The Pikes Cocktail Book E-Book

Dawn Hindle

• Herausgeber: Ryland Peters & Small
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Recreate the most popular drinks to have been shaken, stirred and swallowed at one of the world's most unique venues. George Michael, Freddie Mercury, Grace Jones, Fatboy Slim, Irvine Welsh, Boy George, Kate Moss, Kylie, LCD SoundSystem and countless other celebrities and rock royalty, have all sipped the cocktails served at the legendary Pikes Ibiza while sitting around its iconic pool and dancing in the in-house nightclub that used to be Freddie Mercury's suite. Now, for the first time ever, The Pikes Cocktail Book tells the story of this incredible place, with drinks recipes inspired by mischief and misbehaviour at this epicentre of Balearic excess. The 65 drinks recipes are divided into chapters such as Poolside Sunset, After Midnight and The Morning After where you can sample Captain of the Night, Sunny's Gay G&T, Golden Bird and many more. 'Among Ibiza's growing raft of luxury hotels, Pikes remains a characterful standout. The venue has carved a niche as a hedonistic creative hub, providing the setting for Freddie Mercury's 41st birthday party, Wham's Club Tropicana video and cutting-edge art and music pop-ups' – The FT: How to Spend It

Leseprobe

ROCK N ROLL RECIPES FROM THE ICONIC IBIZAN HOTEL

CONTENTS

WELCOME TO PIKES

POOLSIDE

Margarita

Teen Spirit

Cosmic Pineapple

Rabbit's Revenge Ginger Spice

Punka Colada

Wham!

Monkey's Mojito

Club Tropicana

Down the Rabbit Hole

LUNCH

Double Clap

Class of 39

Sangria

Dirty Deeds Daiquiri

Sunday Roast

Pikes Rum Punch

Mr Whippy

AFTERNOON TEA

Grass is Greener

The Provocateur

Finger on the Trigger

Pikey Blinder

Pikes G&Tea

My Tai Temptation

The Mansfield

SUNSET

Marley Martini

The Glory Hole

Careless Whisper

Same But Different

Ron y Scotch

Hung Like a Mule

Tony's Tales

Home of the Adultress

Red Snapper

Vodka Martini

Caipirinha

Champagne Cocktail

DINNER

Hierbas Ibicencas

Honey Dijon

Stirred Not Shaken

All That Jazz

The Dark Horse

In Love at Last

Old Fashioned

The Big Lick

The Sexy Priest

Crystal Dildo

NIGHT TIME

Leap of Faith

Vesper Martini

Original Lost Boy

Sunny's Gay G&T

Crowning Glory

Papillon Playboy

Captain of the Night

Adult Kindergarten

Prima Ballerina

AFTER MIDNIGHT

Josh Josh Jones

Silk 'n' Flavours

Hard Porn

Cosmopolitan

THE MORNING AFTER

Rising Sun

Carajillo Café Bombon

Slippery When Wet

Tic 'n' Toc

Baby Jane

Bloody Mary

Comeback Kid

Index

Acknowledgements

WELCOME TO PIKES

God, I want a beer. Is that a weird opening to a cocktail book? Maybe, but it’s fucking hot and I really want a cold lager in a frosty glass. I’ve just landed in Ibiza and the first thing that hits you when you leave the airport is the heat. It slaps you right in the face. Sounds obvious, but it’s true - the heat, the sun, the noise and the excitement. There’s an energy crackling - people dance their way to their taxi and bus pick ups, weaving among the honking taxi drivers. Cares are left at passport control. People come to Ibiza to have fun. And that’s exactly what they’re going to do. For me, I’m going to think about having that frosty beer.

Hailing a cab from the rank, I thank the gods of air con as I settle into the leather seat and tune into into the generic house beats coming from the stereo. As we head out of the airport under a flawless blue sky, and follow the signs to San Antonio, things couldn't get much more Balearic.

I pay no heed to the vast billboards advertising megastar DJs in San Antonio as they flash by. I’m going somewhere special, I’m heading up into the hills. I’m following in the footsteps of George Michael as he wound his way through the back roads with Andrew Ridgeley to the place where drinks are free; where strangers take you by the hand, and welcome you to wonderland. Fun and sunshine, there’s enough for everyone. I’m headed to the original Club Tropicana.

I’m heading to Pikes. Pikes is an iconic Ibizan institution, steeped in rock ‘n’ roll history and brimming with personality – its famous aquamarine pool was the actual location for a young, tanned and toned George Michael and the infamous Club Tropicana video. And all of it was created by one man, the great, late Tony Pike, who passed away at the age of 86 in early 2019 after leading one of the fullest lives there could be.

