Mover and shaker

Whether it's a Raspberry Martini or a Russian Spring

Punch, Dick Bradsell is the man to mix it. Michael Jackson
meets the bar supremo and introduces his specially
commissioned Observer cocktail
o
• Michael Jackson
• The Observer, Sunday 9 July 2000

'It's as important as good food.' That's cocktail king Dick Bradsell's view on 'decent
drink'. After a moment's reflection, he decides the imperatives are not equal. 'If
someone said I had to eat the same thing every day for the rest of my life, I could
survive on organic brown rice. If I were limited to one choice of drink, I would hate it.
What would I choose? Perhaps Campari and soda.' Another time, he thought he'd
prefer mint juleps.

Even if your repertoire of summery drinks extends no further than gin and tonic, you
can learn from Dick Bradsell. He may let slip an acid jest as sharp as a twist of lemon
peel, but it is largely thanks to his influence that Britain now has a scattering of proper
bars with well-made drinks.

As a shy boy in an 'inbred weirdo' corner of the Isle of Wight, with a 'mad professor'
father, Bradsell was bullied for being a bookworm. 'I liked Harper Lee_ don't say
anything about Tequila Mockingbird.' Now, he favours Charles Bukowski. The
change began when he became a punk rocker. 'There was a party at which our house
got trashed. I was sent away and put in the care of my Wicked Uncle, a former naval
man, in London. He ran the Naval & Military Club in Piccadilly. He knew everybody:
the police, the criminals, the ladies. The complete training he gave me would have
been hard to find elsewhere. At the club they made pink gins. Where else could you
still get pink gins in the mid-70s? I had to buckle down, learn to make Pimm's,
martinis, gin and tonics_'

The gin and tonic is still the acid test for Bradsell. 'I can tell you if a person will ever
make a bartender by watching them make a gin-and-tonic over and over again. Some
people could try for three months and still not make a decent one.'

Not 'three cubes of ice' but a glassful. Not 'equal parts' but two shots of gin. Not 'a
horrible, thin little piece of lemon' but a fresh, healthy slice; not inserted by 'digging
about with a spoon, spilling half the drink', but popped in by hand. And always a fresh
bottle of tonic.

Another boss drew diagrams to illustrate the interplay of flavours in a mixed drink.
Bradsell does the same for me on a napkin. 'Classic cocktails are the starting point for
most new recipes. The flavours of the principal elements must be in balance. Between
them are gaps in flavour. These gaps must be filled. We are trying to create one long
flavour on the palate. I want my customers to enjoy it so much they order another.'
The diagram now looks like a geological section, but it is actually a Brandy
Alexander. 'The Cognac is here, the cream there, the dark cacao, and the white... '
Such classics are more than a cover for the flavour of alcohol, but they were a visual
disguise during Prohibition, and the notion of innocently pretty but potent drinks is
surely the basis of their 'dangerous' glamour. They recall their heyday in grand hotels
like New York's Waldorf and London's Savoy - where 'the line of knowledge' (to use
one of Bradsell's favourite phrases) is continued today by Peter Dorelli.

Names such as Dorelli, Gilberto Preti (at Duke's Hotel) and Salvatore Calabrese (the
Lanesborough) are a reminder that the British are traditionally uncomfortable with
jobs that involve service. Bradsell reckons his unexotic Englishness helped him be
noticed. A more important distinction is that he has never worked in a hotel. The base
of his influence is the contemporary bar. He has worked in the best, and his trainees
are everywhere.

In the late 70s, Bradsell worked at the Zanzibar, spending two years learning all the
drinks on the list. This was the era of piña coladas, Blue Hawaiians, Scorpions. In
some places the Scorpions did not bite, and the era of rip-off drinks has left Bradsell a
campaigner for proper measures, good quality spirits and fresh juices, fruits and
garnishes. 'I remember when there was no decent vodka or tequila, no fresh lemon or
lime, no raspberries, no garden mint in any bar in London.'

As the mood has swung between glamour and grunge, Bradsell has ridden on every
cocktail revival. At the Soho Brasserie, he created the Vodka Espresso. At the
Groucho, media types favoured Moscow Mules. In what he dubs the era of Ecstasy
and flavoured vodkas (notably Mars bar), he joyfully dispensed classic cocktails at
Fred's. At the Atlantic, Dick's bar was noted for Raspberry Martinis and Russian
Spring Punches.

People who once came to London to dance all weekend now come to tour cocktail
bars instead. There is a bar culture. There are also new bar neighbourhoods. The latest
seems set to be SoSho (South Shoreditch), where the new Match opens next Tuesday.
The drinks are by Dick Bradsell... as are these two recipes.

The Observer Summer Cocktail

30ml Stoli Razbri

25ml cranberry juice

10ml Cointreau

10ml framboise liqueur

dash of lime cordial

juice of lime wedge

dash of orange bitters

lemon twist, to garnish

Shake all ingredients (except lemon twist) with ice. Strain into a pre-chilled cocktail
glass. Spray lemon twist over drink and drop in.

The Bramble

50ml good gin

30ml fresh lemon juice

3 tsps sugar syrup

25ml crème de mure

slice of lemon and a blackberry, to garnish

Fill a whisky glass with crushed ice. Pour in the gin, lemon juice and sugar syrup, and
stir. Add more crushed ice, then the crème de mure. Garnish with two straws, a slice
of lemon and a blackberry.