Closing Down The Smokehouse, Pt 1
I love the world of closing down the bar. Bartenders and barbacks and the occasional line cook or manager still hanging around, nursing a shift drink or putting off their trip home.  Servers and hosts have closed out and done their sidework. The guests are gone, they've paid their tabs and gone into the night. The array of voices we’ve been hearing for 6, 10, 12 hours, are silent. Â
We shut those bay doors before the barstools were cold from the last guests' asses, secured the deadbolts, and set to finishing the night. Burn the last ice well - the hot water is steaming, no one has used much for hours. Take back the last bus tub to a closed down dish station - those guys work hard, they’re sleeping because they’re probably in at 9AM for prep. The last trash can out to the dumpster. And then the next last trash can, because you almost always forget one. Â
It’s so calm. After so much furor. It’s the way your sore feet feel after sitting down - somehow amazing and terrible but still all at once relieving. Â
[to be continued. my friends]
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