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The Anatomy of a Great Bar
by Stephen Beaumont
It was around the mid-point of last year that I found myself with the love of my life in Belgium's "Second City," Antwerp. For Maggie, it was her first visit; for me, my umpteenth.
Our trip had been long planned, since "The City by the Schelde" is not only my preferred base in Belgium, but also one of my great European favorites, and I took to my role as tour guide like a Californian brewer takes to hops. Roaming the twisting, encircling, and entwining streets of the city's core, I pointed out this café and that museum, this shop and the other square, all the while leading us steadily towards what I knew would be one of the highlights of our all-too-brief visit.
Perhaps not surprisingly, given who I am and what I do, said highlight was a bar.
If you think me at this point overtly self-indulgent, I should explain that, like myself, Maggie is an aficionado of good bars, pubs, cafes, brasseries, and taverns. Which is not to say that we're barflies, in the Charles Bukowski or any other sense, but rather that we share a profound appreciation of that mysterious dynamic which separates an ordinary watering hole from a truly great oasis of good drink, fine feelings, and friendly souls. It was because of this commonality that I had us pointed toward the Oud Arsenaal.
In my view a world classic, the Arsenaal stands out even among the many wonderful cafes, restaurants, and bars of Antwerp, eclipsing in its appeal such stellar locales as De Vagant, which with 't Dreupelkot in Ghent is surely one of Belgium's finest genever bars, the homey Den Engel on the Grote Markt and the legendary beer destination, the Kulminator. Not at all to my surprise, Maggie fell to its charms almost immediately.
Back home almost a month later, reflecting on the most enjoyable hours we spent at the Arsenaal, fueled by good beer and a friendly group of locals who cheerily adopted us as their own, I was led to ponder what, exactly, it is that makes a bar great. The answer, I concluded, lies in an odd amalgam of hard truths and almost ethereal qualities.
To begin, I think it's perhaps easiest to enumerate what a great bar need not be, like stylish and spotless. In fact-for me, at least-those qualities often, although not necessarily always, run counter to what I desire in a bar. Style, for example, usually proscribes a place that's designed according to the fashions of the day, which can be nice for a drink or two at cocktail hour, but seldom encourages the joyful abandon of getting "stuck in" for a bit of a session, as the Brits like to put it. Similarly, given that a great bar should feel to some degree like a home away from home, any tavern or pub that's too clean and orderly will foster a sense of unease rather than relaxation, much as a living room tidied to the point of sterility seems, well, a little less livable.
A vast selection of beers or wines or whiskies is likewise hardly a requirement for greatness, and indeed I have found that few if any of the ultra-multitap or mega-drinks list establishments I have visited are ones I would rate in my top thirty of forty worldwide. Sure, I like selection as much as the next drinker, but since I can't conceivably drink one hundred beers in one sitting, I hardly need that many on tap. Better to focus, I think, on a lesser number of very good brands reflecting a cross-section of geography, style, and the interests of the clientele.
Further, I think that a bar really should reflect the owner's personality, either literally through, say, decorations that show their interest in jazz or soccer, or figuratively, as with a decor that emulates the owner's individual style and attitude. Still more importantly, I want to take note of a devotion to the bar-keeping craft from almost the minute I walk in.
This latter bit I recognize is decidedly on the subjective side of things, but I also believe it to be at least somewhat quantifiable via such elements as a century-old mural that has been left untouched, at the sacrifice of yet another bank of bar signs and neons, a cocktail list that mixes time-tested classics with new creations, or a commitment to stocking an obscure label simply because a regular likes to sup it from time to time.
From this point on, things get even more intangible, since any true aficionado of the bar will agree that a feeling of welcome and comfort is an attribute that's as close to essential as it gets in the hospitality game. Friendly, knowledgeable staff go a long way towards achieving this aim, but ultimately the sentiment must be expressed first and most forcefully by the owner, not because it's a job or a living, but because it's a passion.
And in the end, passion is what a great bar is really all about. Whether it's a devotion to the fine beers of the world, a well-developed appreciation of single malt whiskies, or just a love of offering good people a respite from the hassles and turmoil of their daily lives, what makes the bar is the publican, and what makes the publican is a passion for what they do.
Other Whisky-Related Classics:
Bragdy Gwynant |
Nice Package
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