Cocktail supremo

Salvatore Calabrese, says there’s a lot more to bartending than just serving drinks.  A great bartender is also a psychiatrist, doctor and, above all, host. By Patrick Schmitt

ONE OF THE REGULARLY steamed books sitting in my bathroom, currently beneath a spineless copy of Colemanballs, is an early Salvatore Calabrese cocktail guide. 

It’s been there for a number of years, read, re-read and dropped in the bath at least once. And although it has never actually crossed my mind to make a Calabrese concoction, my flatmates and I agreed a few years ago that it was time to go and try a drink made by the master himself at the Library Bar in the Lanesborough.

Having selected the evening and gathered a few others aware of this man’s skill with a shaker, we headed to the highly expensive hotel at Hyde Park Corner to have "just the one" pre-pub cocktail – a single Martini is about the same price as four pints of beer.

However, perhaps unsurprisingly to those who know the place, we never made it to the Bunch of Grapes, or whatever the Knightsbridge local round the corner was called.

In fact, one of us didn’t even make it home, choosing to spend the night surrounded by a mix of marble and mahogany – the materials lining a Lanesborough loo.

And although no-one has a totally clear memory of the evening, there are faint recollections of singing along to the music – a pianist actually agreed to play our requests, apparently – and an American in a full-length fur who had trouble listing how many Ferraris he owned.

But, despite the blur, what I and others do remember is how much fun we had, even if it felt as if the near five hours spent there had only lasted 15 minutes – probably the length of time we were sober.

Calabrese’s cocktails are strong and quick to appear. We were also genuinely intrigued at the relaxed air of a bar with such formal decor as well as the easy-going approach of the staff despite their immaculate attire (I’m sure an All Bar One bouncer would have dragged us out and had us banned for life).

Anyway, some three years on, and only a couple of weeks ago, I recounted this tale to Calabrese in rather quieter surroundings.  Yes it was back in the Library Bar, but the spot has a somewhat different ambience at 3.30 in the afternoon compared to closing time.

And, rather than disapproving, Calabrese seemed pleased by the tale.  He enjoyed the fact his bar took on a party-like atmosphere at night and we’d made the most of it.

There may be bookshelves in place of neon uplighters and a gentle tinkle from a grand, not the thud from a high watt amp, but the Lanesborough bar has a buzz – which I now realize has as much to do with Calabrese and his team as the effect of their cocktails on loyal customers.

The staff aren’t there just to mix drinks and clear tables but to entertain.  You could say that Calabrese isn’t organizing a bar, but directing as well as acting in a play. He even describes the space behind the elegant wooden counter as his stage – with his "shaker as the music".

But for all the fun there is a serious side to what Calabrese is doing.  As he tells me early on in our conversation, you must "compare a chef and a winemaker with a barman" to really understand the latter’s philosophy.

"First imagine the chef," Calabrese begins.  "He’s an artist at work with his plate as his canvas.  He is a creator above all – inventing new dishes, new flavours and new aromas – but, he is behind the scenes, he is hiding from his public, his plate does the talking.  Next imagine the wine waiter.

He is an extremely knowledgeable person who has to have a fine palate and an extraordinary nose but everything he does is about knowledge, he is not a creator, and his contact with the customer or rather his approach is very cold.

Now, what is a barman? A barman is a creator.  The biggest thing for any bartender is to be able to immortalize himself with a great drink that in 100 year’s time somebody will still ask for.

I say I use my glass as my canvas and whatever I put inside will be my work of art – for some people it will be a Picasso, for others it will be a Van Gogh, in my case it will be a Michelangelo – because I am an Italian.

But," Salvatore pauses before adding with great emphasis, "he is not only a creator; he is an entertainer; he is a friend; he is a psychariatrist; he is a doctor; and he is a man of much knowledge."

Thus Calabrese disapproves of the term "mixologist", which says "you are just somebody who works behind the bar and is mixing". Calabrese is a firm believer of the barman as host.

"I try and teach my guys five elements," he continues, reinforcing his argument.  "You must use your eyes, your nose, your ears, your mouth and your hand. 

And most say, why all these? Well, your eyes to welcome people, your nose to detect any aromas, pleasant or unpleasant, your ear to listen for any noise – I’m talking to you but I’m listening for any noise behind me, like breaking glass – your mouth to smile, the biggest welcome you can give is the broad smile, and your hand.

Why your hand? Your hand is the warmest contact you can have with your customer, when you shake someone’s hand you are saying welcome to my house."

