Cocktails in pubs?

I recently had brunch in a branch of Balans, which I generally find to be a perfectly acceptable bar for the occasional refreshment and relief from the trials of everyday life. I opted for the steak and eggs, laughing, as I tend to, in the face of cholesterol, and when I cast my eye over the drinks menu, I noticed a modest cocktail selection. Now – and this is something of a digression – I would normally say that cocktails are not to be taken with food, but I have a little weakness for a martini (or two) with steak, as it conjures up (for me, anyway) a glorious but lost world of Sixties America, in which Brylcreemed men in sharp suits lunched heroically. Watching Mad Men has the same effect on me.

But, as I say, I digress. I decided to give the martini a go, and asked the (very pleasant) waiter for “a very dry gin martini with a twist”. I suppose alarm bells should have begun to sound when he read the order back to me as “a martini with a twist”, but I was not in a suspicious mood and so let it pass without note. The drink, when it arrived, was, perhaps predictably, disappointing. So far from being “dry”, it must have been approaching equal measures of gin and vermouth, so lacking that bite and instant rush of warmth that a good martini can bring. In addition, while obviously shaken over ice, it was cool rather than cold. It came with a perfectly reasonable twist, it is true, but was generally rather dull and uninspiring, and not at all what I had wanted with my steak.

Yet I did not complain. There are two components here: the first is that, being British, I am very bad at complaining. When asked how something is, whether it be a meal, a haircut or a recent amputation, there is no force of nature which is sufficient to drive me to say anything but “Fine” or, if especially moved, “Lovely”. So I probably wouldn’t have complained if the martini had come in a dirty plastic glass with a side order of cat-sick. The second element, however, is that part of me thinks that maybe it was own fault. I ordered a cocktail in a run-of-the-mill bar/pub, and should have known I would be disappointed by the result.

So here, dear readers, is the central question. Should pedlars of intoxicating liquors be encouraged to impose on themselves a self-denying ordinance of sorts, and only offer cocktails if they can do them properly? On the face of it, this seems an odd thing for a cocktail proponent to say. Better, surely, that they are available as widely as possible, and I do find that a lot of bar staff are willing to take instruction if they look initially perplexed (though I remember the reaction of a Polish barman in an hotel in Donegal when I asked for a cardinal; after explaining it was red wine and crème de cassis, he looked at me and asked, sceptically, “You want in same glass?”). However, as often as not, there is not the opportunity to conduct an impromptu seminar, and instead you are brought something which is, frankly, just not what you wanted, even if it might, strictu sensu, be what you ordered.

This is, I realise, a pipe dream. No publican or bar manager is likely willingly to forgo a product which sells. And the sale of cocktails can give ambitious gastropubs what is, in their eyes, a veneer of additional sophistication. The more I think about it, though, the more it represents that trend in the modern world of seeking to be everything to everyone. If you go to a pub, you expect beer, wine and spirits. If you go to a wine bar, you expect wine, and do not be disappointed if their range of ales, for example, is limited. Likewise, if you want to enjoy a cocktail, go to a cocktail bar. This is not a rule I always follow myself – witness the attempted martini in Balans – but perhaps it should be behaviour we should seek to cultivate in ourselves. Then, perhaps, proprietors will get the message.