But apparently there's also a place for the bartending performance in my psyche. To charge me $14 and serve me a beverage that's been produced en masse irrationally infuriates me. I have been robbed of an experience--a bonding between the alcohol artisan and myself. I freeze spiked punches for myself, but I expect more when I dine out.
Again, I acknowledge the irrationationality of this! I don't seek out the soup master and demand that my vichyssoise be borne of potatoes unique from another's. I often don't see more than a glimpse of the shaker that holds my beverage. Yet somehow I've become entitled to a labor-intensive experience as a contract of my happy hour purchase.
How do you feel about your bar experience? Do you pin a thought on the dispensary of your drink?