At this point I’m reminded of my own meeting with Calabrese only 20 minutes earlier. He was busy behind the bar, and I was early.  Nevertheless, he immediately looked up, smiled, clasped my hand in his, then put his other on top before shaking my hand firmly.

Any sense that I might be distracting him from his work, an irritant, was immediately dispelled.  But it’s not just the initial gesturing that’s important to Calabrese, it’s also the post-greeting service.

 "My time schedule’s five minutes," he says, "and in this time the customer will have  been given the welcome, the order will be taken, the coasters will have arrived, and the crisps, and then in the next five minutes the drinks will arrive.

"You find in many places that you have to fight to order your drink and then you might have to wait 20 or 30 minutes to have it," he adds.  As for taking the order itself,  Calabrese insists that for anything up to 12 people his staff must memorise not just the drinks but who has asked for them.

"I hate it when waiters go to the table and say, ‘So, who’s having what?" He also remarks that before his employees can even step behind the bar, "they must learn everything there is to know about every spirit, including how they are made."

Having said this, however, Calabrese does relax a little and reveals a more flexible side. "Occasionally I pick up somebody who doesn’t know anything about bars.

I have one called Jack who’s been with me for four years but at the beginning he couldn’t even carry a tray if he wished to. But, he had a great personality, great humour – something you can’t teach."

As for the cocktails themselves, well, Calabrese has strong feelings on how they should be prepared. In particular, he stresses they must satisfy three senses, sight, smell and taste.

Or rather, he believes a good cocktail should be like a beautiful woman who looks ravishing, smells wonderful, and well, tastes delicious.  Furthermore, "A cocktail should linger so much that you don’t want to rush it. If it has no flavour or is flat on the finish, you gulp it down in one go."

And for Calabrese it seems simplicity is often the best policy when it comes to cocktails. Although he applauds inventiveness, which he notices especially among London bartenders, he worries there is a tendency for people to try too hard, using too many ingredients.

He also expresses concern that some misrepresent classic cocktails. "When it comes to classics I am very stubborn," comments Calabrese.  "You can modernize the classic but you should not distort it. When you ask for a Manhattan you should expect to have a Manhattan, not a version of a Manhattan.

"And you mustn’t use just cheap brands," he says. "You would never use a cheap ingredient in cooking – would you want to cook with a bad steak just because you are adding tomato sauce?" he reasons.

And even a gin and tonic invites comment, because it "can be quite difficult to make," according to Calabrese.  "The lemon should be making its presence," he schools, "but sometimes it’s so thin it’s like a host [holy wafer]."

Then there’s the issue of cocktail lists.  Calabrese never provides a menu because although it does contain over 120 cocktails he likes to "leave it to the guest to choose what they like, so if they want a Singapore Sling or whatever, they are not afraid to ask.

In a lot of bars the cocktail list is there and you think that is what you should have – like being in a restaurant – which you shouldn’t; a great barman should know all the  classics."

He should also, believes Calabrese, be a skilled chemist, or as mentioned earlier a "doctor", with a whole host of remedies – "from those for a cold, hangover or tummy upset to a pick-me-up."

In particular, Calabrese remembers having a man in his bar after a particularly heavy stag night.  "This chap was getting married and I’ve never seen anyone so frightened and in such a bad shape," Calabrese recalls.

"I took one look at him and I knew he was in need of a remedy – I didn’t think he would make it to the altar.  So, I said ‘Relax, what I’m going to give you is either going to cure or kill you, but if it doesn’t kill you your girlfriend will.’

So I gave him a Blood Transfusion, which is done with Fernet Branca on top of a Bloody Marystyle drink. It settled his stomach, it worked, and I saw this guy come back to life. His wife still thanks me." 

In fact, Calabrese has just finished a book on hangover cures, because "it is one way I can say sorry to all those clients I have given a bad hangover to."  By this stage Calabrese has insisted I try another of his expert creations and the bar’s starting to fill up. He darts around, greeting and directing people, and I sit back and watch the scene.

A boy comes in for a coke and within minutes Calabrese swoops down on his table, silver tray in hand, drink delivered.  Next it’s wine for two and cocktails for four.  Then, suddenly, I realise I’m in danger of being sucked into another crazed evening at the Library Bar, hooked on the mix of Calabrese cocktails and people-watching.

The booklined walls not yet a blur, I stand up and resist the lure.  It’s been fun, but this time I’m going to make it to the pub.