ACTIVISM AND THE CRAFT WITH AJ JOHNSON

Andra “AJ” Johnson keeps it real. As a queer, black female mixologist, she’s hyper-aware of the ubiquitous fetishization of counter-cultural identities in the drink and hospitality industries. As an entrepreneur and philanthropist, she uses her influence to ignore the noise and focus on what’s most important—access, community, and feeding her people's minds, bodies, and souls.

Bespoke Notes: How did you carve out your identity as a mixologist?

Andra “AJ” Johnson: I could carve out [an identity] because I got an early opportunity.

I was working at Open City when I turned 21, and the general manager approached me and asked, “Do you want to be a manager?”

I said, “Sure.”

She had a wine and beer program but didn't have a cocktail program. I had zero experience and locked myself in there because I was already a key holder. 

And [second], there weren't many people offering help because, in this industry, gatekeepers often hold that line. I taught myself. [My craft] is rooted in understanding the classics. I could observe but wasn't [plugged] into the cocktail scene yet. I had never been behind a bar, except for [serving] wine. I created who I wanted to be by [casually] watching people I thought were engaging behind the bar: “Oh, I like that guy's shake; let me see if I can recreate that.” 

You can observe what works when you watch somebody doing it at a very high level, regardless of whether they [willingly] share their gifts. When you see people doing something exceptionally well, you build that into your genetic makeup. 

Bespoke Notes: Tell us about one of the first drink recipes you mastered.

AJ: I learned how to make a Manhattan for the first time in 2007, [during] the rebirth of everybody diving into the classics.

My bartender friend said, “Just pour a little bit of this in here, like this. Pour these in here. Pour this little bit like this. Put some dashes here, roll your tin around, and straighten it up.”

I thought, “Wow, that's so easy.”

I was making it like that for a couple of years, and then I went out and ordered a Manhattan. I don't remember who I saw making it, but I realized I had been making this cocktail wrong the entire time. It's not so much about what goes into it. It is also about how you do it. I wasn't using jiggers. I didn't understand the measurements of bitters and how that affected them. I didn't understand the flavor profiles of a Manhattan until I had a good one.

You can go down a. rabbit hole to understand the basics, but people skip that many times. I had to learn the basics on my own. I read the books.

Once you understand the baseline and the basics, you start changing things around. For example, maybe I'm not using martini or Rossi sweet vermouth. I might also consider a higher-end, higher-quality sweet vermouth or experiment with a Carpano instead of a regular vermouth because it has a little more vanilla. You can also smoke the glass to make it more robust.

Bespoke Notes: How do you frame your identity today as a mixologist?

AJ: My identity as a bartender is that of a storyteller—from the drink's name to the ingredients to the glass. I don't like round cocktails. I'm bold. My balance is what defines me. I swear, come in and drink my version of a pina colada; it's unlike pina coladas you've ever had because it's not sweet. I like to call it the Diamond Effect. It's something I learned in culinary school. Find the balance in your cocktail. If it's gonna be bitter, how are we gonna mitigate that? If it's spicy, you must have the right sweetness level there. 

Bespoke Notes: Culinary school. That’s an unorthodox path. 

AJ: In culinary school] I learned how to cook, which means I learned to balance. I also learned classic technical techniques, which allowed me to make simple syrups and flavors, cultivate those, and put them into the drink so you can taste them. [My perspective: anytime you read a menu, are those ingredients it says on here actually in the cocktail? And can I taste them in the cocktail? If I can't taste them, why'd you do it?

I've been doing this for 23 years. I've been a host. I've been a server. I've been a busser. I've been a dishwasher. I've been done to-go. I've worked grave shifts. I've done opening shifts. I worked brunch. Yes, I went to culinary school. I studied wine. I studied beer. I tried to do everything I could, so when the time came, I was overly qualified.

Andrew: Despite your hard work, did you still face challenges finding success in this industry?

