What is the soul of a great pub? Is it the building, the bar, the menu? Perhaps it's the stories; those seasoned by time told together with those concocting right now aided by the tongue loosening tang of a fine, hoppy ale?  We human creatures have a tendency to search for a soul that is separate but existing within the corporeal much like an egg fried sunny-side up. We look for the golden yolk of a soul, not quite as solid nor constructed as the cooked white container surrounding it, but substantial nonetheless and perceivable in its own right. I submit an omelet is a more apt metaphor; that the form and the spirit of a pub, or a person for that matter, are whisked together into one delicious mishmash, and that it's impossible to extract or even distinguish a separate soul out of the conglomeration.

Every pub has among its patrons an "alpha male." Former mayor, fish slayer, and expert builder, George Hrehowesik unquestionably holds that honor at the SERGEANTSVILLE, INN. The regulars know to surrender unto him his favorite stool when George arrives to hold court.

Undeniably, an essential ingredient in our metaphorical omelet is the communion of people who congregate amidst the bottles and the glasses. These are the customers of course, and the management, chefs, line-cooks, hostesses, kitchen workers, and dishwashers too, but for the purposes of this essay, I want to introduce you to the Friday evening serving staff at The SERGEANTSVILLE INN smack dab in the middle of charming Sergeantsville in heavenly Hunterdon County, New Jersey.

I want you to meet them because they deserve some recognition, not only because they are as smart, congenial and as good at their jobs as any staff you will ever encounter, but also because  these fellows well met are truly the heart of the place and being served by them is like taking a bite of our aforementioned existential egg dish. We get a taste of the  pub's soul even if we are unable able to adequately define it. It's the Friday evening staff that I present herein because that's the time every week when my good friend, WDVR FM and AMERICAN PUBLIC HOUSE REVIEW colleague, Chris Poh and I lay claim to a pair of stools at the SERGEANTSVILLE INN'S amenable bar.

The bartender's bartender, Dylan Carew, a product of Hood River, Oregon and Minnesota State University, Mankato  is, to our good fortune, now a local Jersey boy.  He will serve up your pint of  Sierra Nevada Pale Ale  with wit and good humor.  Dylan knows all of the latest bawdy jokes, but if you would rather  engage in a discussion regarding ancient Greek politics or the history of our republic, he can accommodate you in that confabulation as well.

Servers are the Rodney Dangerfields of professionals; "they get no respect." Perhaps it's because we harbor the illusion that anyone can do it.  It may be true that most of us could go through the motions, but how many of us can do it well? Bartenders and servers can make or break an establishment.  A customer feels welcome when served with warmth and grace.  She returns again and again to delight in the hospitality. Conversely, when served by a disgruntled grouch obviously demonstrating his wish to be somewhere else .  .  .  well,  it prompts the customer to wish that she were somewhere else.  To serve well is an inborn talent much in the manner of musical or artistic aptitude. It requires a specific class of empathetic intelligence with which but a few of us are blessed. It might be expected that good service requires a recognition of one's apparent place in the social hierarchy, but the opposite is true.  Accommodation is actually only given and received when the equal value and selfsameness of all human beings are understood and accepted. In fact, the gift of service can only truly be interchanged when it is realized that to give is to receive as the proverb above reminds us.

John Barkhorn works the dining rooms so we don't know him quite as well as some of the other crew. We of course are bar rats. But John has an interesting extracurricular life nonetheless. He is attending the American Academy McAllister Institute of Funeral Service where he is studying the art and science of embalming.

For better or for worse, in this country, it has become the modus operandi to have our servers work primarily for tips. The practice certainly adds a psychological wrinkle to the service relationship, but it probably is the reason we don't have to pay twenty bucks for a sandwich at the bar. Please remember that when you tip your barber, or your mailman it is in actuality a bonus, but a tip is the very manner in which your bartender gets paid for her work. It's the only way she can pay her mortgage, feed her family, and buy gas for her commute back to work tomorrow so that she can brighten your evening with a smile as she creates that perfect foamy shamrock in the head of your pint of stout.

So, let's raise our glasses to the fine staff at the SERGEANTSVILLE INN, And here's to Joe Clyde, their intrepid employer, and to Lisa Walker, the manager, overseer, and sweater-of-the-small-stuff; both of whom, are very familiar faces to us, but were not available for picture taking  this particular Friday afternoon. And here's also to everyone everywhere who makes their living in service to their brothers and sisters upon this ever-spinning ball of exchange, of quid pro quo, of give and take, of tit for tat .  .  . of life.