Seattle, sometime in the past few years, you killed off the bartender. In its place we have the “mixologist,” but I’m not sure that’s been a positive trade. There’s no doubt that the quality of cocktails citywide is much higher than it was a decade ago, and that’s worth a toast—but at what cost? Waxed mustaches, suspenders, and a broad knowledge of obscure cocktails can’t make up for an inability to perform basic customer-service functions, including actually making drinks quickly and socializing with guests in a manner other than condescending to them or ignoring them for ordering uninteresting drinks.
There was a time when being a bartender meant being able to whip up a drink fast and assess the needs of your patrons; to converse about sports, music, movies, and other aspects of pop culture; and most of all to be a friendly face in a world that can be cold and indifferent. In our blind pursuit for cocktail Nirvana, have we lost sight of what a trip to a bar should be about?
I don’t want to give up what we’ve gained and go back to a world where, when you order a Negroni, you get Campari, gin, and orange juice served over crushed ice (that’s a story for another column). Yet given that there are so many reasons to go to a bar, doesn’t it seem a bit mad that we’ve so heavily emphasized just one: getting an exceptional drink?
Even I’m not sure: After all, many of my favorite cocktails these days are either rediscovered gems or modern inventions that, without a strong culture of experimentation, I’d never have tried. I appreciate that for many in the vanguard of this movement, it was important to differentiate what they did from combining rum and Coke, and that most if not all were truly passionate about their vocation. Just for making fresh-squeezed citrus juice commonplace, they deserve acclaim.
Yet as the market for craft cocktails has exploded, it’s no longer just the realm of a few dedicated folks hoping to open minds and expand tastes. Craft bartending has become marketing drivel, with a look and an air of superiority, and less about turning customers on to a drink they’ve never tried or an exciting spirit. For every bartender I encounter with a genuine passion for what he or she does, I meet five or 10 who are happiest when they can patronize a guest who’s never heard of mezcal or Aperol or aquavit.
Sadly, I don’t think there’s a solution. Craft cocktails aren’t going away anytime soon—not now that restaurateurs have found that they can charge $12–$14 for them—and the image of the craft bartender is fixed in the culture, for better or worse. There’s no doubt that you can get a truly great experience at many of Seattle’s wonderful cocktail bars, but it’s undoubtedly different from one you’d have gotten at great bars a decade or two ago. Better? Worse? You tell me.
Thoughts on the changes in the bar scene? E-mail thebarcode@seattleweekly.com or reach out on Twitter @zgeballe.
