Hops and Heat 2016

June 3, 2016

Do you like eating food that makes you sweat profusely and turn red? Do you like crying during your meal? Do you enjoy washing fuck your face spicy dishes down with freshly made IPA’s brewed by some of the most talented brewers in the world? If you answered “fuck yeah!” to any or all of those questions, then you are in luck. Hops and Heat 2016 is here and as a result your life is now complete.

Saturday June 11 at Churchill’s Pub and Grille is the third installment of Hops and Heat one of our three annual craft beer and craft food events. Chef AG Warfield and his staff of lunatics created this event after a day of binge drinking, chicken fighting and chili cooking. One of Chef Warfield’s flunkies made a chili with a shit ton of ghost peppers in it rendering it nearly inedible.

After a few too many pints by all, the young cook challenged Chef Warfield to eat a certain amount of his melt your flesh chili. Money was wagered and beers were poured. Chef Warfield crushed the chili in between sips from a fresh batch of Team Freeman Brewing’s latest IPA. The pain of the chili was excruciating to palate, but the deliciousness of the IPA made it briefly blissful. This bliss was immediately replaced with horrific pain. Chef Warfield won the money but might have lost the fight.

The next morning while still feeling the awful after effects of what he ate Chef Warfield was inspired. He wanted to bring that moment of bliss to you, the general drunken public. More than that bliss though he wished to inflict the blinding pain he felt on paying customers. Hence Hops and Heat was born. It’s the one day a year we can actually guarantee you will regret coming into the pub.

The beers will be some of the most hoppy IPA’s you have ever tasted, including a few the Churchill’s Pub and Grille staff was fortunate enough to help brew: Artifex “Sober in the Morning”, Mother Earth “Sinister Prime Minister” and Pizza Port Carlsbad “They Gon”. We will also be tapping in oldies but still very goodies like Russian River “Blind Pig” and “Pliny the Elder”.

Two of our full time favorites Societe “The Pupil” and Bear Republic “Churchill’s X” will also be on in addition to 35 of the best IPA’s you can get anywhere, ever all being poured alongside each other. From Bend, Oregon to Kalamazoo, Michigan we challenge breweries participating to produce their best IPAs and they gladly deliver. Several of the brewers will be in attendance on Saturday sharing pints and plates of spicy food.

The food is broken down in three categories: Bitten which is damn that’s hot, infected which is why am I doing this to myself? and the Undead which might kill you but if it does you will rise from the dead to roam the earth.

If you have ever eaten at Churchill’s then you know how tight our Chile Popper game is. Saturday a new height will be reached. How about a jalapeno stuffed with a ghost pepper stuffed with a Carolina Reaper, habanero cheese and bacon that’s then battered and deep fried? It’s the start of shark attack season so to help kick that off we will be serving mako shark seasoned with Caribbean Green spice topped with jalapeno slaw and habanero aioli on a ciabatta bun.

Then there’s The Devil’s Short Ribs. Beef short ribs prepared with Carolina Reapers and Ghost peppers with Tabasco mash and root vegetables topped with a chipotle chocolate sauce. The food isn’t just hot it is delicious. That is where we get you. You want to stop eating; you have to stop eating but you can’t because the flavor is just too good.

Hops and Heat 2016 is Saturday June 11 at Churchill’s Pub and Grille. Get ready for the best IPA’s paired with the tastiest, spiciest food you are going to find anywhere. You aren’t dealing with some over glorified line cooks here. We are professionals and take our heat very seriously. I look forward to watching you, the general drunken public burn and then ask for more. “Yes sir, here is that glass of milk you just offered to suck my dick for. That will be ten dollars.”

 

 

 

Review Evolution

May 17, 2016

There is a four letter website out there that stands for everything that is wrong with social media. This website allows any asshole with a cell phone to spew hate filled reviews attacking people in the service industry because they are upset that there is no Amber Ale on tap. They seem to have no control over what slanderous rhetoric its users post. Anyone who has ever waited or bussed a table, tended bar, been a floor or general manager or worked the door as a security guard will tell you that 90% of what you read on this website is bullshit usually made up by a user under the influence of alcohol. I understand that speech is free in this country but personally attacking an employee of an establishment you patronize, while drunk and recently ejected, does not equate to freedom of speech in my mind.

I have so many negative reviews about me that it is impossible to count. I have been called both racist and sexist on this site. I have been accused of being a pathetic little man drunk with the power of running a restaurant on this site. I have been referred to as a shameless prick who inexcusably backs his staff on this site. One time some schmuck actually posted a picture of a dog taking a shit and had the nerve to compare me to the pile of dung on this site.

Mind you these nasty things have been written about me because I was just trying to do my job. When was the last time something that happened at your job got blasted out on the internet with the express purpose of making you look like a jackass? Think hard. For me it’s much easier to recall because it happens every several months. If you want to pull me aside and say these awful things to my face that’s fine. It most likely won’t end well but one way or another it will end. Don’t be a coward and run to your laptop or tablet and blatantly make shit up that threatens my livelihood. Once it goes up on this site it is there for the public to read and now not just one person thinks I am all these awful things but the entire world is encouraged to make the same rash judgement.

