"Hi, my name's Jessica, and I'll be your server at Fridays tonight! What can I get for you?"
That's the most common line I've heard this evening — but, no, I'm not getting dinner at TGI Fridays. It's not even Friday. It's Thursday, and I'm at the House of Blues in Dallas, TX, where nine bartenders have come to prove they can do their job better than anyone else. They're finalists in the 26th Annual World Bartender Championship, which is sponsored by TGI Fridays, hence the familiar introduction.
If the last time you stepped foot in the chain restaurant was before your ID could score you a cocktail, you're like me — and, like me, you might think Fridays is founded on endless apps and a catchy name. But here's something the 21-and-older crowd forget to mention: They're there for the flair.
You see, the bartenders at TGI Fridays are known for their special drink delivery, and it's called flair bartending. It's the stuff I thought only jerky bartenders in 2000's rom-coms did: throwing a bottle over their head, spinning a napkin so it lands right in front of you, flipping a lime into your glass. But the nine finalists that have gathered in Dallas to show their behind-the-bar competence (and to vie for $10,000) aren't jerks at all, and they aren't doing tricks just to get your number.
These people — six men and women from America, a guy from Peru, one from Taiwan, and a girl from Cyprus — brave broken glass and wasted vodka (the horror!) because they legitimately love it. They talk about flairing like it's an art form or a competitive sport. And it sort of is — like rhythmic gymnastics, with bottles of tequila and blue curaçao rather than neon ribbons.
Bartenders at TGI Fridays have been adding tricks and juggles to their service since the mid-1980s, starting with John Mescall, a staff member of the Marina del Rey, CA, location. When management let him show off with an informal in-store competition, word spread to other Fridays outposts, so Mescall and a bartender buddy created a flairing how-to video. In 1991, there were enough experts to hold the first official World Bartender Championship.
Twenty-six years later, it's not just about the tricks. "There's a lot of other work incorporated into the competition," explained Jessica Myers, a self-proclaimed TGI Fridays lifer who's here as a finalist for the fifth consecutive year. She's referring to the more technical portions — or compulsories — which occurred the day before. "We spent the entire day, 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., taking a written test, a speed test, testing our pour accuracy, our garnish specs." TGI Fridays has a library of 500 drinks; how well the bartenders have them memorized was tested, too.
If it sounds intense, that's because it is. Andres Zamorano sat down with me during a pre-championship group dinner. He didn't eat — too nervous. "Is that embarrassing? Should I not say that?" he laughed. But everyone else echoed the same sentiment. And as soon as one person said it, another was there with a squeeze on the shoulder or a friendly "chill, dude." It was the opposite of Miss America-style sabotages made famous in movies. No one oiled bottles to make them slippery or shit-talked their competitors to a judge. I saw more hugs than drinks given out.
"We're like one big family," Zamorano said. "It doesn't feel like anyone's out for blood." (Maybe Dre, as his fellow contestants called him, spoke too soon. An unfortunate slice on the zester proved otherwise and left him making his last drink one-handed.)
After the compulsories, the judges don't have the luxury of just watching each finalist pour a perfect ounce of liquor or rattle off the ingredients of an Electric Lemonade. This part of the competition, when an audience of contestants' families and Fridays loyalty club members was brought in, ran like one giant role play. The judges acted as patrons of TGI Fridays, alternating between the two bars on stage as each finalist approached them.
Every contestant started with the line of the evening. "Hi, my name's [insert name here], and I'll be your server at Fridays tonight! What can I get for you?". One judge kept track of time while the other four ordered a drink. That's where the flair came in: The nine finalists had eight minutes each to flip, spin, balance, and pour all four drinks.
The only true casualty of the evening was the aforementioned hand slice. Sure, a few bottles fell to the floor, and yes, precious drops of alcohol landed outside of a glass, but I was assured that doesn't actually hurt a finalist's score too much. Remember, it's a role play: "It's about creating a great Fridays experience," Matt Durbin tells me. He's the restaurant chain's VP of Brand Marketing and Innovation and also the 1994 World Bartender Championship winner. "Our bartenders have been flipping bottles for about 30 years, so that's always a component of it, but more importantly than that, it's how they engage and interact with the guests."
The tactics were across the board: Santiago Emeric, from Orlando, FL, rattled off the history of the drinks he was making as he poured them. Beaver Creek, OH-based Chris Owsiany dabbed his way through a flip-heavy routine. Vincent Huang, who came all the way from Taipei, Taiwan, had the judges get in on the action, asking them to take over the shaker or hold a glass. Then there was Lauren Flintham from Limassol, Cyprus who, with her pigtail buns, went the cute route. After mixing a blue-colored cocktail, she paused, asking the judges, "What's prettier, this drink or my eyes?".
I couldn't hear their answers, but you can guess what they were: Flintham took home the title of World's Greatest Bartender, the $10,000 check, and a wooden airplane propeller almost as tall as she is. There's one hanging behind every TGI Fridays bar. Some say that's what symbolically propels the restaurant forward. I say, that — and the drinks.
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