I’ve started measuring my time in Boston not in calendar days, but in Jameson Bartender’s Balls. ‘Oh, it’s time for another one?’ ‘Wow, I can’t believe it’s been a year already.’
Last Monday marked the fourth year in a row I have attended this glorious event, which can only be described as the worst idea that Jameson has ever come up with … besides inventing Jameson in the first place.
Jokes aside, for those who don’t know, the Bartender’s Ball is a ‘Thank you’ from Jameson to bartenders in Boston and all over the country. They provide an open bar and live entertainment and from 9pm ’til midnight, with just one catch … the only thing that you can drink is Jameson.
Pros that we are, a handful of staff members from the White Horse Tavern and The Avenue in Allston started early with dinner and drinks at one of Allston’s newest spots, the swanky Shanghai Social Club. It was all according to plan, as I have a few rules when it comes to an evening of debauchery.
Rule 1: Always set a good base. Eat dinner, for crying out loud. This isn’t amateur hour, and no one wants to hang out with someone who gets buzzed off a Malibu and diet because all they had to eat was, like, a banana for breakfast.
Rule 2: Wear cute but practical shoes. Sometimes you get tipsy and forget you’re not trying to walk on water. Sometimes things jump out at you, like stairs or sidewalks. Stumbles can be avoided by not cramming your winter toes into heels. Whiskey plus heels generally equals face-plant.
Rule 3: Pace Yourself. I don’t know what this means, so I’m not sure why I constantly tell myself to do it. “Havoc, pace yourself.” But how can I do that when I have large hands that can hold three drinks at a time after I take a shot? Yeah, pace yourself. A different variation of Rule 3 (depending on your level of sassiness) could be “Check yourself before you wreck yourself.”
Fast forward to the ball. The Paradise Rock Club was a lovely spot for this year’s gala, and the place was packed. A line snaked all the way down Comm Ave, with bartenders from all over the city shivering in the cold weather. No problem here; I learned years ago to get there early or risk being denied entry.
Once inside, it was like the red carpet before the Oscars. Bartenders, servers, bouncers, and barbacks from all over were under the same roof clutching fistfuls of their beloved Jameson. Since I no longer drink Jameson (I know, it’s weird), I spent the next few hours bouncing around and remembering prior years: the time I was so hungover that I almost puked just smelling the place; the year I didn’t get in until 11:30pm, and choked down enough Jameson in a half hour to kill a Roman army; the year I drank waaaaay too much beforehand and wound up at Centerfold’s.
By the time the evening came to a close, I felt like I had conquered the beast that is the Bartender’s Ball. I followed the rules, and came out on top. Without puking. And it was only midnight, which still left two hours for this Cinderella to get plenty weird.