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BOSTON BAR WITH A SPLIT PERSONALITY
By Chris Barnett
August 22, 2013 -- As a business traveler, I expect bartenders in upmarket saloons and restaurants to be welcoming, convivial and skilled at their craft of cocktailing and camaraderie.

But the ground floor lounge at the Met Back Bay in the tony part of Boston was hardly genial. In fact, it felt chilly even though it was a sunny day recently when I bellied up and ordered a Chardonnay ($8) and a Caesar salad ($12). The servers moved fast, almost frantically, taking and delivering orders. It seemed like they were being clocked as part of a time-and-motion study. Not exactly a relaxing ambiance for enjoying a leisurely lunch and a glass of wine.

Even the bartender was a whirling dervish, possibly because he was working solo. The bar was packed and he was also whipping out drinks for the lunch crowd at the tables inside and out on the patio. Chalk that up to bad management. Either the Met skimps on staffing to save itself the cost of an eight-hour shift, or a second bartender was sick and a manager didn't have the moxie or motivation to jump in and give the lone barman some backup.

It took the bartender on duty about five minutes to make eye contact with me and acknowledge he would come over and take my order as soon as he could. That's a sure sign of a rookie or a journeyman with bad habits. A pro, no matter how swamped, will at least toss you a smile and an I'll-be-right-with-you look.

When he did take my order, it was a little like a long-distance runner taking a break. No verbal welcome, no greeting and no schmooze. I was just another guy on a Met bar stool. But what happened next was a first for me in 40-plus years of pubcrawling.

I chose the house wine and salad and he punched in the order. Then he ripped the tape out of the register with a flourish, slapped it into a glass and practically slammed it down on the bar in front of me without uttering a word. I couldn't tell if he was exasperated, angry because he was shouldering the entire load that day or if it was the Met's policy to inject some theatrics into its mixology. But it was off-putting.

And not just to me. A silver-haired chap sitting at the bar to my left shook his head. "I don't want to be critical," he said. "The guy behind the counter may be good a drink mixer but there is only one of him and I find it to be very unpleasant. I had a tuna sandwich. I've been waiting awhile for the plate to be taken away and here it sits. It's organized chaos. Maybe disorganized chaos."

The customer wasn't just a carper without portfolio. His name was Jerry O'Rourke and he, his wife and kids own the Bridgewater Inn and pub in County Kildare, Ireland. O'Rourke and his family also own real estate in Boston and every summer he jets over to check on his properties. O'Rourke is apparently a man of habit, too. He's been elbow-bending in this same spot for 23 years. (Until three years ago, the Met Back Bay was part of the Joe's American Bar & Grill chain.)

My wine came--a healthy pour of a nice, dry Vista Point Chardonnay from the Napa Valley--and the Caesar salad arrived soon afterwards. It was chopped the classic way and pretty good for $12, but it could have used a bit more garlic and lemon juice. By now, though, O'Rourke was on a roll.

"This barman would be better suited for a nightclub, where speed is essential," he opined. "He is doing what we call in Ireland, 'slapping up the drinks.' But they also have him taking food orders when it's busy. Punters [inexperienced young drinkers] don't really care, but, if you are a bit more mature, you come into a place like this to relax. And if the barman is running around, running around, banging glasses, it's not very relaxing."

I came back later that evening and the Met lounge was even busier. But a second bartender was on duty and this young guy had a personality and was obviously well bred. "Thank you very much," he said, cashing out a customer, "and have a very nice weekend."

The evening crowd was a mix: twenty- and thirtysomethings, older businesspeople and tourists. I found it easy to strike up a conversation.

Kimberly Kelly of the Connecticut Department of Energy and Environmental Protection was sitting next to me and musing rhetorically. "How do you ruin a good martini? Adding Hawaiian Punch and Red Bull and turning it into a children's drink. Me? Make it Tanqueray, the world's best gin, and then run the vermouth bottle along the lip of the glass."

If you're in Boston trolling for clients or cementing relationships, I would not recommend the Met's downstairs lounge. You're much better off at the little-known and far more civilized and clubby Library Bar upstairs, adjacent to a dining room.

With five leather bar chairs, several banquettes and tables and wall sconces for muted lighting, the Met's very intimate Library Bar is for the more studious and serious imbiber. It's designed for drinkers who appreciate the calm, cozy feeling of glass shelves laden with fine, rare liquors. And it offers a cocktail menu that shows some imagination and is also homage to the past.

As a "library," it has a practical side, too, such as free WiFi and plenty of AC outlets. It also has a single book for sale: When I Met Food: Living the American Restaurant Dream. It is written by Kathy Sidell, owner of this and other Met restaurants and bars around Boston, a mini-chain started by her father, Jack Sidell, who is remembered as something of a Boston bon vivant.

I am usually a Manhattan guy, but, on this particular evening, when I was taking two lifelong Bostonians to dinner at the Met, I ordered a cocktail that sounded like it was made to be sipped in New England. It's called the Blackberry Bramble, a refreshing mating of gin, lemon juice, simple syrup and blackberry liqueur.

Garnished with fresh blackberries and a lemon, the Library Bar sells its Bramble for $11. The Library takes some liberties with the recipe, substituting lime juice for lemon juice and cassis for blackberry liqueur. Inspired by the ambiance of a library, I hit the electronic stacks--my smartphone--and discovered that the Bramble is not an American cocktail at all. It debuted in London in the mid-1980s.

So that night I wasn't a purist, but I was pretty relaxed, upstairs and away from the maddening crowd.

ABOUT CHRIS BARNETT Chris Barnett writes about business-travel tactics and strategies that save time and money and help minimize hassles. He is based in San Francisco and has written for a wide variety of major newspapers and national magazines.

THE FINE PRINT Joe Brancatelli makes this space available to Chris Barnett in the spirit of free speech and to help encourage editorial diversity and the wider discussion of important travel issues. All of the opinions and material in this column are the sole property of Barnett. This material may not be reproduced in any form without the express permission of Chris Barnett.

This column is Copyright © 2013 by Chris Barnett. JoeSentMe is Copyright © 2013 by Joe Brancatelli. All rights reserved.