So, you say to me, “It’s just a silly little website. Nobody cares that much about what is written there. Readers are smart enough to decipher the legitimate reviews versus the bullshit ones.”  First of all, the people who use this site are not that smart. Trust me I deal with them on a daily basis. If they were in a spelling bee versus a stack of bricks I’m taking the bricks, big time. Second of all people do care. I have seen people cry after reading a nasty review that was written about them. I’ve met people in this industry who have lost their job because they got too many bad reviews most of which were bullshit. If people didn’t care what was written on this shitbag site then certain restaurants wouldn’t discount customers who write five star reviews about them.

I have been in or around the restaurant business for 20 plus years and have been in the craft beer industry the last ten and what I have found is that people in this industry care about what they do, a lot. This is a career not some summer job motherfucker and every day I go to work I try to be better than I was the day before. When things don’t go well I lose sleep or drink to excess usually both. When my teammates have a bad day I feel it, because I care about them too. We work long hours on our feet trying extremely hard to provide our patrons with stellar product and service.

To do all that and then have some punk ass permanently stoned college hipster or some Quaalude popping soccer mom who have never waited a table in their life tell the internet that I suck at my job is something I am no longer able to just sit here and take. In fact, a very good friend of mine and I are going to open a restaurant for all these expert reviewers of a business they have never been employed in and it’s going to be called “Go Fuck Yourself” (patent pending). That way when they don’t like how things go down in our house they can reference the sign on the front door.

Service industry people unite. They want to write about us then let’s write about them. There is a website called GULPU.com™ coming to you soon. It’s our site to talk about how awful they are. For now, get stress off your chest with us at https://www.facebook.com/GULPU/

That way the next time some redneck with dip spit dribbling down his chin tries to fight you because you wouldn’t serve his pregnant girlfriend alcohol the real story will be heard too. Oh yeah, I almost forgot “Fuck Yelp”.

Holiday Winter Storm

January 16, 2014

Every year a certain local restaurant has their annual holiday party, and every year they end up at the pub, and every year they treat our staff, our customers and the pub itself with zero respect. It is like feeding time at the raptor cage from the moment they stumble up until the moment they get thrown out. This restaurant shall remain nameless due to the fact that I have the utmost respect for seventy-five percent of their staff who are all important members of the craft beer community. It was that fact that made me hesitate even writing this but the level of douchebaggery the other twenty-five percent displayed this year was far too egregious for me to stay silent.

It’s 4 pm on a Monday afternoon. Our happy hour regulars are settling in to their stools discussing the day’s events over a nice frosty pint of ale. The door opens and in walks a guy with a hat representing the restaurant he works at. He walks to the far side of the bar and sits down. The bartender approaches him to offer him a beer. He mentions where he works and says that he is meeting a party in upwards of 50 people here to celebrate their holiday party.

I know what you are thinking, 50 people on a quiet Monday afternoon that will be a great boon for business, and you’re right. However, most people who are part of a party of 50 have enough brain power to call ahead days in advance and I would be happy with even an hour’s heads up. Then you think about this particular group and realize that they work at a restaurant, allegedly. Here’s an idea, pull your fancy diamond bedazzled smart phone out of your ass and apply it to your ear so whatever restaurant you plan on destroying has a chance to make sure the level of ass kicking is a manageable one.

If I’d known that a bunch of drunk restaurant employees were approaching my bar I would have had a dark corner prepared to herd them into so my regular customers wouldn’t have to be bothered with their idiocy. I would have gladly set up a cage on the far side of our patio where they could yell and punch each other in the balls all to their hearts’ desire. When you add in that these people have been at their work drinking free high in alcohol beers all afternoon you understand how potentially damaging this group could be. Who ends a holiday party at 4 in the afternoon on a Monday and releases their shit faced employees like a roving Jager-stinking fifty person zombie apocalypse upon the local community? That doesn’t sound like responsible serving to me.

The regulars were shocked by the sudden influx of younger people. They were intrigued for less than a minute and all motioned to close their tabs out immediately. I would have done the same as I wouldn’t want to get bumped by drunken 22 year olds who are fighting each other to get a drink faster. We went four deep at the bar which is fun but getting string ordered by people who work in the bar industry is frustrating and annoying.

Once the initial rush mellowed we were able to start letting this screaming band of bar amateurs know that they needed to chill the fuck out and start treating this place with a sense of respect. They would listen for a few minutes and then start freaking out uncontrollably again. Things really started going downhill when I found a bottle of spiced Jager sitting over by the pool table. First of all if you are going to sneak liquor into a bar make it some real shit not some water downed bitchafied version of Jager.

Second of all, now people are going to start getting kicked out. I found the first one lying on the ground in front of the pub. This was at about 630. I kicked him in his ribs and he shook to life. He claimed he was waiting on a ride. I told him to leave the property. When he argued I asked him if people were allowed to lie on the ground in front of his restaurant. He shook his head no and stumbled his way down towards Denny’s. An hour and a half later a girl showed up with a baby looking for him.

The second one was already on watch for puffing on her e-cigarette inside even after being warned twice not to do so. As she took a seat at the bar she saw a plate of food. After blurting out that while she didn’t know whose food it was she was going to eat it anyway, she  proceeded to eat it anyway. When I pulled her out she was in tears saying how embarrassed she was and rightly so. I asked her to leave and when she argued I asked her if at her restaurant they allowed customers to randomly eat off other customers’ plates. She looked at me and stuttered out a tear and snot soaked yes.

The third one was most likely the oldest member of the staff left and seemed to be in some sort of management role with the restaurant. When I had first discovered the Jager bottle he had assumed the responsibility of gaining control of the crowd and helping us make sure his people didn’t do anything else stupid. That plan was a bust due to the fact that he might have been one of the more intoxicated people there more so than most of the kids who were ten years younger than him.

