The act of serving alcoholic beverages has changed little throughout history. A person bellies up, places one of their elbows on the bar top, and either knows exactly what they want or must be convinced in some way by the bartender to try something new in order to remedy their indecision. There’s many methods but the result is always the same, a drink in hand followed by conversation. The bartender not only pushes drinks into awaiting hands but is adept at speculating the slight hints and signs in order to discern a guest’s mood.

Everyone is there for a particular reason, but without me and my lustrous vials of liquids there would be no reason to go. Who am I if not a dark sentinel of the night? A besotted, mischievous, dour, smiling, grimacing, beckoning incubi standing behind a barstool lined counter in a dimly lit saloon you visit to escape the harsh realities of the outside world? A modern Dionysus you come to pay homage to. Arms crossed I stand surrounded by bottles, glasses, promises of better times gleaming in the liquids. My stainless steel shakers, maracas of death and life, dedicated to dilution, palatability. Weighted tins, barspoons, strainers, jiggers. Our profession, bartending, is multi faceted, but the main thread connecting us all, from those working at the most piss soaked hellhole to sparkling three star Michelin joints, is booze. Sweet, cruel booze. We are preachers of the spirit, chaperons walking you by hand to salvation and at other times, personalized oblivion. Guardians of libations arriving by way of Mother Earth. Secret, guarded recipes born into this world by the patience of fermentation, finalized by flame during distillation, sometimes aged and softened, mellowed in wooden barrels. From across the world and a multitude of cultures it arrives to us protected by cardboard boxes, filtered, bottled, labeled, wrapped and screw capped or corked. In hand, in heft, the magic liquid inside demanding respect. Coiled within this precious, fragile delivery system we begin. Into the glass, down the gullet.

It is the lubricant guiding the planet’s entire social system. All cultures, all classes, all appropriate ages. Legal and lethal. Controlled. Chaotic. Gleaming. In pure form it singes the delicate membranes of the throat and nostrils. Ah! But the well constructed cocktail gives us so much! Especially now. We have triumphed. Survived the insanity of prohibition, endured the dark ages. We are reborn. Respected. The handful of original recipes standing still through the ages, retaining their status, spawning entire universes of variations. 

What a time to be so deep into the American cocktail renaissance. An era born of desperate necessity. From British punches to bootleg roots. Temperance movements and gangsters. We’ve risen from the gloom of sweet and sour mix. Endured decades of silliness and pomp, extreme garnishes and garish presentations. Through it all the magic combinations lurked in the shadows awaiting our discovery like sunken treasure. The simple sorcery of proper measurements of citrus and sugar. Incorporation of bitters, aperitifs, and amari, rare spirits from far away places. The palate, flashing, pole dancing. What is this? What else is so soothing to the tongue and routine melancholy as the cocktail? Long day. Take a load off. Plop down into the bar stool. Before a taste graces the lips there is a soothing of the soul as the cheeks of the ass settle in. You watch as the bartender stirs or shakes or blends for you a libation upon which the first sip reshapes your outlook entire. Cool on the tongue. The gamut of flavors. Bitter, sweet, sour, even salty, spicy, and if you’re lucky, a tinge of umami, but something else as well. The intangible, deadly risk. Because in the back of our minds the danger of enjoying too much will always dwell. There’s nothing else like it. Something so widely available, regulated yet rampant. Allowed to blossom and thrive. Each of us has witnessed the fall. Maybe even on the way over. We tell ourselves, subconsciously, as we suckle at the teat of oblivion, that person will never be us. We finish, the ice rattling in the bottom of the glass and order another. The second really takes all the angst away. Just enough to allow us to stay under the legal limit. As it washes over our stress, sweeps it away, we experience that gentle relaxation of who we are and what occurred that day. Maybe even a smile appears. We chat with the person next to us. What do you do? What do you do? Our posture unfolds, unwinds. The dread disappears. Maybe the world isn’t such a bad place after all.

What are we here for if not for love? For passion? Nothing else makes any sense. This is the meaning of life. Despite what the critics tell you, love is the truth. It’s pure. It takes us on wonderful rides and it tears us apart. Nothing so pure can be without pain. It wounds us. It leaves scars. It pulls us out from the depths of our doldrums, the mistakes we make and learn from if we’re lucky enough to be aware it’s happening. 

And what is catharsis? It’s coming out the other end of our own self inflicted misery and heartbreak, but only if we choose to put in the work. Purification through fire. Experiencing the thick and thin. Climbing the mountains and valleys. Seeing death happen too young to the wrong people and being grateful for each day given. It’s all right there if you can catch it. And maybe you’ve lived long enough to be so wise you see it as it happens.

If you’re lucky, you’ve got a true pro back there. A grizzled man or double knit woman smiling sincerely, listening to you as you deflate a bit, come back down to earth. Not too much, but enough. The alleviation of your long day. A simple talk with a hardened professional. 

You pay your bill and take your route home and your mind delves deeper into these mysteries of what life is, maybe you’ve become just a little more grateful for what you have, or you’ve allowed yourself to be angry or sad over an event you’re still chewing on. You lay awake in bed mulling. Turning it one way and the other. In the morning, though, the thought has disappeared. The sun shines through the window, precious light dissolving the cobwebs of the previous night. Coffee and a shower waiting for you. Clean clothing. Stepping into fresh skin. The day ahead. New challenges.