Life’s like that...

While I have written a few missives already, it was brought to my notice recently that I didn’t really introduce myself properly to my audience. I took them for granted, or, assumed there was no need for it as everyone knows me already. I apologise. I’m glad not everyone knows me. It is often evident to me when my friends begin with ‘this is Shatbhi and she needs no introduction’. I see, gratefully, that there are always a few with a question in their eyes. It keeps me grounded. And reminds me that I have to keep working to reinvent myself every day. So here goes. This is my story.

My earliest thoughts on what I would do when I was older, was being a great veterinarian. As a child, I read the usual suspects available at the time — Enid Blyton and all of her mystery magic with Famous Five, Secret Seven, Five Find-Outers & Dog amongst others; the school series of St Clare’s and Malory Towers; Billy Bunter and Asterix. None of them impacted me as much as James Herriot, the simple country vet from the Yorkshire dales. From then on, I plodded on much like him, but through the winding streets of Mumbai. Looking for a friendly vet who would allow me into his rooms or, better still, his surgery. I did succeed a couple of times. Picking up stray puppies, chicks, kittens along the way and carrying them home much to the dismay of my mother. If all failed, I’d spend hours at my family doctor’s chamber, listening to the diagnosis and relevant treatment advice he passed on to his patients. I needed to be treated for allergies all the time, so he was happy to let me hang around, treat me last and then drop me home. He liked me.

I worked hard at physics and chemistry, survived maths and completely enjoyed biology. Zoology labs were the highlight of my week, where I cut through the digestive system of a frog or dissect an earthworm to find a perfectly intact nervous system. All so I could get admission into vet school! And I did too.

But for more reasons than one (the allergies played a gigantic role) I ended up in what was popularly known as the ‘Dadar catering college’. I sailed through the first year with indifference. By the second year my interest in cuisine took shape.

A reasonable crush on a Chinese friend steered me in the direction of the Oriental kitchen. I was totally fascinated with the way in which they worked — the precision, the organisation, fluidity, flavours.

My boyfriend’s colleagues were super nice, teaching me on every holiday, feeding my interest and making me sure of the direction I now wanted to take. To become an Oriental chef. I took my first job as a trainee chef with a five-star hotel in the hope of making it big in the world of Sichuan cuisine. Didn’t happen. I slaved but was never transferred to the one kitchen I wanted to be in. That search, however, was what eventually got me bartending. The ‘sideboard’ of a Chinese restaurant was my first bar. Where the fear of not knowing gripped me so much that I delved into the trunk and unearthed Trader Vic’s Bartender’s Guide — which propelled me, literally, into the world of euphoria.

I started off wanting to heal animals, progressed to aiming at creating a stir in Oriental gastronomy, found myself flailing in the funda of the martini and finally came into my own in the zany world of cocktails. And heal I did. Thirsty souls, angry ones, sad, lonely, happy and more. But there’s a lot more healing to be done. Beginning with me and then passing it on for anyone who may see light through my random thoughts.

It’s not something I had imagined I would write about or even deliberate upon. I’m still debating as I pen down this justification of sorts. For I can only call it that. Here I was, contemplating a book on whisky. And my mind kept wandering back to this. I told myself that a million missives of this nature have been written by those way more qualified than me. But for some strange reason, my mind defied all sane advice or logic. I gave it a shot. If some of you are actually reading this in print, and have enjoyed the earlier ones, well…

Sure it’s about life behind a bar. And life at large. And history, geography, science and philosophy I didn’t dream would bring such enlightenment to an average Jane. It’s what bartending taught me that no classroom or walloping ever did. It made me who I am today. Shatbhi Basu. Cheers!

Flaming Lamborghini

I must’ve made a zillion of these. But only this instant did it occur to me that it does strangely sum up my life.

I need coffee to begin with.

Baileys Irish Cream liqueur to keep me calm.

Sambuca : Though I prefer the unsweetened Pernod, ouzo and raki that ooze my favourite spices anise and star anise. My writing career began with ouzo on ice!

Vodka : My basic go-to drink Blue curacao: Bright blue skies

The flame: My passion

Glass: Martini and 2 shot glasses

Ingredients

8 15ml sambuca/ ouzo/ Pernod/ raki

* 15ml kahlua

* 15ml Baileys Irish cream (keep it cold always)

* 15ml vodka

* 5ml blue curacao syrup

Method

1. Put the sambuca/anise spirit in the martini glass

2. Mix the vodka and blue curacao syrup in one shot glass

3. Add kahlua and Baileys in the next shot glass. They will automatically layer

4. Warm the anise spirit with a lighter and allow it to flame by slanting the glass, making the liquid touch the lighter flame

5. Swirl the flaming liquid to allow oxygen to fan the flame, keeping it away from drafts of air

6. Empty shot glasses into the flaming drink, and sip through two long straws. Make sure the flame is away from your face.

Warning: One is definitely enough.

Shatbhi Basu is a mixologist, author, television host, and head of Stir, a bartending academy in Mumbai

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