Tweet
The Daily Star, Lebanon
May 5 2012
The keeper of Hamra's secrets makes a mean Bloody Mary
May 05, 2012 01:33 AM
By Mirella Hodeib, The Daily Star
BEIRUT: The graceful balding man sleekly moves around the miniscule
space. He pours a golden, almost-viscous liquid into a tumbler and
checks on the halloumi cheese slowly grilling in a skillet on the
bulky vintage stove, while nonchalantly responding to the eager
questions of a journalist.
Between all this, he manages to take rapid glances at the football
game airing on one of the specialized cable channels, and mumble along
as Frank Sinatra tunes softly play in the background.
Dodging a question that touches on the women in his life, he swiftly
asks: `So, did Feltman arrive in Beirut?' in reference to the U.S.
Assistant Secretary of State and former Beirut envoy.
Harout Awakian is not only a multitasker: a man of many hats, someone
who has led multiple exhilarating lives. The veteran bartender is also
the custodian of Hamra Street's secrets, and a witness of the
district's socio-political evolution from the 1960s onwards.
He laments the current political polarization in the country and slams
the unprecedented levels of sectarianism, which he argues were not as
pronounced before the 1975-90 Civil War.
Born and raised in the southern city of Tyre, the football player
turned bartender identifies himself as an `Armenian-Shiite.'
Harout received his education at the southern port city's Jaafarite
School. `My father was the principal of the school,' he recalls. `He
forced me to attend all religion classes and prayers too.'
Harout maintains that Shiites `will do anything to save a bartender.'
That's one of the main reasons why I refer to myself as an
Armenian-Shiite,' he jokingly adds.
The 72-year-old man entertains a unique relationship with Tyre,
passionately evoking the magnificence of its Roman ruins, its hidden
treasures and of course the city's Armenian Church, so dear to him.
`The remains of the church are now located in what became to be known
as the Bass Palestinian refugee camp in Tyre,' he explains, melancholy
filling his face.
Much to Harout's chagrin, the Awakian family was expelled from their
earthly paradise as a result of a dispute between two clans of Tyre's
feudal al-Khalil family, in which Harout's father was involved.
In 1958, Harout's family settled in Ras Beirut, more specifically the
neighborhood of Caracas, close to Hamra. Soon afterward, Harout would
begin to experience life in the capital, and it was the Beirut night
scene that won over the young man with the small expressive eyes that
he purposely hides behind a thick pair of eye glasses.
Following a career as a football player and later an referee, Harout
decided to switch vocations and landed a job at Chez Andre, the
landmark Hamra pub.
This was back in the 1960s and 1970s, when the bustling west Beirut
quarter emerged as a hotspot for artists, intellectuals and political
activists with its numerous cafes, pubs, cabarets and theater venues.
`All the big names came to Chez Andre,' says Harout. `Yvette Sursock
and her [theater] troop, Ziad Rahbani and several others too.'
Harout notes that it was Chez Andre's customers that inspired the
famed characters of Rahbani, the satirical playwright, actor and
musician.
`Ziad Rahbani was a great observer,' adds Harout, who with his
laid-back attitude and self-deprecating humor, could effortlessly play
a character in one of Rahbani's classic plays.
But it was in his role as cocktail-maker and confidant to his many
faithful customers that Harout excelled. He is reluctant to share the
secrets of the perfect Bloody Mary, the favored drink of Hamra's belle
époque.
`It's all in the angostura and Worcestershire sauce,' he hesitantly
divulges. `The celery stalk is essential to making the drink taste
more uniform.'
Harout's talent and infatuation with cocktails put him in a fierce
competition with the brother of Chez Andre's owner, so the rebellious
young Harout resigned to seek opportunity elsewhere.
Unemployment was never an issue for Harout, who served at or managed
Hamra's most recognized venues including the Rose and Crown and Uncle
Sam; mingling with the rulers of Lebanon's nightlife sector.
Harout went international at one point, working in Athens, where he
met his Scottish wife, and later on opened his own business in
Chelsea.
`But England was not made for me,' he confides. `I came back. It's better here.'
During the long years of the 1975-90 Civil War, he relied on his
connections with the groups and militias that dominated Ras Beirut at
the time to preserve his business.
Today, Harout relies on customers turned close friends to get by.
In the concealed chophouse on Hamra's Pavillon Street that he opened
several years ago, he pampers long-term friends and friends of
friends, concocting drinks and serving homemade food.
Local and foreign artists, poets and intellectuals flock to Harout's
bar on a daily basis. They come to enjoy his company, his witty
remarks and the tranquil, unpretentious vibes he exudes.
Just like the Hamra he adores, Harout is open and tolerant; he gives
full freedom to his customers to come behind the bar and order off the
menu when they don't like items on offer or when Harout is too lazy to
hit the stoves. `I might be the only one to allow this practice,' he
sighs, shrugging his shoulders.
Life's little nuisances and alcohol have taken a toll on Harout, whose
heart has grown weak. With a touch of irony he discloses that he had
finally decided to quit the mixology business and finish out his life
at a retirement home after a recent heart attack.
`But they asked for millions of documents and of course a lot of
money,' he says.
