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The Story About Going Where What You’ve Got is Valued.

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The Standard: Why Your “Mixology” is a Liability

As a Mixologist—if you actually are one—you know the title isn’t a gift. It’s a hard-won extraction. It happens through at least a decade of endless innovation, reading, and experimentation. For some of us, it’s been decades and decades of measuring time, measuring distance, and working constantly toward something cleaner, more polished, and more precise. You work smarter and harder so your work becomes a Class Act.

So, what is class?

I don’t know. It’s not money. Those of us who have it, have it. Those of us who don’t? They don’t know what it is either—but more importantly, they don’t see it. As a multi-generational New Yorker, I see the divide every day. “They” don’t go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They don’t sit through the Metropolitan Opera or the Symphonies. They don’t study the craft of Broadway and Off-Broadway plays. They don’t watch how a master commands a stage or how a set is struck with surgical precision. They don’t see the preparation. And in this trade, if you don’t see the preparation, you’re a casualty waiting to happen.

The Infantry of the Bar

In my world, the bar is a frontline. When the doors open and the tickets start screaming off the printer, it’s a battle. And in a battle, lack of preparedness results in “death” or permanent injury to the reputation of the house. I take this as serious as a heart attack—and twice as deadly. The amateur thinks mixology is about the “vibe” or the garnish. They think they can “wing it” because they have a palate. But when the room goes four-deep and the twelve-tops start landing like mortar shells, the amateur’s “vibe” evaporates. They start drowning because they aren’t prepared. They don’t have the tools, and they don’t know how to use the ones they have.

Battle Conditions: The Logistics of Class

Class is logistics. Class is the “Mise en Place” of a professional who refuses to lose. If you are behind my bar, I expect you to meet battle conditions head-on. That means:


AS Deadly as a heart attack, and twice as Serious

The amateur isn’t “learning.” The amateur is a liability. They haven’t stockpiled the essentials. They haven’t mastered the distance between their hand and the pour spout. They treat the bar like a Playground; I treat it like a theater of operations. You want to know why I go to the Met? Why I study the Opera? Because those performers don’t “hope” it goes well. They have rehearsed until the excellence is involuntary. They have the tools, the training, and the absolute discipline to execute under the bright lights. That is Class. It’s the polished, relentless pursuit of a standard that doesn’t flinch when things get ugly. That’s the AS SERIOUS AS A HEART ATTACK, AND TWICE AS DEADLY
 part of mixology theylife long doomed to remain amaturs will always fail to understand.

If you want to call yourself a Mixologist, start by looking at your station. Is it bare minimum for the sake of appearances, or is it a fortified position ready for any onslaught that comes? Because out here, the rush is coming.

If you’re getting criticized for being well prepared,  you’re not doing it wrong, you’re just not working in the right place. Relax, smile, and keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t let the morons take the heart out of you. Remember who you are. You are extraordinary and you have to find the place where you, and what you do will be appreciated.
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