He had mentioned something about getting everyone to move to the bowling alley since my staff and I made it clear that is was in everyone’s best interest that they move along. An hour later he said they were going to go bowling. When I looked around and saw that was not the case I referenced about how lucky the bowling alley staff would be to get to serve him and his staff. He then told me to “not be an asshole” and that was the end of his evening and any evenings he ever thought he would be welcome back because he is most certainly not welcome.

At the end of this month it will be our Holiday party and the entire staff including myself will be letting loose and having a hot God damn good time. There will be crying, vomiting and spousal abandonment.  Our debauchery will be behind closed doors where the only people getting offended will be ourselves. One word of advice to any bar or restaurant who is planning a holiday party sometime in the near to distant future and that is open bar at your place and make sure there is no way to get out so that any staff- wide insanity does nothing to bother the rest of humanity.

BUY MY BOOK LOVE LIFE BY CLICKING ON THE LOVE LIFE LINK UP AND TO THE RIGHT FROM HERE!

The Bad Bartender Chronicles V

May 31, 2013

I recently had one of the worst experiences at a bar that I’ve had over my entire drinking career which has been lengthy and highly decorated. It was my first time in San Francisco and as a lover of craft beer everyone I spoke to before embarking on my trip up north told me there was absolutely one bar I had to go to if I was going to be in the city. So, I did and shall forever regret stepping foot there. As a respectful member of the bar community coupled with my blinding hatred for a certain four letter website I am legally not allowed to name, the bar at which I had this terrible experience shall remain nameless.

Another reason the bar shall remain nameless is because it wasn’t the bar that ruined my time there it was the pathetic excuse for a bartender who was clearly twelve years past being past her prime. Even a historically cool bar can be ruined by terrible service and based on the regulars’ acceptance of this common street walker’s behavior I figured her shitty treatment of customers wasn’t an exception but the norm.

It was late when we arrived with a nice buzz from a day long hair of the dog session beating off a circus-sized hangover. My first impression of this allegedly awesome craft beer bar was that it reeked like vomit. Not freshly puked vomit but years of people puking all over the place like the scent of vomit was stained into every surface of the bar.

We found four seats at the bar and waited to order. The bartender was at the other end of the bar leaning on the bar top with her back to us as she talked to other customers. The guys she was talking too had full beers so they clearly were not performing a business transaction. I looked around and saw four other patrons in addition to my three buddies and me anxiously awaiting a frosty beverage. After five minutes of watching the bartender shoot the shit she looked down the bar and made eye contact with me briefly before returning to her conversation for another five minutes.

Finally she slowly sauntered down the bar and helped the four other patrons who needed refills. Five minutes after that she greeted my buddies and I with a disinterested look as she tossed four soggy coasters at us. She wore a small tank top and leaned on the bar to show off her tits which were probably the only two good features this venomous skankbag possessed both physically and mentally.

Her hair was put back in pigtails and her face wore the weathered look of years spent turning tricks behind a puke stained bar. Her shorts were short enough that she needed two different hairdos and my first thought was how proud her father must be that his forty year old daughter still dressed like a whore.

She half listened to our order while twirling one of her pig tails around her finger. She poured our beers and asked us where we were from. When we told her San Diego she laughed at us and walked away. With frosty pints in front of us we thought nothing of it and all tipped the venomous skankbag a couple of bucks as we are all seasoned bar folk.

Less than halfway through our beers two of my buddies and I stepped out front for a quick smoke. We returned five minutes later and upon sitting down saw that our almost full beers were no longer where we left them. Now I know your first instinct would be to ask your non-smoker friend what the hell happened, but that is another blog for another day and honestly our freshly bought beers being taken was probably the last thing on his mind since at any other bar in the world that wouldn’t be a concern.

It took us ten minutes to get the venomous skankbag back down to our end of the bar because she was at a table sitting on some guys lap as she sipped out of their pitcher. When she finally returned to us we asked her what had happened to our beers.

“What beers?” she responded with a dip of her shoulder to expose more of her breasts and a flirtatious smile.

We all laughed uncomfortably thinking she was fucking with us and that our beers would reappear shortly. When they didn’t we asked her again what had happened to our beers.

“What beers?” she responded in a much more serious tone.

“The fucking beers we just bought from you and tipped you for!” said one of my buddies.

“I don’t know what beers you are talking about,” she said.

“Seriously we just ordered those beers ten minutes ago,” I said.

“Listen, do you really want to debate me on this or do you want to tell me what the fuck you want to order?” she yelled at me.

At that point I walked out with plans never to return because at this point I had been purposely ignored, stolen from and laughed at. After smoking a cigarette with no sign of my buddies, I reentered the bar only to find out that one of them had paid for another round of beers from the venomous skankbag and also tipped her fat in the process. I know you are thinking why the hell any sane person would be foolish enough to give more money to such a thieving bitch but once again that is another blog for another day.

Sipping the frosty pint in front of me calmed me for the moment. This calm lasted briefly as I noticed that amongst the dirty glassware the venomous skankbag was too lazy to wash were my buddies and my three near full beers. When we pointed this fact out to the venomous skankbag she ignored us at first.

“Those aren’t your fucking beers so just stop fucking crying like a bunch of pussies and drink what the fuck is in front of you,” she said after further questioning.

