Mixology Planet Tour 2012

Disclaimer: To provide clean prose, I will need to choose a specific term to refer to us barpeople. And, because the word “mixologist” irks me (no offense to those of you who enjoy it), I will be using the arbitrary term “cocktailian”. In your head, as you read along, you can insert whatever term you prefer whether it’s mixologist or bar magician or craft bartender or libation engineer or mixwizard or liquid MC or spirit whisperer, etc.

Okay, okay, let’s start by establishing two of Tobin’s central arguments.

1. The quality of the drink itself is not as important as we think.

2. The cocktailian primarily seeks to draw attention upon him or herself.

Now what I’ve spent the most time contemplating since class is the origin of the cocktail renaissance. Why within the past 10 or so years are we taking the time to figure out how to mix a proper Martinez or how to make a real grenadine? How did this all happen? How did we go from artificial sour mix to actual fresh-squeezed lemon juice and simple syrup? These are the types of questions that tugged and pulled at me.

Looking back to last Wednesday, Tobin hinted that the heart of this “mixology” movement (at least behind the bars at which we work) was born out of us, the people behind the bar. We, he later argued, caused the perfectionist approach, which in turn caused the long wait times, which in turn hurt the collective guests’ experience.

Is Tobin making a reasonable argument? It would appear so, my friends, it would appear so. But, if we delve deeper and apply some critical thinking (my brain hurts too, don’t worry), we can debunk it.

Who is more responsible for this movment: us or the guest?

The transition from bartender to cocktailian started with the guest. The public palate, not ourselves, is the true catalyst. Any one of you who reading this has doubt heard this from guests: “not too sweet.” Hmm, why is that? Because, too many bartenders have served them overly sweet drinks. So, if I may extrapolate a bit, it seems as though one of the most important things from the guest’s perspective is actually the quality of the drink itself.

Look, a complete jaghole who makes perfect drinks will not sustain a clientele. Conversely, one can have fans and make terrible drinks. We’ve all witnessed it and often the cause is unsavory. But, that’s neither here nor there. In order to have a solid following (and not be an outlier) in our current bar world, one needs to demonstrate a high skill level and excellent service. The two components are now absolutely requisite whereas they may not have been in the past.

Does the cocktailian crave attention?

The short answer: sometimes. And to me, that’s not a big deal as long as the desire to please the guest is significantly stronger. The whole “look at me, look what I can do, watch me painstakingly place one drop of bitters at a time into a mixing glass, check out my sweet vest, look at how much this barspoon cost” is a bunch of horseclit. As someone who works behind a bar and appreciates notice, I can tell you that pleasing the guest always comes first. If someone happens to pat my back along the way, great. If not, that’s okay too.

That whole “look at me” thing is way more the flair bartender’s speed. Right, Tobin?

Addendum. Yes, there are some cocktailians who get carried away. Yes, there are some cocktailians who neglect their guests. Yes, I have made these mistakes. Yes, I have relatively little experience compared with a lot of you. These are just my opinions.

And one last dig at Tobin because I know he’s a good sport: As much as you take issue with jigs (as Bridget calls them), 15-minute libations, and annoying barmen, I have as much of a problem with the irresponsible drinking habits that high-speed, flair bartending seems to promote. Think about this: are people more likely to over-imbibe at a place where a drink can be sipped and savored or at a place where countless people down shots and bombs and other drinks of that ilk?

Disclaimer: I am stubborn, judgmental, and obnoxious. Or at least, that’s what Al Klopper always tells me. But seriously, sometimes I joke around too much or speak out of turn and for that, I apologize. Just wanted to get that off my chest to my classmates and my teachers.

Hear ye, hear ye; I have a confession to make. As combative as I was during Wednesday’s session, no class in the 2011 AMCA’s lineup (other than the sherry one with Phil Ward and Katie Stipe) has had as much of an impact on me. And ever since experiencing Tobin Ellis’s presentation, I’ve been digesting it.

I’ve spoken with my coworkers, fellow bartenders, and even random kids on playground swingsets about the different ideas and practices proposed to us in class. I’m not writing this because I agree with everything that Tobin told us; instead, I’m writing this because Tobin’s class perfectly illustrated the purpose of the advanced academy.

Look, if Bridget Albert were merely a charismatic bartender, then we’d be fools to take her class. But because she is a patient teacher who pushes us and challenges us to contemplate new philosophies, her class is completely worthwhile. And by asking someone like Tobin Ellis to instruct the AMCA for a day, she made the conscious decision to continue to refine us as bartenders as is always her goal. (I think).

Tobin’s hatred of jiggers and time-consuming cocktails and loquacious bartenders is not unwarranted. Jiggers are not perfectly accurate, a cocktail that takes 15 minutes to get to you is silly, and long-winded barpeople can be extremely annoying. Yet there was something beyond these things that really touched a nerve and I wasn’t quite sure until today what it was exactly.

Tune in shortly for part two; a jigger auction on ebay is calling my name…

Time to give thanks. (No, I am not too proud to suck up).

Steve Shure – Thank you for sponsoring/facilitating this trip. I have to admit: at first, you seemed a bit high strung and aloof. But, as the trip wore on and I got to know you better, I experienced your great sense of humor, generosity, and kindness. I’m glad you came with us.

Bridget Albert – What can I say about you that hasn’t already been said about Mother Teresa? You are one of the great people in our industry, one who persists and prevails on a daily basis. Without you, the academy as we know it wouldn’t exist. I can’t thank you enough for all that you do.

Brian Orlik – Although we haven’t gotten to spend as much time together as I would like, you’ve taught me a lot about how to conduct myself in this industry. If only I could be as easygoing and optimistic as you manage to be. Thank you for always answering my questions, no matter how challenging or annoying they manage be.

Mark Gruber – You are a legend in your own time. I am in awe of your knowledge, your one-liners, and your many impressive collections. Thank you for adding that special umph to our adventure.

And to all of you, thank you for your patience with us as a group.

Disclaimer: Take this post as you would a bland bite of food: with a grain of salt, por favor. And remember, even a Cosby-sweater wearing clown can be profound. Or not.

As our own motley group stood along the damp edges of Tarlogie Springs listening to Andy MacDonald speak, I couldn’t help but focus on the rain. Its droplets further contributed to the pristine and crucial source of Glenmorangie’s bespoke scotches, but more than that, their concentric circles are what gave me the inspiration for this post.

Throughout the course of our ambitious program, all of us (except for Uby) will endeavor to answer the following question: what’s the point of the AMCA? And, though this may seem brash, I think I found the answer as I considered the collective concentric circles.

First off, they are all essentially the same. They all have a point of origin (their center) and a path (their rippling lines). Our center? It could be our common interest in “the industry” or even the academy itself. Our path and our rippling lines? Perhaps they represent our knowledge because think about what those lines do: they overlap complementarily and they move outward, just as we hope our influence does.

On the surface of the spring, there cannot be just one set of concentric circles; a raindrop does not fall alone nor does it exist alone. And we should be no different. Our reliance upon each other is crucial. Connecting to, learning from, and growing with one another in the context of education and progression – now that’s the point of the AMCA. Or at least, that’s what it is to me.

And thus concludes what happens when one person spends too much time contemplating concentric circles.