Mixologist?

"I am a mixologist just like you," said the gelled haired 23-year old with leather bracelets, double pierced ears sporting
white sunglasses, backwards, perched on the back of his head. I had him pegged as new bartender halfway through his
nearly twenty minutes of comments concerning every drink that I made and every step that I used in making them. He
was liberal in his advice and his expertise, both years of it. Unfortunately it was made all the more difficult to understand
because of his tongue piercing.
"I bet-th you break-th a lot of gla-th-sses," he said, after watching me tap the metal part of my Boston shaker on the bar
rail in order to separate it from the glass part.
In my 20-year bartending career I've broken exactly two glasses separating shakers this way. Conservatively speaking I
estimate that I've probably made 200,000 shaken drinks in my career. I like to think that I've become pretty adept at it.
But first let me get something straight. I am not a mixologist. Nor am I a bar chef, or any of the many other affectations
and euphemisms that are currently used to gussy up the bartending profession. I mix drinks, lots and lots of them,
fulltime. That is what I do. While doing so I also listen, laugh, dole out advice, accept advice, and generally attempt to
provide some comfort to the public at large. But as a point of fact; I've probably made more drinks in my lifetime than
almost anybody else that I know of. That includes many of these famous bar personalities. I had ten years of experience
in the bar business before many of these so-called "bar chefs" were legally able to drink. While I appreciate what many of
them do, the down side is that every up and comer thinks that by throwing two obscure ingredients together and infusing a
vodka (which by the way is nearly 20 years old) they are cutting edge. Adding fruit to a Mojito is not a new idea my
friends, but getting press for adding fruit to a Mojito, is.
Bartending isn't simply about mixing ingredients together, that's called cooking. Bartending is mixing ingredients together
while carrying on three simultaneous and completely different conversations. It is about hosting an evening's enjoyment for
others while explaining what blended Scotch is for the umpteenth time to two newcomers. It is about witnessing the
unfolding of life's diorama directly in front of you while shaking up two of whatever the newest trendy drink is. If you want to
impress me Mr. 23 year old "mixologist" try doing all the above while standing behind a leaky bar that is three people
deep-solo because your co-worker called in sick- on a Friday night with a touch of the flu. Now that will impress me.
Stealing a twenty-year old drink recipe and adding a new ingredient on the other hand, not so much.
On another night, Tony Abou-Ganim, who is arguably one of the most famous bartenders around, sat in the same spot at
my bar as my white sunglassed hipster. Better known as the Modern Mixologist, his story is legend amongst those of us
in the bar business. Upon arriving in San Francisco Abou-Ganim tended bar at the Balboa Café, then opened Harry
Denton's before moving to New York and teaming up with Mario Batali at Po in the West Village. Returning to San
Francisco in 1995, he helped open Harry Denton's Starlight Room, at the top of the Sir Francis Drake Hotel. Riding the
exodus of famous food and beverage celebrities to Las Vegas he was soon mixing drinks at Steve Wynn's Bellagio
Resort. These days he operates his own beverage-consulting firm, is the National Ambassador of the US Bartenders
Guild, and is an Associate Member of the Museum of the American Cocktail. And there he was sitting at my bar; if there
ever was a bartender that I would gratefully accept advice from it was he.
Ironically he didn't doll out any, instead he simply enjoyed himself. When it came time to order he asked questions and
made informed decisions based on what he heard. In fact he didn't even introduce himself until after I recognized him and
introduced myself. All the while he was gracious and charming, a veritable pleasure to wait on.
As for my sunglassed hipster I did finally ask him to show me how he would separate my shaker halves. He tapped his
hand on the side several times and struggled to get them apart. Finally he managed to separate them but spilled some of
the contents on the bar.
"Uh…ours are a little different-th," he said.
I thought so.
These two experiences taught me several new things.
1. Before offering advice on how someone should do something you might want to try what they are doing in the
circumstances that they are doing it, first.
2. Unsolicited advice is rarely welcomed, or for that matter, accurate.
3. Real "mixologists" have nothing to prove. They let their body of work do the talking for them.
4. You can call me anything you like, but I call myself a bartender, proudly.