I have never finished a pint faster in my life. I was done with being disrespected and out the door in less than two minutes. Someone that bad at their job should be not just be fired but marched in front of a firing squad. At the very least she should be forced to seek an occupation more suited to her skill set like returning to the corner she was hatched at to commonly walk the street.  

10 Server Commandments

May 3, 2013

The service you get when you go out to eat dinner a lot of times can make or break your experience. No matter how good the food is if I repeatedly get bad service from the same place I will stop going. Bad service creates an uncomfortable ambiance and can be insulting. In the service industry your livelihood is the gratuity you receive for your service and you have to earn it every day.

Granted as someone who works in the industry you would expect me to be a very hard man to please and at times I can be. But if you ask anyone who currently works as a server they will all agree their fellow service industry employees are usually the best tippers. I believe in tip karma and in order to maintain balance in our strange world I always take care of my brethren. When I get bad service I tip twenty percent. When I get good service I am most likely going to help make your night and quite possibly your weekend.

In order to consistently make twenty percent as a server there are ten basic rules to follow to keep your customer fat, drunk and generous. When I say basic I am not saying being a server is easy because that couldn’t be further from the truth. Being a server is like having to run over hot coals for four to six hours straight while screaming customers jab your sides with javelins. When things go wrong servers usually get blamed by the customer, the kitchen and their manager so on a nightly basis there are multiple people to please.

That being said these basic rules I am about to lay out are easy enough that a blind monkey with one arm could execute them. That is why when a seemingly normal human cannot follow the ten basic commandments of being an efficient and successful server it is very frustrating. To be in the presence of blatant ignorance and stupidity angers me to no end especially when the person portraying these traits expects me to give them money for their services.

So to all you servers out there who can’t figure out why you average six percent in tips I give you the Ten Server Commandments:

Rule One:  Act like you like your job. Now I know a lot of servers hate their jobs for various different reasons and that’s okay. People in every field of employment hate their jobs. However, when the hatred you have for your job reaches a table of customers it is not okay. Part of being a good server is making your customer believe that there is no place in the world you would rather be and there is nothing you would rather be doing then serving them food. If you hate serving so much that you can’t fake it for intervals of less then a minute when dealing with my table it is time for you to choose a new career.

Rule Two:  Never, ever under any circumstance chew gum while serving me. The second I see you pop a bubble I will be asking for my check and leaving. I don’t know if there is something that makes me angrier than having someone taking my order as they noisily and rudely chew on gum like a cow chomping on grass.

Rule Three:  Do not camp at my table. It’s one thing to be friendly and engaging, it’s another to tell me your life story including how your baby daddy just left you again and that your second kid might have to go without for his birthday because the restaurant has been slow. I don’t care. Believe me. If I wanted to talk to someone as I ate I would have sat at the bar.

Rule Four: Be sober. I know this seems like common sense but you would be shocked at how many restaurant employees across the world show up shitfaced to work on a regular basis. If you reek like vodka red bull’s and shots of fireball and continually sway as you try to focus on how I want my burger cooked than I will most likely let your clueless manager who couldn’t manage their way out of a wet paper bag with scissors in their hands know that their employee is intoxicated and costing them business.

Rule Five: Write everything down. I don’t care if you have been waiting tables for your entire life and claim to be able to recite every order you have ever taken if you don’t have a pen and paper out I automatically assume that my order will be fucked up.

Rule Six: Always keep whatever beverage or beverages I have in front of me full. This might be the most important rule to me. Keeping me full of my beverage of choice keeps me happy and makes me more generous when the bill arrives.

Rule Seven: Never blame the kitchen. I hate it when after my food runs long or comes out wrong the first thing the sorry no account server says is, “Sorry, the kitchen’s been fucking up all day I don’t know what’s wrong with them.” This immediately says to me that you are terrible at your job because you just threw the person who works five times as hard as you and makes twenty times less money under the bus in hopes that your fuck up won’t affect your tip.

Rule Eight: Don’t disappear. Sometimes once food gets dropped a server will automatically assume that their guests who are eating are good to be left unattended to for a while. This is a mistake. Once I start eating that’s when I start needing help. As I eat I drink so please reference Rule Six. If my beer glass stays empty for over five minutes because you are out back smoking or talking to your girlfriend if and when you return to my table you will be entering into an extremely hostile situation.

Rule Nine: Don’t drop my check until I ask you to. Nothing says you want me to leave and fast more then giving me my check before I’ve asked for it. Just because I finished my eighth beer does not mean I am done for the evening. At the diner during breakfast fine no problem drop away, but during dinner service keep that check open and in your apron until I say differently.

Rule Ten: Don’t check the tip right in front of me. If I am still at my table and the only thing keeping you from getting off work is grabbing my check book so you can finish your checkout than by all means swipe it off my table. However, do not open the book in front of me so you can read the tip line on my credit card receipt or count the change I left you for the effort. This is offensive and bush league and the next time it happens to me I am taking my tip back.

If you are a server and you follow the Ten Server Commandments then myself and people like me who over tip on a regular basis out of fear of an invisible karmic force that rules our universe will not only tip you fat but we will also continue to come back.

Jon Domino

April 12, 2013

Southern California craft beer overlord, Stone, usually known for their employees’ humble attitude and the brew pub’s beautiful beer gardens has come under close public scrutiny after a couple of violent incidents took place on their property. Both incidents resulted in injuries, one of which was fatal.