AJ: That question is such a double-edged sword because I have been highly sought after because I am a walking diversity check box: I am black, a woman, and gay. I went to a private school. My entire life, I've been highly educated—all those things. I also work hard and always have. And being attractive helps. In fact, after one interview for a manager role, the person who interviewed me wrote “kind of hot” on the interview form.

When I stepped out of the fast-casual realm and into fine dining, I got a lot of pushback. I have tattoos, and in 2007 and 2008, having tattoos in a fine-dining restaurant was an absolute no-go. They disrespected me to my face and behind my back. I've had people not give me jobs and not tell me why. But I knew it was because of something minuscule, like my dreads. I had to prove myself even more. 

I was a bar manager at 21, but at 24, I was in a horrid situation, so I left fast casual. It meant I had to start right back at the bottom. What I'd done before that, they didn’t care about it in fine dining. Do you know how to mise? Do you know how to clear it? Do you know how to set it? Do you know what side you're pulling it from? Do you know how to open a bottle of wine properly? We're not talking about speed. We're talking about actual sophistication. Do you know how to do those things? It took a while. I was unemployed for eight months because I couldn't get a job — nobody wanted to take a chance. 

And finally, in 2011, one person did. She was skeptical, but I knew she needed people. I said, “I work hard. I'm here to learn.” I was a backweight for nearly eight months, so that I could learn. But it sparked so many other things. I was determined to figure out a way to work smarter and not harder, right? I’d wait for 10 people a night in fine dining and make $500 to $600. To make $600 in fast casual, I've got to wait on 50 to 60 people a night. It’s a very different thing. 

I wanted to hone in on the actual craft of that, but it hits both ways. It wasn't cool when I was there, but now you have tattoos, [it’s cool]. 

The same bar owner who once grabbed my wrist and told me not to auction off a drink in his restaurant on my “stage shift” (an unpaid training shift in the hospitality industry for potential hires) is busting down my door, trying to hire me as his bar manager.

Bespoke Notes: What’s auctioning off a drink?

AJ: When you walk up to a guest, generally, you drop their drink down: “This is a martini.” There are no question marks. Everything has a seat number. [This particular night], I said, “Martini?” to get a customer’s attention. The bar owner was sitting right next to her, followed me back to the service area, came up, grabbed my wrist, and said, “Don't you ever auction off a drink in my restaurant again.

“I explained I was just trying to get her attention.”

He said, “No, we don't ask questions. You don't know where it's going, and you don't take it. You're supposed to put the drink down and walk away.”

Why? Because we know silent service, we're ninjas. Fine dining is very much, I'm here, but I'm not here. I'm knowledgeable and effective, and there's a level of correctness. But at the end of the day, nobody gives a shit about how your day was; it’s their experience. Create the vibe. If they have a question, they'll ask you. You don't ask them whether or not they ordered something.

It was an eye-opening experience.

Bespoke Notes: I know activism matters to you. How has that shown up in your career?

AJ: Activism is super important to me. Covid was a big deal because I felt like I found my calling. At first, I thought my calling was teaching people how to be great at bartending, but then I thought it was opening and operating several places.

The one thing that stuck with me is that we create restaurants to feed people.

My job is to ensure my community feels safe, that people are fed, have their fill of drinks, pay their tabs, and that my staff is safe and well taken care of. Those are the only things that I care about. I want people to have a good experience, but the industry has lost sight of that because it is chasing something that doesn't exist—this Instagrammy-food thing.

I want to create the space, opportunity, and good energy, give back and allow [more] people to experience [what I offer]. Especially in this city, there's a lot of people who can't afford [to experience it]. They can't afford to go to the places where I used to work. How can I bring that to them, and how can I use what we have, because this industry is hugely wasteful, to make a difference?

