Read Waiter to the Rich and Shameless: Confessions of a Five-Star Beverly Hills Server for Free Online

giving me. 
    Behind
the bar, everything was under control on my watch.  My guests were introducing
me to check totals I had only dreamed of, as they would order Beluga caviar and
drink Dom Perignon by the glass.  The hockey great Wayne Gretsky ordered both
but added a shot of Stoli vodka that he knew I kept in the freezer.  Gretzky
was a no-nonsense guy, not exactly loosey-goosey, just straightforward and
tended not to chit chat.  This was just before the U.S. Fish and Wildlife
Service listed the Beluga sturgeon as a threatened species. Nowadays the guests
have to settle for Ossetra caviar from Iran.  There’s a lot of stuff to know in
the food and beverage service business, at least at this level.
    With
Gretzky at the bar, I spied Warren Beatty seated in a booth with his hand in
the air, furiously trying to flag down a server to wait on him.  Instinct told
me to approach him immediately.  I quickly looked around for our Maître d' but
he was nowhere to be found.  Even though I hadn’t been trained to serve the
tables, watching and listening to Jens had given me a false sense of confidence
and I boldly approached Mr. Beatty.  He was pretty angry. 
    “What
the hell is going on here today?  Can you get my guest something to drink? 
What do you want, Sam, an iced tea?”  Sam nodded.  “Yeah, get us two iced teas
and don’t put that orange in it just a bunch of lemons on the side, okay?” 
    I
nod as I’m writing furiously in my captain’s pad.
    “What
do you want, the fish, Sam?  Yeah, waiter, we’ll both have the sea bass,
broiled not grilled, no butter just a little olive oil, no salt and some
steamed broccoli and sautéed spinach, but sauté the spinach with garlic, would
you?  And no salt on anything, right, Sam?” Whoever the fuck Sam was, he nodded
again.  “And bring us some of that flat bread, the ‘lavask'? You know, the hard
cracker bread?” 
    “Yes,
sir, would you like some mineral water?” I asked when I finally got a chance to
say something. 
    “No,
we’ll have some green tea after lunch with some blueberries and blackberries
for dessert, and don’t put any sugar on them – just au naturel , okay?
All right, thank you.” 
    “Thank
you, Mr. Beatty.”
    I
repeated his order back to him just to make sure I’d gotten it right.
    “Yeah,
yeah, and hurry up with the bread and iced tea, please.”
    “Yes,
sir.” 
    All
of a sudden, I’m a waiter and my guests at the bar are left without a host. 
How does it happen in a place like this that a superstar like Warren Beatty with
Hollywood glamour practically tattooed on his forehead can be sitting unnoticed,
reduced to waving his hand in the air?  It wasn’t long before I realized that
there’s a different movie playing behind this particular silver screen, one not
so obvious to anyone at first glance.

Chapter 3 Cocktail
    Bartending
is a very special, unique line of work. It’s much more than serving drinks –
it’s a calling.  Bartenders serve many functions – we are often sounding
boards, philosophers, psychologists, marriage counselors, dating coaches, emotional
stand-ins, devil’s advocates or even confidantes.  Sometimes we can even be
teachers:  students lined up facing us on barstools, eyes fixed, relaxed and engaged,
paying complete attention to the story being told or wisdom being imparted. What
you never discuss, unless you’re the Evel Knievel of bartending, is politics
and religion. You can lose tips, teeth, or your job by taking the wrong side or
insulting someone’s beliefs.
    Holding
court in a temple of history, tradition and elegance like the Cricket Room was
the Holy Grail of bartending. There was no other place like it and I constantly
worried whether it could survive in today’s culture where cheap, fast, and
crude were valued above class, dignity, and quality. So far so good; we were
raking in the dough. The level of celebrities, however, couldn’t hold a
burned-at-both-ends candle to the