The first incident took place at the brewery’s Stone Cider release. Two hipsters got into a heated argument about whose chest tattoo was better when a break dance fight broke out. Unfortunately for one of these heated hipsters, his skinny jeans were too tight and as he tried to twist his left knee the bone moved but the flesh did not, resulting in a gruesome compact fracture.

The second incident in question took place last Wednesday during Stone’s weekly California Condor Wing Night promotion. As usual the place was packed with ill tempered rich people since the delicious wings of this endangered species are on special every Wednesday for fifty-five and sixty-five dollars a wing.

On this particular California Condor Wing Night one customer was extremely upset that he couldn’t take his wings to go. The floor manager was forced to step in and did so with a blade in his hand. He then stabbed the unruly patron five times in the face in front of a full restaurant. The floor manager, who has since been fired, had to be restrained from stabbing other random customers who  he screamed had crossed him on past California Condor wing nights.

Under great public criticism and amidst a press nightmare Stone announced that for the first time ever they were going to hire a head of security whose sole job it would be to maintain the safety of both Stone employees and their customers. The search began and for a moment it seemed like the general drunken public’s outrage and verbal abuse had ceased.

The search ended with the highly controversial announcement that former mafia enforcer and known felon, Jon Domino, was being hired for the head of security position. Public outrage ensued yet again. People questioned why Stone, which boasts to be a family friendly establishment, would bring in a man notorious for being extremely violent to ensure their customer and staff’s safety.

Jon Domino was born in 1976 in Patterson, NJ to Shaun and Shauna Domino. Shaun Domino was a low rent thug who ripped off Kwik-E-Marts and toy stores and Shauna was a common street walker. Jon Domino’s first assault charge was filed against him when he was fourteen by Shaun Domino. Allegedly the son broke the father’s pinkie over a controversial call while playing the family’s favorite sport, dominoes.

Jon Domino dropped out of high school in 1993 to pursue a highly promising career in the mafia. Domino started out as a runner for the Pacino family but quickly advanced up through the ranks. With a heavy drinking problem and a relentless violent streak Domino made his way up to the esteemed position of enforcer for the Pacino family.

Domino was a sort of loose cannon, often breaking people’s legs for little or no reason. Don Don Pacino looked the other way due to Domino’s great performance as an enforcer. Despite several trips to jail a year Domino still dominated the mafia world in stats. For an eight year period between the years 1998-2006 Domino led all enforcers with the most legs broken, most bitches smacked and, by a large margin, most conjugal visits.

In 2008 Domino was forced to leave the Pacino family due to the fact that he had sex with two of Don Don Pacino’s wives and three of his mistresses. When the family turned on him Domino fled out to the West Coast settling in Los Angeles where he worked as a rotating random criminal character on various versions of Law and Order.

Now hired as the head of security at one of the most powerful breweries in the world Jon Domino took questions from the media in the middle of the breweries beautiful garden.

Jon Domino approaches the podium dressed in a black vest that says Officer Domino on the right breast and Stone Head of Security on the left breast. He is visibly armed with several firearms, a crossbow, a machete and several cans of pepper spray.

“What’s your motto for life?” asks reporter one.

“I’ve never met a pair of fucking legs I couldn’t break,”  answers Jon Domino.

“What are your thoughts on Stone’s no smoking policy?” asks reporter two.

Domino pulls a camel light from the front pocket of his vest and lights it.

“I love it and I look forward to enforcing that policy with extreme fucking prejudice,” answers Domino.

“What do you think of the beautiful grounds here at Stone?” asks reporter three as he puts his cell phone in Domino’s face to record the response.

“The grounds are beautiful and there are plenty of them. I see a lot of good spots to dispose of my enemies,” answers Domino.

Domino notices the cell phone is recording him.

“You god damn swine are you recording this?” yells Domino.

He rips the cell phone out of reporter three’s hand and smashes it under his foot.

“Hey, Jon Domino says go fuck yourself, this cock sucking press conference is over,” yells Domino as he storms off.

Three weeks into Jon Domino’s tenure as the head of security at Stone and there hasn’t been one incident. What that says to this reporter is while Jon Domino might be offensive and extremely dangerous he gets the job done. Maybe all restaurants/ breweries/bars should follow Stone’s successful lead and add a little Domino to their business plan.

BUY MY BOOK LOVE LIFE BY CLICKING ON THE LOVE LIFE LINK UP AND TO THE RIGHT FROM HERE!

That’s A Record

March 29, 2013

I recently received a letter from a certain four letter website that legally I am not allowed to name in this blog. I assumed it was another restraining order against me which would put my grand total up to seventeen. Upon opening it I was shocked to find out that it had nothing to do with legal rights at all. Instead it was a letter congratulating me on breaking the website’s all time record for most one star reviews in a six hour period.

At first I was highly offended and began to draw up a plan for revenge against each person who dared to say I was bad at my job. Sanity settled in shortly thereafter as I realized that the average IQ of people who write negative reviews on that slanderous four letter website is lower than that of a bag of dirt.

I received three prizes for my record setting performance. One was a free lifetime subscription to the four letter site I shall not name legally. Unfortunately since I would never set foot on such an asinine website I elected to donate that portion of my prize to the charity of my choice, “The Old Broken Down Stripper Home” located in Las Vegas, NV.