Some things are much more important than putting a cocktail in a bag so somebody can get drunk in their house. I'm sorry. I'm here for it. It pays my bills. But at the end of the day, that's not what we're here for. And if you can't rely on places with an over surplus of food, who can you rely on? My milk and eggs will go bad—everything will go bad.

Bespoke Notes: Activism requires a lot of energy and heart. How do you balance that with perfecting your craft?

AJ: You put them together. During Covid, I created Back to Black, the dinner cocktail charity, with my friends. I did it all of the moms who are scared about their kid getting choked out on the street, getting shot by a police officer, or not being treated fairly. I did it for every mother who has to talk to her son about being a black man in America. [I thought] there's some way I can tell this story and raise awareness among black and marginalized people who care. Rewinding to five years ago, I made a cocktail menu for the release of Black Panther and donated $2 to $3 from every single cocktail to different charities. I did the same at another restaurant I partnered with in Chevy Chase. For Women's Day, I did eight cocktails based on women in my life and [supported] corresponding charities that reminded me of my grandmother; I donated to a ballet foundation for my aunt. I donated to a photography project for my sister. I also actively collaborated with different bartenders in the city. We got behind a bar to do what we love, gave back, and marketed ourselves; It was the most beautiful thing. We've donated over $47,000 since the beginning of Covid. 

Bespoke Notes: Is it possible to perfect your craft, or is it inherently imperfect?

AJ: No, there is a way to perfect this craft. Bartending is the only profession where random strangers get to tell you in the moment that you’re not doing your job. 

[If someone says] “I don't like this,” [I can respond], “Maybe that's not for you. We can go through other [flavors] that you like.” 

But they can still say, “I don't like it. I want my money back.”

Everybody else would get a nice little email in other professions. Not me.

It’s always a blessing when I think I hit the nail on the head with a cocktail. But it only makes sense if I can recreate it and get others to recreate it. Otherwise, I’m always stuck here and die on the bar.

There are different perspectives in terms of what perfection means to you. Some perfect bartenders can only do gin and tonics, and they're perfect bartenders because they're good at what they do in that lane. Some folks in Japan and Singapore are the most precise, killer bartenders I've ever seen. Their technique is on fleek; everything is fantastic, but they're not the most personal people in the world. I don't know if I want to sit at their bar. 

Dennis Rodman was a perfect defender. But to say he's a perfect basketball player is incorrect. Rodman is a Hall of Famer. He was perfect at what he did. I'm good at creating space, opportunity, and energy. I love doing programming because I'm good at it. I want people to interact with each other. I want them to interact with me. I have a vibe. People pay for me to bring that. Am I the most technical bartender? I'm close. But am I the most personal bartender all the time? No. Sometimes, I'm thinking about operations. I'm thinking about how this person forgot the garnish on a drink. I'm shaking my thing, but I've got to run over there, stop that person from doing this, then go back over there. I'm all over the place. Keep the customer happy, but at the same time, at any moment, there are 45,000 things on my mind. I'm not perfect, but that's not what I'm going for. That's not my lane. I'm not here to tap dance for you. I'm here to do this perfectly.

Bespoke Notes: What’s your favorite way to spark your creativity?

AJ:  I wish I could travel more. My juices flow much more when I travel because I can touch the earth. I understand vibrancy and what a story is supposed to be [more clearly]. Thank God I'm good at what I do and that I’m good with flavors. But sometimes, knowing you’re hitting the authentic parts is challenging. You have to get out of the tornado to see the path. Then, you can hop right back in. 

Bespoke Notes: What's the most rewarding part of being a bartender? 

AJ: The most rewarding thing about doing what I do is, first, knowing that my community has a place they can count on if they need something, whether it be to catch a vibe, party, dance, commiserate, or do whatever. The [second thing] is seeing people that came up under my intense program. To see them owning their own spaces, being bar managers, knowing what they want, training other people, and seeing those people [thrive] gives me goosebumps. They're my coaching tree.

Follow AJ on Instagram @whiteplatesblackfaces.