College was an interesting time for me, during which I experimented with many controversial things, including my tolerance level. No, I’m not talking about listening to the grad students who hung out at the local campus bar, droning on about how punk was a musical revolution. I’m talking about walking that fine line between having one beer to take the edge off at the end of the day, or having five and losing your inhibitions completely. Like most lessons in life, my tolerance level was a balancing act, in the name of which I allowed myself the indulgence of much practice, which sometimes left me wondering, “What happened last night?” It’s not an exercise I would recommend, but I was blessed with good friends who always took care of me, so my occasional blackout afforded me unique lessons in both humility and something else I wasn’t expecting — perspective.
Some blackouts are fragmented, where spotty remnants of memories remain, floating like islands in between the gaps. However, a true blackout is not like a forgotten memory that might be recovered by suggestion or stimulation. In a true blackout, the long-term memory is never formed, and therefore, can never be recalled. So, if I wanted to find out what happened last night, I’d have to sheepishly ask someone else the next day.
Most people can’t get past their own perspective long enough to find their way out of an argument, so it’s interesting when you experience, for the first time, not having a perspective of your own by which to judge. When you are physically incapable of recalling an event, your “memory” is now made up entirely of other people’s perspectives on the situation. John F. Kennedy Jr. once admitted in an interview that he didn’t know if he actually remembered saluting his father at his funeral, or if he’d just heard so many people tell him the story that he thought he remembered the historic gesture, which earned him the cover of Life magazine at the tender age of 3.
Being able to hear another person’s perspective is one thing. Being able to humbly accept their perspective as truth is an act of compassion and commitment. It doesn’t always have to mean you agree, but simply that you accept that is how that person sees the situation based on everything their unique life experiences have taught them. As my therapist says, “People make the best decisions they can in the moment with the tools that they have.”
I like to josh that everything I ever needed to know, I learned behind a bar. The moment I realized 90% of our problem guests who came into the restaurant complaining were really just hungry, my whole approach to serving changed. I learned the quicker I could get a cocktail in their hand and food on their table, the transformation in their demeanor was nothing short of magical. A bartender colleague once asked me, “What’s the difference between a bartender and God?” As I scrunched my face in confusion, he replied, chuckling, “God doesn’t think he’s a bartender!” I admit, nothing feels quite as omnipotent as being able to convert anger into contentedness with one fell swoop of your jigger. All it took was a little empathy.
While my friends would humor and regale me with stories of my hilarious, though occasionally less than dignified, intoxicated antics, trying to help me fill in the blank spots, I can only imagine now that they were able to retain their beneficent perspective simply by understanding mine — that of a young, passionate, 4-foot-11-inch woman, just trying to keep up with the boys in an industry dominated by men. And though my memory may be fragmented, my ability to put myself in another person’s shoes and see things through their eyes is paradoxically well-honed for the very same reason. That is, I had no other choice.
St. Paddy’s Day is right around the corner, so for those of you who have already secured a designated driver to escort you safely home after an evening of celebrative debauchery, may I offer this lighter, spritzier twist on the classic bloody mary — a hydrating tonic to ease you through the maligned morning-after. As you sip, before you start mourning those lost pieces of memory, just consider this quote from Albert Einstein, “As our circle of knowledge expands, so does the circumference of darkness surrounding it.”
Sometimes, a little ignorance can be bliss.
Mary quite contrary
1.5 ounces Suntory Haku vodka
2 ounces housemade tomato water*
0.25 ounces St. Germain elderflower liqueur
0.25 ounces fresh lemon juice
1 dash Japanese Bitters Co. shiso bitters
1.5 ounces Fever Tree tonic water
Directions:
Build all ingredients and pour over fresh ice into Collins glass. Garnish with shiso leaf and half a cherry tomato.
*To make tomato water:
Juice 1.5 pounds organic tomatoes (should yield 16 ounces), and strain through fine mesh strainer. Add 0.5 ounces Maldon sea salt, and stir until dissolved. Cover, date and store in fridge up to one week.
Alicia Yamachika is a bartender and craft mixologist, who currently is the key account manager at Southern Glazer’s Wine & Spirits on Oahu. Follow her on Instagram (@alicia_yamachika). Her column will appear every second Wednesday in Crave.
