Portland bars are working hard to make sure the people serving you drinks are of the beautiful variety, but what really makes a good bartender?
We’ve come a long way since overweight, middle-aged and balding was the standard barkeep archetype, but that doesn’t mean the pretty little things slinging the Maker’s for this generation are expert mixologists.
It really depends where you go, and why. On a recent Friday night, I strolled down to Southwest Stark and 10th Avenue to check out two restaurants that probably wish they could hop Burnside and join the Pearl District.
Living Room Theaters and Clyde Common present a fascinating dichotomy in style and purpose, and so do their bartenders.
I started out in Living Room Theaters, an absurdly lit glass and wood structure at 341 S.W. 10th Ave. For a Friday evening at 7 p.m., it was pretty mellow. A professional-looking crowd filled out the swank main room, chatting quietly and picking at salads. The room’s noise level never rose above a dull buzz.
These were civil people, and they were here to enjoy some light dinner conversation and maybe some live smooth jazz. I asked one of the bartenders, Carrie Taylor, what she thought the most important aspect of her job was.
After she was interrupted three times by drink orders in the process of our conversation, I guessed it might be multitasking. Carrie, who claims she knows about 50 drinks off the top of her head, said that for her, the job is all about customer interaction.
“Regulars come to talk,” she said. “Like you have with hairdressers, it’s almost therapeutic. I’ve met really great people.”
After a nebbish dude with a flowing blonde mane of well-kept dreads started an interminable stand-up bass solo, I decided to take Carrie’s advice and head over to Clyde Common, which she said had some of the best bartenders in town.
“That’s who we go to for advice,” she said.
I walked across the street to Clyde Common, on the corner of Southwest 10th Avenue and Stark. I opened the door and the roar of 100 different conversations hit me. The bar was completely concealed, hidden behind a crowd four-deep in every direction.
Hip, pretty 30-somethings sipped exotic looking drinks and microbrews and tried their best to seem detached from the mad rush of energy in the room. The dining hall and overhead loft were stuffed with people. When food arrived, greedy eyes widened and the room temporarily quieted.
On a nasty March night, it was a happy place to be.
But I didn’t come here to people watch. I came to watch the three well-heeled gentlemen conducting an intricate freestyle dance behind the bar. In the hour and a half I was there, the bartenders never stopped moving.
These guys seemed like pros to me. I imagined that they weren’t that interested in hearing about your depressing marriage, especially if it’s a slamming Friday night. However, that doesn’t mean there isn’t some craft to go along with the impressive haste on display at Clyde Common.
The drinks are simply among the best in town.
On a limited budget, I had only two cocktails: an Old-Fashioned and a Manhattan. They were both executed with precision and a certain amount of flair, though the bartender was somewhat thrown when I asked for a recommendation.
“Well that depends,” he said. “I like a lot of things. Too many. What do you like?”
It was the right question to ask, and after he discovered my love of bourbon, he quickly went to work—before I could even ask what he was making me.
And perhaps mutual trust is the ultimate factor in what makes a bartender successful. The trust that a good drink will be made. The trust that a good tip will be left. It can be a tenuous relationship at times, but few others can influence a night of drinking so easily.
The bottom line is this: If you want friendly service and good drinks, tip well.