My second prize was a plaque with each review written in the blood of the human of my choice. Third was an audio version of each review read aloud by none other the President of the United States, Barack Obama. I know what you’re thinking how on earth could that be possible? Four negative reviews in 360 minutes, this guy must be the biggest schmuck in the world?

Anyone ignorant enough to say such a thing about such a fine author has obviously never experienced a Sunday Wing Night at the fine restaurant I work at. From 4pm to 10 pm I witness human beings who act like a pack of zombies who have stumbled across an elementary school at recess. Wing sauce and ranch dressing is splayed across the walls like blood from a gruesome murder scene.

Not everyone who comes through the door on a wing night is an animal. Only about thirty-four percent are. Of course that thirty-four percent is enough to drive a normally calm and quiet lad to the brink of murderous rage. They are entitled, rude, and disrespectful and swear that people who work at restaurants are complete morons.  What they don’t realize is that they are actually morons and if their own parents saw how they acted in public on wing night they would most likely commit suicide.

These four particular morons whose ridiculous personal attacks on me on social media will soon be displayed in one of their blood (guess which one) happened to all agree that I am unfit to perform my job. While obviously I dispute this ridiculous claim I will allow you, the general drunken public, to decide for yourselves.

The following is a timeline obtained from the Encinitas Police Department who were tailing me for an unrelated disturbance. These notes are from the afternoon of Sunday, March 10 2013 from the hours of 4pm (when wing night begins) and 10 pm (when wing night ends). The officer on duty gladly offered up his retelling of my interaction with all four of the swine who felt the need to shit talk me in a public forum:

4:01 PM: The restaurant manager approaches a young punk by the first fire pit. Apparently the punk has ordered a plate of wings and without eating even one asked for a to-go box. The restaurant manager explains that due to the ridiculously cheap price for wings that the special applies to dine-in customers only.

The young punk throws a fit claiming he ordered them with the intention of eating them there but he had suddenly and mysteriously lost his appetite. The restaurant manager laughs in his face, grabs him a box and tells him next week this won’t be allowed.

5:57 PM: The restaurant manager approaches a couple sat at a table by the front window. The girl who has just turned twenty-one claims there is no vodka in her vodka cranberry. The manager explains all his bartenders pour at least a shot and a half in all their mixed drinks. She argues. He offers her a free shot. She declines.

The restaurant manager brings her a free shot anyways. She begins to cry. The couple gets up to leave and despite consuming food and their drinks have done so without paying. In the middle of an extremely busy restaurant the restaurant manager has to chase the couple down in the parking lot to get payment all the while being belligerently belittled by this hysterically crying skank.

7:10 PM: The restaurant manager approaches a table of twenty-two year old stoners who are so high they can barely even complete a sentence. There are five empty plates of wings in front of the four of them. They claim that they only ordered four plates of wings yet are being charged for five. The restaurant manager points out that they ate all the wings.

The stoners refuse to pay for the wings they claim they didn’t order. There is a standoff. The restaurant manager begins to reach for his stainless steel bottle opener referred to by most as Excalibur, which it is assumed he plans to use to beat these dickbags about the head with. He thinks better of it and begrudgingly takes the wings off the bill. As they leave he informs them that he knows they ordered all five plates and that they were never welcome back.

9:35 PM: The restaurant manager approaches a table of college kids. He has been waved over by a twenty-three old blonde girl dressed like a whore. She doesn’t like her beer she ordered and wants to exchange it for something different. The restaurant manager points to the beer menu where it clearly states there are no refunds on beer and that he can get her something else but that she will be charged for both. She gasps. He asks if she would like another drink. She shakes her head no disgustedly and dismissively waves him off.

Twenty four minutes later the same future common street walker who didn’t like her beer approaches the restaurant manager as he is helping to break down the host stand. She tells him that he was rude and the way he treated her had ruined her night. She was embarrassed by their interaction and didn’t think he was equipped to handle a customer service position. She recommended he let the rest of the staff handle customers since he was such an asshole and that she would never be back. The restaurant manager gladly thanked her for that last fact.

I would like to personally thank Officer Jon Domino of the Encinitas PD for donating his notes so I could show you, the general drunken public, the kind of butt fuckery my staff and I have to deal with on a weekly basis. What I found shocking upon reflecting on my interactions with the angry reviewers who put my name in the record books was that any one of them knew how to read or write. It just goes to show what kind of low class element this wreck less four letter website that I legally can’t name empowers to be dicks.

The Leprechaun Man

March 15, 2013

Last week was Churchill’s Renaissance, an event that was described as “The Greatest Fucking Party No One Can Remember” by Hollywood Movie Star Kevin Bacon. Jordan Wilson compiled the greatest beer lineup in the history of human civilization and the wide variety of beers allowed everyone a chance to taste even the most sought after brews such as Stone Original and Barrel Aged Shiner Bock no matter what time they arrived. AG Warfield and his star kitchen staff executed a menu so tasty that Chef AG was offered seventeen virgins to leave Churchill’s and become the private chef of some Arabian Prince who just happened by the pub that day for a deep fried PB&J.

The bar and wait staff were pushed to the brink of breaking but in the face of a line of nearly 800 people they stepped up and I can proudly say that they are the best restaurant staff in the world. Despite the overwhelming amount of food and beer starved patrons at Churchill’s Renaissance, the beers and food flew out at the speed of lightning. The two top selling beers that day were Bear Republic’s Churchill X and Mother Earth’s Wins-ten Decade Double IPA which was fitting since both were made and released specifically for publican Ivan Derezin’s 10 year anniversary as owner of Churchill’s.

