Cocktails: A Moveable Mix?
A bar is a funny place. People come in to be served drinks and treated well. They come in to forget their problems and, more often than not, they come to a bar to have fun. When I started working at the bar I often equated having fun with being drunk. Drinking cocktails was just a fancy way to get you there. But the more I learned, the more I realised that there is more to this wonderful craft.
For as long as I could call myself a teenager, drinking alcohol was a sign of maturity. The grown-ups were doing it and they could handle themselves well. So the more I could drink the more grown-up I was. It’s a very logical assumption, don’t you think? But there was another side to it.
Alcohol makes you drunk, Being drunk is fun.
No one cared for how good something tasted. In fact, the more goosebumps the drink caused the stronger = better it was.
As teenagers we drank because it got you smashed, hammered, and often puking. Those long hours lying powerless on a cold bathroom floor, lifting your head for semi-regular stomach contractions, which left you with a bitter taste of defeat in your mouth - or was it the taste of stomach juices – just waiting for it to be over… Well, that was just a part of it; a part of growing up. We were still learning how to measure. No one cared for how good something tasted. In fact, the more goosebumps the drink caused the stronger = better it was. That was how we drank. That was our standard of measurement.
I knew little then of cocktails, but I’ve loved cooking for as long as I can remember. One of the first memories I have of cooking is watching my mother throwing powders - yellow, red, green - into a pot, with finely chopped onions, tomatoes and more greens. The veggies sprung up as if for joy, while the hot oil coated them in a golden dress.
Every once in a while my mother gave me a small spoon full to try - every spoon a step closer to perfection. The aromas in the air spread, changed, and merged into a breeze of delight, forcing a flood of saliva into my mouth. This was the scent of the perfect mix of what I now know as Kushari. A dish that, when served, evokes a picturesque landscape, blossoming in the most vibrant colours. A sight that makes you want to grab a spoon and dig right in from the serving dish. And when you do, an exciting dance of flavours and consistencies smoothly tickles the taste-buds on your tongue. An experience worth every smack you receive on the back of your head for not waiting, for just digging in.
While my love for food continued to enhance my interest in complex and nuanced flavours, my appreciation for alcohol, or cocktails for that matter, came much later. Long after I had learnt to aim straight for the toilet, the bush or anything that didn’t need to be cleaned up; long after I knew that bread and oil were a much better basis for drinking than an empty stomach (though, you do get drunk faster); and long after my discovery that mixing strong (cheap) alcohol with a juice, soda or anything sweet would make its consumption more bearable. My appreciation came with the realisation that like food, drinks could excite the tongue.
When I started working in a kitchen cleaning plates a child-like curiosity was reawakened in me. It was the place where I found my passion as a little boy watching my mother. As I washed the dishes, I watched the cooks. I marveled at how effortlessly they transformed a piece of meat into a package of explosive flavour. A beautifully blackened crust coating a pinkish-red blush. The soft savour of steak laid on a bed of fresh salad, dressed in a shimmering sheet of raspberry and mustard vinaigrette.
After a year in the kitchen the thing that would revolutionize my understanding of drinking forever happened.
After a year in the kitchen the thing that would revolutionize my understanding of drinking forever happened. I was finally asked if I wanted to try myself at the bar - an opportunity no one with no experience was ever offered – what else was I to say but yes? I didn’t know much about cocktails and I enjoyed them as the refreshing beverages that get you drunk.
And then, I was taught to measure using a jigger – a measuring cup with two sides, 20 millilitres fit in one cup and 40 in the other. That’s what I started with. But before I could put this new tool into action I had to understand what I was measuring: Sweet and sour balanced each other out and created a harmonious contrast with the spirits, which in turn added their characteristic flavours. Simple to understand, but I had to taste the difference between the different sweetening components. From my little spoon I tasted everything from sugar syrup to flavoured syrups - even blue ones - to cream of coconut, which is like coconut cream that you use in Asian cuisine only sweetened. Even conventional jams that you smear on your bread could not escape my spoon. I tasted the bitter and salty, and eventually, after a while and a few books, I also understood Umami… I think!
I began to comprehend the difference that a simple molecular alteration could make. I mean who could believe the immensity of difference between lemon and lime juice? But then there was also acids, vinegar and fermentations that could supply the needed acidity.
I had discovered a new world of flavours and combinations. How simple it was to turn Vodka, Cointreau, lemon and cranberry juice, into a “Cosmopolitan” – important not to forget to squeeze the essential oils of the orange zest, over a flame onto the cocktail: A fantastic show of sparks, the beautiful scent in the air of caramelised orange drifting from behind the bar into the nostrils of anticipating noses, the contrast of senses creating a dance that made this “girly” cocktail appealing to even the manliest men’s eyes.
The guests sitting at the bar found fun not only in their drinks, but also in watching me learn how to measure, taste, and pour them their next drink. I wasn’t sure if they were entertained by my passion (I like to think so) or by the fact that they saw the amounts of alcohol being poured. Or both. I was learning to measure the streams coming out of the bottle pourers by counting the seconds. When I had mastered, picking up two bottles at a time and free pouring little streams of alcohol - every count, around 2cl – the gasps of awe of onlookers increased.
The understanding I had and shared with my friends about alcohol changed, expanded. I was maturing at the oak-coloured bar like a Whiskey, Whisky or even Tequila. I remember being surprised that Tequila could also be aged in oak barrels to give it colour and a milder, slightly woodier flavour. But it was not the golden tequila that I had confidently been drinking chased with an orange slice and cinnamon powder. That one was just caramel-coloured. Because that’s allowed. But it is not the same as a Reposado or Añejo Tequila. Those have to be “rested” for 6-12 months or “yeared” for 1-3 years respectively in oak barrels. These three years are the minimum maturing time for Whiskey and it’s not unusual to wait 12, 14, 16 years – to get drunk?
My appreciation for alcohol went from white and brown and goose-bump inducing, to a complex web of flavour molecules infused in the different spirits giving them their characteristics.
While my guests drank their drinks I quenched my thirst for knowledge. Advancing my skills to make the most balanced drinks. At times my streams were too short for some. I figured some just had their own way of measuring and wanted a bit more alcohol and less ice cubes. And others just had a different palate. This could be very frustrating, because I was studying, tasting and working on becoming better.
Still I enjoyed being like my mother, like the cooks in the kitchen where I washed dishes, creating perfect mixes that were beautifully garnished and served cold. Tasting, understanding, and realising this new world of flavours within the individual spirits. And when I found out that I could use flavours from the kitchen – Oh happy day! It allowed new ways of creating new drinks; I had so much fun discovering all the ingredients that juniper berries that are so dominant in Gin, can be mixed with: Saffron, beetroot, cucumber, onions, Brie and some more cheeses!
Over the years I combined the craziest flavours and ingredients, most of which were appealing to most guests and some only appealing to the most daring, if even. I started turning fats into liquids. Clarifying them with milk. Creating textures from air and transfiguring foams to crackers and powders to leathers and gels. All that is not necessary if getting drunk is the goal.
Until today, I wonder about my guests. Why do they come to the bar?
Until today, I wonder about my guests. Why do they come to the bar? Are they there to have fun like us as teenagers - just without the goosebumps, perhaps? Is it about the appreciation of craftsmanship? Is it about the flavours and combinations that evoke memories or surprise? Or about watching the show of liquids falling through the air; Ice cubes drumming on the tins; Oils being torched? Or maybe none or all of the above?
