People either love Valentine’s Day or they hate it. Having worked in the service industry for the better part of two decades, I’ve bartended my share of Valentine’s Days, bore witness to everything from marriage proposals to breakups, and even moped, stumbled and sobbed my way through a few of my own. For those of you hopelessly in love out there who’ve miraculously remembered to make a Feb. 14 reservation for two at your favorite restaurant, may I recommend a bottle of Perrier Jouet Belle Epoque and a reliable car service home.
This one is for the broken-hearted.
My father used to yell at me to get out of bed at 10 a.m. on Saturday mornings. He said I’d never hold down a job if I slept all day, so it felt good to prove him wrong for the next 18 years when all my jobs began at 5 p.m. Still, I always got the feeling he regretted sending me to the most prestigious preparatory school in the state only to see me slinging drinks behind 3 feet of wood upon graduating college. That is, until the first time I comped his bill. He and my mom had brought two of their high school friends in for dinner at the restaurant where I was running my first bar program. I had never comped an entire tab before, so I was pleasantly surprised when I asked the owner if there was anything I could do to take care of my family, and he took care of the entire check. My dad looked shocked at first, then beamed with pride. Maybe it was because he suddenly viewed my position as imbued with authority. Or perhaps he could finally put a monetary value to his daughter working in an industry he had previously dismissed as frivolous opulence. My father always did love a good deal.
Over the years growing up in his house, my father and I fought over hundreds of things — he wanted me to study Japanese while I remain, to this day, a staunch Francophile; he asked me to be home by midnight when everyone knew the good clubs didn’t close until 4 a.m.; he wanted me to major in business, and I of course, required a more creative outlet for my energies, pursuing instead writing, and eventually mixology. However pure his motives may have been at the time, as my high school therapist pointed out, his demands that I be something I was not were only serving to help me self-destruct. As the saying goes, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make her drink.”
They say you choose a partner who triggers the same traumas you experienced from your parents as a child, as a subconscious way of trying to heal those childhood wounds as an adult. When I finally found the love of my life, he didn’t trust me to make the right decisions for myself any more than my father did, and for that reason, we are not together today.
To help me get through my pre-Valentine’s Day heartache, my best friend took me to see Hamilton at the Blaisdell. What struck me most, out of everything in that stunningly beautiful play, was the pain Hamilton’s wife, Eliza Schuyler, endured, and even more, the incredible accomplishments she continued to achieve well after his passing. I once heard an interview with a clergyman on the radio. He was speaking about why he had chosen celibacy as part of his devotion to God. He explained that as physical beings, our energy can only be divided in so many ways before it becomes negligible. People who marry, vow to devote their life and energy to their spouse, and eventually their children, should they choose to have them. By not getting married, he had chosen to devote himself entirely to God’s work. I suddenly understood why the majority of Eliza’s achievements occurred after the devastating loss of her husband.
To those of you who, like Eliza, find yourself alone despite your sacrifices and devotions, I say this — I’ll never regret learning French, becoming a writer, or the 20 years I’ve invested in the service industry we call hospitality. It is in times we are most alone that we have the most to give, and it is when we are alone that we are allowed to be truest to ourselves.
In all my struggles for freedom to define my life by my terms, one thing has become abundantly clear — if your horse won’t drink the water, maybe you should try offering her a beer.
“Whiskey for my men”
1.5 ounces Old Overholt Bonded rye whiskey
1 ounce fresh lemon juice
0.75 ounces Hamakua Coast premium macadamia nut orgeat
2 ounces Big Island Brewhaus Graham’s Pilsner
2 dashes angostura bitters
Directions: Shake all ingredients, except Big Island Brewhaus Graham’s Pilsner, over ice. Add Big Island Brewhaus Graham’s Pilsner to shaker tin, and strain over fresh rocks into Pilsner glass. Garnish with lemon wheel placed on rim of glass.
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.
