Dave Wood

As a true blue cheesehead-Wisconsinite, I guess it’s about time to confess that in days gone by, I labored as a bartender, my father worked as a bartender, two of my uncles worked as bartenders and many cousins worked at bartending. And I’m here to tell you that lately I’ve been worried that the bartending game shows signs of being at risk.

Recently, my concerns became more acute when a bar in River Falls opened in which bartenders informed me that I couldn’t specify brands of alcoholic beverages for they did not actually mix cocktails—the act that made old-time bartenders famous—but would fill our glasses from taps for all manner of pre-made drinks. That’s no fun.

So it is with much relief that I went back to one of my favorite joints in town, Johnnie’s Bar, where I watched a former bartender and now co-owner Cheryl Dintemann mix a special margarita at bar’s end near the World Famous “Corner of Knowledge” which  hosts “Jeopardy” contestants every afternoon. I’m no fan of that Mexicali favorite, but what I watched mesmerized me. First, Cheryl opened a crate of fresh limes, halved them and squeezed multitudes in a giant juicer, while her husband Dave bore down, squeezing several oranges by hand and poured the fresh juice into a big glass.

Cheryl continued by placing several glass beakers on the bar  and carefully measured four different kinds of Tequila, then  carefully measured a portion of  Triple Sec (blub-blub) from the backbar, poured the results into a big glass jar, then added the luscious fresh lime and the orange juices, then crewed on a cap and stored it in the cooler for future imbibers of which there are plenty who drop in for a hearty quaff.

Dave agreed. “I buy a $90 crate of limes every week and we still continue to run out. People seem to love Cheryl’s recipe, which she experimented with for a long time.”

I’m no fan of the green goodness. To me, the average margarita tastes like a mixture of Watkins Products old-fashioned nectar bumped up with a tiny shot of tequila and a splash of bottled (Un)Realime. Insipid to the max. But after Cheryl’s magnificent performance I thought maybe I should try one.

“I’ll try one.”

Dave dipped the rim of a large rocks glass with coarse salt and carefully poured the light green concoction until it just touched the salt. I sipped. I sipped again. It was magnificent and I pronounced Cheryl, “The Madame Curie of Magaritaville.” No Nobel prizes for you, Cheryl, only the heartfelt thanks for demonstrating that good bartenders are still a necessary group.  Bartender Patti Lindquist says she likes the version of Cheryl’s drink with spices from south of the border. But I don’t think it would be advisable to test both versions in the same visit, unless you have a designated driver.

Cheryl’s huge and potent creation costs eight bucks, less than the cocktails up the road that come out of plastic faucets and where you can’t specify whether you prefer Gordons’ or Tanqueray gin.  I guess they don’t know that some folks don’t like their martinis smooth and others like Manhattans with less or more vermouth. To say nothing of the lost art of having a conversation with a bartender who sticks around to see how you liked the drink he just mixed for you.

Dave would you like to hear from you. Phone him at 715-426-9554.