Fresh off the back of the Class Bar Awards, Hamish Smith pontificates about why peer recognition has always mattered.

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He was content, one imagines, in the knowledge that he would now be favoured by Zeus and that the poets of the time would write verses that lionise him. Some years later, he may too have thanked the Greek gods that he was spared from racing stark-bollock-naked, as would soon become the tradition.

Of course, what Coroebus really won was worth more than money. His award had symbolic importance, its value predicated on the confidence his peers placed in it. And that sort of social contract – the notional importance (well run) awards are bestowed – isn’t particular to time or setting. Right now, someone is beside themselves because their company won ISA Provider of the Year. Or didn’t.

I’ve been lucky enough to witness these moments as they happen, up on stage at the Class Bar Awards and with a ringside seat at The World’s 50 Best Bars. People all act differently when their name is read out. There are the uncontrollably joyous, those that keep-it-cool at all costs, while sometimes people visibly shake as they process it all emotionally. One time a bartender told me on stage that the Cocktail of the Year his team had just won “wasn’t even the best drink on their menu”, which had me chuckling into the next category.

What unites Coroebus, the Class Bar Awards winners – and finalists for that matter – is that they have had their contributions etched into the history books; immortalised, if that’s not too pompous. Well, at least for as long as it takes for magazines to perish (I hear Declan McGurk laminates his) or the first iteration of the internet to snuff it, joining MS-DOS in the clouds. Unfortunately, not that sort.

Recognised work

The question is, what tangibly changes for award winners? Well, in some ways very little. Katie Rouse will still be working shifts at her bar Couch, but she’ll be doing them as the Bartender of the Year. She’ll still have to do stock takes, the rota and not even Zeus can save her from the occasional blocked toilet. But she’ll do all that in the knowledge that her work has been recognised. And for some people – most people, I’d bet – that’s something. Beyond putting a skip in your step, it can have an effect on your confidence, perhaps helping to quieten those naysaying voices in your head. When Matt Arnold won the award the year before, he said it helped his still-nagging imposter syndrome.

If you were to unpick the career of an industry leader – choose anyone – they’ll almost always have these milestones along the way. They might point to the actual work – the bar they created, the trend, the role they played – rather than the award, but the latter is the voice of the former. Together they are the rungs of a ladder that helped reputations grow, opportunities expand, and ultimately helped to get them where they are now.

Awards aren’t just about peer appreciation, they’re at-a-glance guides to the wider industry. When an investor is looking for their next partner-bartender, a brand is looking for someone to consult or a talking head for a panel, or a journalist is looking for someone for a quote, awards are a signpost; a shorthand for your credentials. At times they can feel reductive – there are so many people who deserve them – and they’re certainly subjective, even when you have near enough 200 people voting, But never underestimate the power of the word “best” or “of the year”. In a world when decisions are taken quickly, they stand out loud and clear.

Of course, for bars, awards can have financial benefits too. Consumers are far less connected to our world, so if they read on your Instagram that you’re the best bar in Northern Ireland (as Rattlebag’s does) it’s going to be pretty reassuring. When half a dozen news outlets cover it too, well, that’s when readers normally turn into customers.

Yet, awards needn’t define you, or the way you approach your work. Recognition is a corollary of doing well, not the other way around. So, keep a straight eye on the things that make you the best you, your team and your bar can be, and, yes why not throw a glance at those shortlists when they come around?

Besides, few professions deserve their time in the sun more. Hospitality professionals spend most of the year in the service of others, so why not – whether you win, or are a member of the crowd – take a moment to bask? Think of it as a thank you from the thousands. Millions, even.

If you do ever get your hands on a trophy, show it to your grandparents, then vac pac it and bury it in the garden. Who knows, in 2,000 years, you might be as famous as Coroebus, who incidentally was also a hospitality man.