BRANCA AUTHENTICITY
STIMULANT WEEKLY NEWSLETTER 010 // AUGUST 10, 2024
If you've ever itched the inkling of patchwork desire to feel like a real Piece Of Shit you may already know this one... the classic test of Branca Authenticity! Foot to bus to feet to palms—clenched, digging through a clip metal wallet for some mandated plastic ensuring you are indeed an "of age" Piece Of Shit to enter.
You enter. You exhale. You play the part of a hyper specific Mixology Fergus, and damn it, you play it well. Greeted by a frail, slightly confused hostess—her name tag reads Lexi. By either instincts or a hunch, she walks you and your disciples to a table next-a plastic fern and a vaguely Italian Art Deco poster. It's an advertisement surely, though it's rather tough to tell which component it is selling. A car? A glass? A vintage amaro? The very lady laying recumbent across? Perhaps you (M.F.) may never know. The white pine table's round and rickety stationed slightly higher than the others like an eagle's nest view of the bar at large. But this isn't right! You know this table’s not for real pieces of shit. You stress and you request and you comply and despite the former you complain the whole give or take 10 minute wait for 3 adjacent bar seats to open. Lexi apologizes greatly, you snicker to your two disciples, clanking cutlery fills the air, you append some general small talk, it doesn't get you anywhere.
Soon, M. Fergus (YOU) and his disciples are greeted by a black granite slab with rows of many columns of many high proof vessels, syrups and spice-suspended tinctures. In front condensed mise, scattered tupperware of pre-sliced citrus, herbal springs, and house made Luxardos. Glassware dries above a barren wine fridge as the leading lines of draft handles guide your eye to the very pints they pour. Napkin coasters stuck to glass heels, a giggle-worthy gaffe you view as a jab at the folks buying beer "At an establishment as such!"
Vous êtes greeted by the tender—let's call him Barkeep Dano. A stately sap, mid 40s, with a handle 'stache and porkpie, reeking of "in on it." You try to hint you too are “in on it”, with subtle clues in your posture, your knacks and your highbrow vernacular. Never resting your elbows on the table, ensuring to trust fall every ounce of your being in that chair, arms stretched wide behind the two disciples such that your white tank top recedes exposing your belly button for all to see.
You shrug off his routine “How ya doin'? Water to start?” with a subtle shake of the noggin and pompous request for a swig of the eagle…
"A swig of the eagle?"
"Three actually." pointing to our friends.
"I don't follow sir."
"This guy doesn't get it... eagle, eagle! A certain bitter Italian Amaro... y'know the ONE. A little bartender's handshake?"
"Fernet?"
"Bang on boss."
"So a shot of fernet?"
"Three." (as stated prior).
He steps back, dusting off the green medicinal bottle, revealing an eagle hoisting the world.
"If you look, they even got the menta here ha-ha."
"Menta?" M.F. disciple-one inquires.
"The bottle next to it, with the blue-ish label. It's a bit sweeter, less bitter, minty-er. Good stuff."
"Should we try that one too?"
"Huh?" You stare aghast.
Barkeep Dano returns swiftly, dropping the shots at the table, if you look again, you’ll notice 4—Dano grabbing the first "On the house!". You and your disciples grab the others—mutually clanking—table smack a chug. It hits you like it has before. Licorice, citrus, saffron, bitter—syrupy sweet, and… profoundly bitter? A brief glimpse into a life you could've chosen... your mind turns rather frat-like: Self Reflection 101—crayons included.
"Wow, this is extraordinarily horrible!"
"Horrible?! Have you considered that while it may be horrible—yes—it's also fucking awesome?"
"Oh right! You're right! Was it really that easy?"
"Friggin right. Heh."
It sloshes you back at your reflection in the granite. Every herbal note promptly fades, and all that remains is a looming bitter hatred. Greatly outlasting the alcohol, your friends feel like it may never end. But you are wise. A true shaman! A real Piece Of Shit! Two titles which tend to overlap. You smile at your disciples' collective repulsion, but are briskly caught off guard by Dano's valid inquiry of where you work.
You probably know this one... itching your inkling 'til an unpleasant climax. You really are a real Piece Of Shit aren't you, Mr. M. Fergus?
"Where do I work?" Your teeth chatter.
"Industry! Yeah! Where does he work Boss?" The other barkeep joins Dano.
"I uh..." your disciples check out—you are all alone.
"Friggin' tell us!"
"We love to know new folks in the scene." pries a second barkeep… let's call him Donny.
"I work at A⸺ F⸺."
" A⸺ F⸺? Never heard of it! Is that on the west end?"
"No, it's uh… in the Tech Park."
"They got bars there?"
"No sir."
". . ." Our new friend Donny shrugs, turning away.
Dano points at the glasses, then your disciples. They answer no to his implied question, he throws the glasses in the sink.
"And you made these folks try it?"
"Uh yeppers." you rest your case.
"Damn, what a real Piece Of Shit..."
BRANCA AUTHENTICITY was edited by Aaron Bauman and Jack Schaaf.
get hip
Open Secret, an experimental nomadic film screening project created by Dana Dawud, comes to Brooklyn tomorrow, August 11, 2024.
Submit to maybe, a literary mag based in Montréal.
Quebec Writers’ Federation workshops are available for registration now.
Read “Running on the Treadmill” by Evan Lavender-Smith on Blue Arrangements, an independent literary publication.