I haven’t had a new Pegu Blog Certified Bartender™ in quite some time, but I have several coming up here in the next month. Hurray! If you somehow missed the memo as to what a Pegu Blog Certified Bartender™ is, he is a pro whom I have taught how to make Pegus, and who I deem likely to remember the trick should you visit his establishment and ask him for one.
Today’s addition to these hallowed ranks is Patrick, who tends bar at Bennie’s Red Barn, on St. Simons Isl., Ga.

I grew up on St. Simons Island, and bartender’s like Patrick are among the many joys of going home. There are no fancy dan cocktail bars here, no mixologists to be seen. The bars have no long selections of exotic alcohols and liqueurs. Bitters are made by Angustora. Period. But every bar has a complete selection, and fresh citrus is plentiful. The bartenders in an average joint tend to be older, more professional, and more pleasantly conversational than those to be found in large cities or outside the South. They may not know what an Aviation (or a Pegu) is, but they have all the skill in the world, they virtually all know how to make a proper example of the Four Gospels of cocktails: Manhattan, Martini, Old FashionedDaiquiri, and Sidecar. And if they don’t know whatever oddball cocktail-geek concoction you are asking for, they will happily make it for you anyway, if you just tell them what to do, with no rolling their eyes, sighs, sidelong looks, or giggling conversations with the waitress down at the other end of the bar.
Patrick is a perfect example of the breed. He juggles orders, holds a conversation, and works his way through learning Pegus all at once, with no errors. Incidentally, I think he may get more juice out of a lime just squeezing it with his fingers than I do with my fancy squeezer. That’s a trick.
When he was younger, he worked in all the swank restaurants in Atlanta, like Bones, Chops (No Bones about it), and some other Pano’s and Paul’s joints. As to why he moved to the quiet of the Golden Isles, I don’t know, but I assume he managed to work his way through all the available women in Atlanta and needed a rest. Why he is where he is is irrelevant. The restaurant where he works is better than anything in Atlanta, or New York, in my humble opinion.

Yes, in fact it is a big, red, barn.

Yes, you heard me right. Go there and you’ll agree. Probably. I’m not sure the first time I went there, but it was definitely before I was one. I have been going there regularly since, and I have never, repeat never, had a less than stellar dinner.
Inside, the place looks just like it does from the outside, like a huge Red Barn. There is a gigantic fireplace in the center of the back wall, where they produce a massive fire any time the temp outside drops to some frigid level like 50°F. There are lofts overlooking the main floor at both ends of the barn, with the bar (containing Patrick) underneath one. Seating is on one side, with the other reserved for service personnel. Beyond that are massive sliding barn doors that open late in the evening for a lean-to extension that has live music and nightly mating rituals amongst the locals, or something like that. But despite its appearance, the place was built from the ground up as a restaurant.
There are no menus; the wait staff recites the offerings for you. First off are steaks. Pretty much whatever cut you want, cooked how you want. The portions are reasonable, not huge. The taste typically betters the best steakhouse you have previously been to. The fried chicken will take almost twenty minutes to get to the table. Worth it. There is a lot of seafood that I can’t vouch for, since I don’t waste my visits to Bennie’s on such trivialities.
You will have a salad. It will be the house vinaigrette. It will be small. It will be delicious. Seriously, there is no option on any of these. It just shows up in front of each diner, sometimes before you get your first drinks. Do not forget the onion rings. Or do forget them, your choice. I have a hard time enjoying anyone else’s onion rings for at least a few months after dining at Bennie’s.
Over by the fire, or at least by the fireplace, you will find Alvin Davis (That’s an alarmingly good caricature of him to the left). He has been headwaiter at Bennie’s since it opened in 1954. That’s his Caddy parked out front in the reserved spot. He hasn’t waited actual tables in years, but he is still there almost every night. Go introduce yourself.

Get there before your reservation, sit at the bar and order a Pegu from Patrick. Tell him Doug sent you.