The question you know is coming, even before it’s asked.
Sometimes you look for your bar manager. Sometimes you find a reason to walk into the kitchen, hoping someone else will step in first.
Then there’s the colleague. The new one. The one that for sure call himself MIXOLOGIST.
They ask you why you’re shaking a drink instead of throwing it. Not really because they want to understand, but because they want to show that they know something, or that they’ve seen it somewhere.
You do it automatically. You know how.
But when they ask why, something shifts. You hesitate. You try to answer. And you realise you don’t quite know how to explain it; not clearly, not confidently.
That feeling is terrible.
HOW I ACTUALLY LEARNED
When I’m not here writing about books, or about what I like to drink while I read, I’m behind a bar.
And before I learned how to master this profession, I went through all of those moments. Over and over again.
Honestly, I could have written a book about them.
Because that’s how I learned. By going home after a shift and turning every uncomfortable moment into something solid. Looking things up. Reading. Trying to understand why. Slowly transforming discomfort into confidence.
This series comes from there.
Starts behind a bar, because that’s my profession, but in every job there’s a gap between doing something and fully understanding it.
This series speaks from that space, but it isn’t only for people who work behind a bar.
Anyone who enjoys drinking, and want to know what’s in their glass, can find something here.
That’s why it lives on Sips & Words
THINGS I WISH MY BAR MANAGER HAD TAUGHT ME
Things I wish my bar manager had taught me is a series of short pieces built around those moments. Each article takes one of the questions that tend to arrive at the wrong time and gives it space.
Questions like the difference between bourbon and scotch.
Why people keep saying gin is just flavoured vodka.
What mezcal really is.
Or how the distilling process changes a spirit, even when the raw ingredient looks familiar..
Not as things to memorise.
Just as ways to make sense of what you’re pouring.
This series is not about becoming bartender of the year. It’s not about competitions, credentials, or proving anything.
It’s about a different kind of value.
It’s about the desire to go to work.
Maybe some days it’s a minus five. You really don’t want to go.
If this series does anything, I hope it turns that minus five into a minus two. No enthusiasm. Not passion. Just a little less resistance.
Because maybe you recognise a question. Maybe you’ve thought about it before. Maybe you feel confident enough to stay with it for a moment.
And that’s enough.