While the crowd at Renaissance was for the most part sophisticated and responsible this upcoming Sunday promises to be the shit show of the century. That’s right; Sunday, March 17 is St. Patrick’s Day known to those in the industry as amateur asshole day. I personally love St. Patty’s Day. Since there are so many dickbags who have no intention of ever frequenting our bar again I can be as big of an asshole as I want to be with very few repercussions.

This year’s St. Patty’s Day is special to me personally because I was recently described on a certain four letter website I legally can’t name as The Leprechaun Man by some common street walker who was angry I wouldn’t let her smoke her e-cigarette in the middle of my dining room. At first I was deeply offended, but then I remembered that the source of this review was a diseased skankbag who clearly would die soon hopefully in some horribly painful scenario.

Instead of firebombing her spot at the trailer park I have decided to embrace this whore’s review. That’s why to help celebrate alcohol’s favorite holiday we will be offering $3 Leprechaun Man shots. The recipe I used to make The Leprechaun Man shot contains the blood of a real leprechaun I hunted, tortured and killed with my own bare hands. In addition to $3 Leprechaun Man shots we will be selling $3 pints of Green Stone Bro. This is a special variation of local craft beer emperor Stone Brewing’s most popular beer. To honor both the Pub and St. Patty’s Day our good friends over at Stone whipped up this special and colorful batch of Stone Bro just for Churchill’s and it will only be available this Sunday.

My favorite St Patty’s Day tradition is dressing up as a leprechaun, wielding a gold shillelagh and mingling with you, the general drunken public. While walking amongst the masses of green clad and Guinness guzzling freaks sounds awful it is the highlight of my year. That’s because I am doing so not to hang out with these Jameson drenched animals but to regulate upon them. If my golden shillelagh happens upon your shoulder that means it’s time for you to leave, immediately. Any opposition to the shillelagh tap might result in one of the large men standing right behind me to start breaking some fucking legs.

When I say we have zero tolerance on dipshit behavior on St. Patty’s Day I sincerely mean it. Last year our douche bag alert level reached red which according to my George W. Bush terrorist threat manual means we are fucked. To combat this dangerous situation I began shillegh tapping people for almost no reason at all in an effort to try to flush out the disturbing amount of douche bags. I gave one guy the boot for wearing a low cut v-neck “Blow Me I’m Irish” tee-shirt because it exposed the Dave Matthews lyrics he had tattooed across his chest.

This St. Patty’s day promises to be no different so make sure to be on your best behavior or run the risk of the wrath of The Leprechaun Man. Treat each other, our staff, and the pub with respect and you will have nothing to worry about. Those that don’t follow these guidelines will find out what it feels like to get bounced from a bar you just waited an hour to enter in less than seven minutes because you thought it would be funny to whistle at a bartender. That tapping you feel on your shoulder means your options are slim and grim and I suggest you stumble along to a bar that gives a shit that you took the time to dye your hair green just for today.

Churchill’s Renaissance IV

March 1, 2013

March 2nd 2013 promises to be the greatest day in the history of beer. At 11 am tomorrow Churchill’s Renaissance IV, A New Hope, begins and this year’s installation will prove itself to be the greatest craft beer and food festival San Diego has ever seen. Now, for my money that means Churchill’s Renaissance IV will be the greatest craft beer and food festival in the history of the entire world.

This year’s Renaissance marks the ten year anniversary of publican Ivan Derezin’s hostile takeover of the pub. Under his watch it has transformed from a back alley rug munching swingers bar into the premier craft beer and food pub anywhere. To honor this momentous event Derezin and his staff have devoted themselves to making Churchill’s Renaissance IV the greatest party that you, the general drunken public, has ever had the pleasure of getting shit faced at.

Our draft lineup tomorrow is being hailed as the greatest assortment of craft beer ever offered anywhere. Certifiable Craft Beer Connoisseur Jordan Wilson has done a lot of things he will most likely live to regret to put together such a rare collection of beers. Two of the highlights of this year’s lineup are Bear Republic’s Churchill X IPA and Mother Earth’s Winsten Tenth Anniversary DIPA both of which are being released for the first time anywhere tomorrow.

Last year’s line began at 3:10 am Saturday morning, seven hours and fifty minutes before the pub even opened. As I write this it is 3:24 am Friday morning and this year’s line has already begun. I left the pub forty five minutes ago and saw the first Finest Hour fanatics huddled around fires heating up cold cans of cream of corn as they anxiously awaited Saturday morning to arrive.

These dedicated people will be awarded with not just first choice of the fine beer but also of the amazing craft food we will be offering that day. Mix Master Chef AG Warfield has done the impossible. He has crafted a food menu that rivals our amazing beer menu. When you taste one dish you will want to taste them all. I suggest you bring a belt with seventeen extra notches because once you start eating AGIII’s food you won’t ever want to stop.

Serving this amazing beer and food will be Churchill’s crack staff of craft experts who were voted Best Looking Restaurant Staff for 2012 in this year’s restaurant edition of Penthouse. We are all going to be working extremely hard on Renaissance and will all at one point either be on the verge of freaking out or actually freaking out. So please remember your manners and understand when 850 people show up at a pub all wanting the same thing drinks and food might take a little bit longer than usual to come out.

