How To: Behind the Bar at Failoni’s

“That’s great,” says Vic while guiding me to the emptiest corner of the bar. “But if it’s OK with you, I’ll just have you stand right here.”

Great.

I’d never heard of Failoni’s before I did this story. Neither had any of my friends who had come to bear witness to what I was sure would be my Tom Cruise-like ascent into cocktail greatness. Hell, even Google Maps didn’t know exactly where Failoni’s was, telling me I had arrived at my destination approximately half a mile from the actual building on Manchester Avenue at the edge of Dogtown. But the restaurant and bar has been around since 1933. According to my assigned bartender/guardian, Lee, the place was purchased in 1916 from the Lemp Brewery by Alex Failoni and his wife, Rose.

“Same location, same family,” he stressed.

They say that all stereotypes have a grain of truth to them. If that’s so, Failoni’s is the most Italian place I’ve ever been, and that includes Italy. After meeting Vic, I quickly get introduced to his brother and co-owner, Alex Jr. Their nephew, Joey, who makes the pizzas, was pointed out soon after, along with his mother, Rosetta, who was waiting tables in the dining room. And though I was never formally introduced, Lee informed me that Alex Sr. − father of Alex Jr. and grandson of the original Alex Failoni − was sitting at his usual table in the back. I swear to Goodfellas, the only thing I didn’t see that night was someone bringing out a white tableclothed two-top from the back for a pair of VIPs, and even that wouldn’t have surprised me.

Failoni’s on a Friday night is packed. They do take reservations, but they take them only once. In other words, they take reservations for approximately 70 people because the entire place can probably seat about 70 people. You come to Failoni’s to eat, but you don’t leave.

“If you make a reservation,” explains Alex Jr., “you make it for the whole night.”

The main room at Failoni’s houses the bar, a 40-foot hunk of wood that acts as the stage for the oldest still-in-use cash register in the greater St. Louis area. It has actual buttons. And I don’t mean like a calculator has buttons, I mean that if you want to ring up a beer ($3.50!), you literally hit the “3” button on the dollar side and then the “50” button on the cents side. And when you cash out, it gives off a satisfying ka-ching sound, sliding out a drawer that’s purposefully left open. I can only assume that the opening mechanism broke decades ago. It’s here, amidst a chorus of ka-chings, that Vic has stationed me.

Much like nearly everything else in life, to bartend successfully you have to be prepared. Beer and liquor must be appropriately stocked. Fruit and garnishes need to be cut, prepped and stationed at various points of the bar. The same goes for glassware. All of this needs to be ready so that you can accomplish the one singular goal of bartending: get the customer a drink.

After getting the lay of the land, I ask Lee what their count is on a standard pour. Depending on whom you ask, a standard mixed drink contains anywhere from 1 to 1½ ounces of alcohol. To save time, most bartenders simply count out the pour − again, this varies, but it’s typically between a three (one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand) and four second count. Lee’s response? “Don’t worry about the cocktails.”

Admittedly, I was a bit frustrated. Eighteen-year-old sorority girls on campuses across this country were pouring rum and diets as we spoke. I’m pretty sure I could handle at least that.

I couldn’t.

First, Lee was too damn fast. On one occasion he had made a guy’s drink before the guy even entered the building. Lee had seen the man’s wife through the window and started getting things ready. Second, nobody trusted me. As a super-nitpicky guy myself, I actually don’t blame anyone for this. Failoni’s is a die-hard regulars bar. They know what they want and who makes it best. I asked a group at the end of the bar multiple times if I could get them anything. They politely declined, but once Lee went over he returned with a three-drink order. Finally, I’m too ADHD. My first instinct when I see an empty glass is to remove it and immediately ask if you’d like another. But at Failoni’s the people tend to linger over their highballs, swirling ice and taking sips of things I couldn’t see with my untrained eyes. I stopped asking people if they needed anything after a while because I didn’t want to annoy them. Lee, on the other hand, seemed to always know exactly when someone wanted another drink, a skill honed over what I suspect were years of repetition and experience.

To be honest, nothing at Failoni’s made sense to me. The fruit trays were half a bar away, meaning you had to maneuver around Lee or Vic or Alex to garnish a drink. The beer glasses were chilled in a refrigerator completely on the other side of the room. The Bud Lights were on the left side of the coolers, except for when they were on the right side mixed in the same six-pack cardboard container with two Bud Light Limes and a Michelob Ultra. While I sputtered around to the best of my abilities, the three guys behind the bar moved deftly and with purpose.

The system at Failoni’s is built on years of working together. Instead of running to the end of the bar, Lee would shout out to Vic that he needed a frosted glass. Cocktails were started by Alex, finished by Vic and delivered by me. By the end of my time behind the bar, even I began to instinctively know where to reach in the cooler for a specific beer − but then again, I never sang Sinatra while doing it.

I have never seen a bartender equipped with a wireless mic. Then again, I’ve also never seen a bartender sing some Frank into said mic, open two beers with his free hand, serve them, collect the money and make change, all at the same time. Apparently, that’s normal here.

The reason people don’t leave Failoni’s − the reason they make a reservation for the night − is because of the music. On this night, and every Friday night, it’s a guy named Tom Kelly and his computer. Basically, Kelly puts on instrumental tracks and he, and various members of the Failoni family, sings over them. Sinatra. Dean Martin. Sinatra. Earth, Wind & Fire. Sinatra. People were going crazy, dancing and singing along while Lee, Vic, Alex and I were behind the bar.

“This is the most wonderful family you’ll ever meet.”

I didn’t know whom to source for that quote because the AP Stylebook doesn’t have a solution for how to quote a billion people all telling you the same thing. Everybody who spoke to me that night − and there were many, all wanting to know who the new guy was − all said the same thing. The Failonis are great. They’re fantastic. They’re real people. And they were great, exceedingly hospitable and super-patient with me as I searched in the recesses of the cooler for a Busch bottle and rustled around their register to make change. But the regulars are something else.

I “worked” for a few hours behind the bar at Failoni’s on a busy Friday night. In that time, I was bombarded with gifts of food and drink, all from regulars. One woman accosted me to try the pizza she and her husband ordered. Another regular − Rick, or maybe Tim − literally unrolled his silverware and cut me off the first bite of his steak that had just been delivered. He also bought me a shot. Then the other regular, Tim or Rick, bought me a beer. Then another beer was bought for me. And another shot.

As I mentioned before, I am a highly skilled bartender, and one of the talents necessary for being a skilled bartender is graciously accepting free drinks from patrons. As the night wore on and the crowd got a bit rowdier, I thought it best to remove myself from behind the bar and head home. I’d been in their way for long enough. As I got my things to leave, I was handshaked, back-patted and hugged out the door by Vic and Lee and regulars alike. I turned a final time to see women getting atop the bar to dance and Joey, the nephew who makes the pizzas, taking his turn behind the microphone now that his kitchen was closed. And all the while Lee and Vic and Alex stood watch behind the bar.

Failoni’s Restaurant, 6715 Manchester Ave., Dogtown, 314.781.5221, failonis.com