101 Things #15 - Called to the Bar

I have nothing against bartenders or bartending.

Ah, I can tell you are waiting for more. You see, I have been turning over in my mind the suggestion I encountered on Lifelisted.com that people wishing to set themselves goals to enrich their lives should

Take a bartending class
 

and I feel this is utterly suitable for inclusion on my own anti-bucket list, 101 Things I Refuse To Do Before I Die.

I assume at once that by "take" they mean attend a class as a student, rather be the one doing the instructing. Both are valid interpretations; however it seems unlikely that a skilled bartender would have as one of his  bucket list goals the training of others (they probably find themselves teaching trainees on the job, anyway) and an unskilled one would make a hash of it, spilling the gin here and cutting himself while peeling a lemon there, so should simply decline.

Thus we are invited to consider enrolling at a suitable academy to commence our exciting journey into the world of pint-pulling and glass-wiping. I've not seen such courses advertised but that doesn't mean there are none - for all I know there are veritable colleges dedicated to the bottle and the ice-tray. Indeed, the most cursory of searches (and who can be arsed to do much more these days?) finds someone on LinkedIn who claims to have a Diploma in cocktail making. Yes, he hasn't just attended a two hour class, he has done a real academic course and has the certificate to prove it (and no doubt, a photograph showing him wearing a silly hat and gown holding it up on graduation day).

I wonder what they have to do to get a Dip.Booze? Drink their way through every bottle in the college bar? Fill a peanut bowl with 150 nuts, subject to a plus/minus error of no more than 3, with a single pour? Spear at least 8 cocktail olives in 10 seconds using no more than 2 cocktail sticks? Invent two ridiculous new names for cocktails and persuade a real member of the public to spend real money trying them, while invigilators cunningly disguised as members of the public lean on the bar, concealed behind newspapers, and watch?

Then there is the social skills test. Each time someone enters the bar and makes his way to join the crowd jostling around trying to get served, the bartender must sum them up with a single practised glance. Are they to be acknowledged with a nod or even a "With you in a moment, mate?" Or should they be skilfully ignored, even as they slowly push up to the bar past the customers taking their drinks away and try so desperately to meet your eye?

Be that as it may, we now have a dilemma. Do we take a single class, as a literal interpretation of the goal might have it, or commit to something more substantial. How far we would get in a single class? If there are, say, twenty fellow students and each of you has to take a turn changing a barrel of beer then inspecting the frothy stuff that comes up as you connect it and wrinkling your nose quizzically as you hold it up against the light then there won't be time for much more.

There is so much more to learn. How many times can you put out a beer-mat before it must be consigned to the rubbish? When a customer gives you a £10 note for a drink then after you've turned round to get him his change, insists it was a £20, how long do you argue before reaching for your trusty cricket bat kept just behind the bar? Can you keep a straight face when an attractive young person asks you, coyly, for a "Sex on the beach". Do you shake or stir a Martini if the customer has not given explicit instructions but you don't like to ask? Can you restrain yourself from abusing the customer who asks for whisky and coke?

It is clear that no single class can begin to scratch the surface of what it means to be a bartender. Forget visions of juggling champagne bottles and then pouring out six glasses with one impressive sweep of the hand. That is serious, post-graduate stuff. You are going have to sit down, perhaps on a high stool that wobbles a bit, put your feet up on the polished brass rail and keep your elbows out of that nasty damp patch, and decide how far you want to take this whole 'qualified barperson' thing. And I say to you: I have no intention of commencing one of these classes now that I know that it is simply the first step on a very demanding and difficult path. I would never remember how to make all those cocktails, the differences between Pernod and Absinthe and all those other peculiar French drinks that nobody ever asks for but which would be bound to feature in the exam or precisely how much to put in a pint mug when the customer who is holding it asks for a half and there's already some in there.

Would you know what flavour of crisps to recommend to someone who has asked for something to accompany a '54 Chateau Mouton Rothschild Grand Cru? Is there a vegan equivalent of pork scratchings? When two heavy-set men in raincoats sidle up to you and demand to know where the boss is, do you give him away or stall for time?

All these questions are doing my head in. I need a drink.