Mike Baker was the best bartender ever.
He worked at a joint called Fricky’s in Washington, DC. When I was going to graduate school at night while working full-time during the day, I’d head over to Fricky’s for a cold one after my last class of the night.
Mike worked nights and he was always behind the bar when I got there. As soon as he saw me walk into the place, he’d head to the tap and expertly draw me a draught beer. But what made Mike special was the way he’d hold the mug under the tap at just the right angle to minimize the froth that typically bubbled up to the top of the liquid gold.
The very first time I went to Fricky’s and asked for a draught beer, the bartender served me up one that had three inches of froth on top. I told the bartender that I didn’t like froth on my beer. I had a mustache at the time and hated when it got coated by beer froth.
The bartender looked at me like I was crazy, and just when I was ready to lay into him, Mike, the other bartender, saved the day. He came over, removed the froth-covered beer that the other bartender had placed in front of me, and set down a frothless beer in its place.
Then this rotund bartender with the extravagant handlebar mustache smiled and winked at me and I knew that I had found my new home away from home.
Written for today’s one-word prompt, “froth.”