If you would really like to help us speed up service I highly recommend that you walk through our doors already knowing exactly what it is you want to drink. That means when you approach the bar do so with your first round ready to be ordered. When faced with a bar that is ten deep and a server ticket printer churning out 200 tickets a minute I have no time for you to try to think about what you are ordering. When I ask you what you want if you hesitate for even a half second I will be gone faster than I appeared.

People who are prepared and able to order four beers not by style and not by brewery but by the actual name of the beer will easily get everything they want all day long. Another suggestion is once you have ordered, instead of watching me weave in and out of my equally insanely busy bar mates please pull out your method of payment. Having your cash and credit card ready saves us all precious seconds and allows me to move on to the next customer craving my attention. Trust me your fellow drunk will thank you.

While this all may sound intimidating don’t fear because despite the massive crowd, overworked staff and the possibility of vomit around every corner Churchill’s Renaissance IV will be the most fun you’ve had since you lost your virginity. So get those tents ready because the madness has already begun and if you have any chance of getting a coveted pour off the last keg of 2012 Stone Bro in existence I suggest you get in line an hour ago.

WE WANT DALLAS

December 28, 2012

My earliest memory as a young football fan is sitting at the dinner table with my family and just as my father goes to take a bite of his steak I lean over and say, “Dad, I think I want to be a Dallas Cowboys fan.”

Upon hearing these words my dad immediately dropped his fork. It made a loud clanging noise as it struck the side of his plate on its way down to the floor. My father’s face twisted in a mixture of anger and disgust. I looked over at my mother. She wore a nervous look on her face. I looked back to my father. He was staring right at me. He leaned slowly over to me.

“Cowboy fans aren’t welcome at this table so I believe you best apologize for that statement or spend the rest of your days starving.”

I quickly retracted my words. I had not been serious. My football allegiance was with the Washington Redskins just the same as my father’s. I had only been trying to get a rise out of the old man, but that plan backfired greatly. What I might not have grasped entirely that day but came to understand over the years was that the worst thing a Redskins fan could hear about their only son was that he turned out to be a Cowboys fan. What I did learn that day was that Dallas was the enemy and even joking about rooting for them was unacceptable.

The Washington Redskins and Dallas Cowboys have been playing each other in football since 1960 and over the past 52 years a strong hatred between the two teams has been forged. Dallas is known as America’s team, but to Redskins fans everywhere they represent pure evil. This evil starts with owner Jerry Jones who if I came across on the street and he was on fire I would piss on him to put him out and then relight him on fire just to have experienced the honor of pissing on him.

Both franchises have had their ups and downs. Between 1980, the year I was born, and 1992 the Redskins won three Super bowls in four tries. Between 1992 and 1996 the criminal Cowboys led by captain cocaine Michael Irvin, that dumb blond quarterback Troy Aikman and the invincible Emmitt Smith won three out of four Super Bowls.

Since then the Redskins have been a joke on almost a yearly basis while the Cowboys haven’t been much better. Despite this lack of recent success the rivalry has only gotten more and more bitter. When teams are winning championships losing to a rival is acceptable. When you can barely make the playoffs playing your rival is the biggest game of the year every time you play.

As a Redskins fan we live for Dallas week. We want Dallas every week because every time we beat them feels like the first time. Hatred can do things to a man and in the case of Redskins nation it has made us crave every chance we can get at crushing the Cowboys competitive spirit. While the pain of losing to Dallas can be crippling it can never compare to the joy of beating them.

That’s why Redskin fans everywhere are thanking Santa this year. Not only is the week of Christmas this year Dallas week, this particular game means even more. The winner this Sunday night in Landover , MD wins the NFC East title and a berth in the playoffs, the loser goes home left to stew over being eliminated by their most bitter of rivals all off season long.

The Cowboys come in winners of five of their last seven led by doctor domestic abuse Dez Bryant and that even dumber brunette quarterback Tony Romo. The Redskins come in winners of their last six led by the best player in the league Robert Griffin III and the best linebacker not named Ray Lewis to play in the NFL over the past sixteen years, London Fletcher.

Someone insisted to me the other day that the Redskins would be better off if their season depended on them beating some last place team we could roll over without a worry at all. They went on and on how playing a divisional foe with so much on the line was not really the most ideal scenario for my burgundy and gold brethren to face. I listened patiently and waited for them to finish. When they did all I said were three words: “WE WANT DALLAS” because not making the playoffs is worth it just to have a chance at not only beating Dallas but to be the ones to end their season.

This latest installation of Redskins versus Cowboys promises to be one of the most memorable of all time. The forecast calls for snow and FedEx Field Field promises to be so loud Jerry Jones might actually be able to hear fans chants without his diamond encrusted hearing aid.

The powers that be have flexed this game into the prime time slot. By kickoff time every franchise other than Washington and Dallas will have played their last regular season game. If you are a fan of one of these other teams that have either locked up a playoff spot or are solidifying top ten draft picks I encourage you not to just watch this Redskins Cowboys game, but to embrace a fifty-two year old hatred that only grows stronger with time. There is always room on the Redskins Fan Wagon but be warned it’s Dallas week which means you always keep your head on a swivel and you need to always be prepared to join Redskins fans everywhere as they chant loudly and proudly, “WE WANT DALLAS.”

HAIL TO THE REDSKINS! BUY MY BOOK LOVE LIFE BY CLICKING ON THE LOVE LIFE LINK UP AND TO THE RIGHT FROM HERE!


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