`So I thought to myself it's really not worth the effort. I'm going to
spend the remaining time doing what I enjoy the most.'
http://www.dailystar.com.lb/Culture/Lifestyle/2012/May-05/172435-the-keeper-of-hamras-secrets-makes-a-mean-bloody-mary.ashx#axzz1u1n2TVNI
May 5 2012
The keeper of Hamra's secrets makes a mean Bloody Mary
May 05, 2012 01:33 AM
By Mirella Hodeib, The Daily Star
BEIRUT: The graceful balding man sleekly moves around the miniscule
space. He pours a golden, almost-viscous liquid into a tumbler and
checks on the halloumi cheese slowly grilling in a skillet on the
bulky vintage stove, while nonchalantly responding to the eager
questions of a journalist.
Between all this, he manages to take rapid glances at the football
game airing on one of the specialized cable channels, and mumble along
as Frank Sinatra tunes softly play in the background.
Dodging a question that touches on the women in his life, he swiftly
asks: `So, did Feltman arrive in Beirut?' in reference to the U.S.
Assistant Secretary of State and former Beirut envoy.
Harout Awakian is not only a multitasker: a man of many hats, someone
who has led multiple exhilarating lives. The veteran bartender is also
the custodian of Hamra Street's secrets, and a witness of the
district's socio-political evolution from the 1960s onwards.
He laments the current political polarization in the country and slams
the unprecedented levels of sectarianism, which he argues were not as
pronounced before the 1975-90 Civil War.
Born and raised in the southern city of Tyre, the football player
turned bartender identifies himself as an `Armenian-Shiite.'
Harout received his education at the southern port city's Jaafarite
School. `My father was the principal of the school,' he recalls. `He
forced me to attend all religion classes and prayers too.'
Harout maintains that Shiites `will do anything to save a bartender.'
That's one of the main reasons why I refer to myself as an
Armenian-Shiite,' he jokingly adds.
The 72-year-old man entertains a unique relationship with Tyre,
passionately evoking the magnificence of its Roman ruins, its hidden
treasures and of course the city's Armenian Church, so dear to him.
`The remains of the church are now located in what became to be known
as the Bass Palestinian refugee camp in Tyre,' he explains, melancholy
filling his face.
Much to Harout's chagrin, the Awakian family was expelled from their
earthly paradise as a result of a dispute between two clans of Tyre's
feudal al-Khalil family, in which Harout's father was involved.
In 1958, Harout's family settled in Ras Beirut, more specifically the
neighborhood of Caracas, close to Hamra. Soon afterward, Harout would
begin to experience life in the capital, and it was the Beirut night
scene that won over the young man with the small expressive eyes that
he purposely hides behind a thick pair of eye glasses.
Following a career as a football player and later an referee, Harout
decided to switch vocations and landed a job at Chez Andre, the
landmark Hamra pub.
This was back in the 1960s and 1970s, when the bustling west Beirut
quarter emerged as a hotspot for artists, intellectuals and political
activists with its numerous cafes, pubs, cabarets and theater venues.
`All the big names came to Chez Andre,' says Harout. `Yvette Sursock
and her [theater] troop, Ziad Rahbani and several others too.'
Harout notes that it was Chez Andre's customers that inspired the
famed characters of Rahbani, the satirical playwright, actor and
musician.
`Ziad Rahbani was a great observer,' adds Harout, who with his
laid-back attitude and self-deprecating humor, could effortlessly play
a character in one of Rahbani's classic plays.
But it was in his role as cocktail-maker and confidant to his many
faithful customers that Harout excelled. He is reluctant to share the
secrets of the perfect Bloody Mary, the favored drink of Hamra's belle
époque.
`It's all in the angostura and Worcestershire sauce,' he hesitantly
divulges. `The celery stalk is essential to making the drink taste
more uniform.'
Harout's talent and infatuation with cocktails put him in a fierce
competition with the brother of Chez Andre's owner, so the rebellious
young Harout resigned to seek opportunity elsewhere.
Unemployment was never an issue for Harout, who served at or managed
Hamra's most recognized venues including the Rose and Crown and Uncle
Sam; mingling with the rulers of Lebanon's nightlife sector.
Harout went international at one point, working in Athens, where he
met his Scottish wife, and later on opened his own business in
Chelsea.
`But England was not made for me,' he confides. `I came back. It's better here.'
During the long years of the 1975-90 Civil War, he relied on his
connections with the groups and militias that dominated Ras Beirut at
the time to preserve his business.
Today, Harout relies on customers turned close friends to get by.
In the concealed chophouse on Hamra's Pavillon Street that he opened
several years ago, he pampers long-term friends and friends of
friends, concocting drinks and serving homemade food.
Local and foreign artists, poets and intellectuals flock to Harout's
bar on a daily basis. They come to enjoy his company, his witty
remarks and the tranquil, unpretentious vibes he exudes.
Just like the Hamra he adores, Harout is open and tolerant; he gives
full freedom to his customers to come behind the bar and order off the
menu when they don't like items on offer or when Harout is too lazy to
hit the stoves. `I might be the only one to allow this practice,' he
sighs, shrugging his shoulders.
Life's little nuisances and alcohol have taken a toll on Harout, whose
heart has grown weak. With a touch of irony he discloses that he had
finally decided to quit the mixology business and finish out his life
at a retirement home after a recent heart attack.
`But they asked for millions of documents and of course a lot of
money,' he says.
`So I thought to myself it's really not worth the effort. I'm going to
spend the remaining time doing what I enjoy the most.'
http://www.dailystar.com.lb/Culture/Lifestyle/2012/May-05/172435-the-keeper-of-hamras-secrets-makes-a-mean-bloody-mary.ashx#axzz1u1n2TVNI