The story of how Tony stumbled upon and then decided to create Pikes with his bare hands is Ibizan folklore. But it’s all true.

500 years after this fine finca you’re standing in was built, Australian yachtsman, businessman and bon viveur Tony Pike washed up on the shores of Ibiza, after being shipwrecked in the Caribbean, hurtling down the Cresta Run and selling superyachts to the rich and famous in Monaco. Tony was persuaded to visit Ibiza by a friend and when he stepped off the ferry he felt a connection with the place. He felt like he was home… When he saw this falling-down farmhouse was called Casa Tonitini, he bought the place.

Tony had a vision – he wanted to build his own hotel and fill it with fun. Over the next 30 years, with the help of his partner Lyn, son Bradley, local builder Phil the Chin and a mob of drunks picked from the Ibizan beaches, he fulfilled this vision. Starting with just a rundown place, a bucket for a toilet and a fire on the kitchen floor, he set to work. The first thing he did was put that famous orange bathroom in Room 1 and things snowballed from there. He stole picture frames from abandoned churches, salvaged double doors from Spanish brothels and, with no real blueprints, architecture know-how or much building experience, built the rooms as and how he saw fit.

People are drawn to the hotel because it’s where George Michael sang about the place where “membership’s a smiling face”, where legends like Grace Jones, Spandau Ballet, Kylie Minogue, Bon Jovi, Tony Curtis, Artwork, Jamie xx, Mark Ronson, Honey Dijon, Robyn, The Black Madonna, Fatboy Slim, DJ Harvey, Naomi Campbell, Julio Iglesias, Ed Sheeran, Arctic Monkeys, Yes, The Vaccines, Disclosure, Sam Smith, Nile Rodgers, LCD Soundsystem, Seth Troxler, Carl Cox, Frank Zappa and many more have partied all night long. Freddie Mercury, of course, loved it here and his 41st birthday was the most lavish party ever seen on the island. Freddie’s first performance of Barcelona was in the Potting Shed on back terrace. People come here because they want to have a good time – and nowadays they do it in Freddie Mercury’s old bedroom that’s been converted into a nightclub.

In 2011, Dawn Hindle and Andy McKay, founders of Ibiza icons Manumission and Ibiza Rocks, took over the hotel, and ensured Tony’s vision would carry on. They added more rock 'n' roll with the bands who come to Ibiza to play for them staying, and partying hard, here; the weekend parties; DJ residencies, Sunny’s bathroom karaoke and boudoir. They also brought in the amazing Room 39 restaurant with the very highest quality modern cuisine. And, most recently, The Curiosity Shoppe, serving some of the most exciting cocktails on the island - the whole reason you’re reading this book.

Tony curated something amazing. The hotel literally has his DNA in it… The walls around the pool will forever ring with Tony’s incredible stories - a few of which are recounted in this very book.

Back in the cab, and the driver just skims into the suburbs of the party town of San Antonio but, instead of taking me deeper to the strip, he hangs a right at the roundabout and we head out of town. As you drive away from San Antonio, the roads grow a little quieter, the air seems a bit fresher and the energy relaxes slightly. Local farmers sit and ponder the world outside a taverna with a beer and all the time in the world. Just past this taverna you’ll come to a sharp right turn and a battered old sign bearing the name of the hotel. As you drive up the bumpy, lumpy road, you’re surrounded by flat, cropless fields and those not in the know might start wondering where a hotel can be. Where are the hoardings, the advertising, the big flashing sign saying, Step this way? There are none.

The road goes on just long enough to feel like you’ve probably, almost definitely, taken a wrong turn, when the car park appears on the right, annotated by a vintage tiled Pikes logo.

I’m here, I must be here. We pull in and park next to the modest entrance, an unassuming portal of just a few steps and a path under an archway that leads between some trees, grass and past what looks like a fake sheep. The air is thick with the scent of lavender and jasmine. I can hear a hubbub from within. A gentle whump whump of some laid-back dub beats. The wind rustles the leaves in the trees and the background vocals of cicadas chirrup endlessly. For just a brief moment, before I walk up those steps, the calm atmosphere belies the extraordinary goings on that occur beyond these walls.

I get out of the taxi, pay the driver, bid him adios and, as I turn to close the door, notice, written in huge cursive script, “You can check in, but you can never check out” splashed across the white wall of a barn. This is not the first time I’ve visited the hotel and seeing this mural always makes me pause. In fact, it becomes stronger each time you return to the hotel. Because it’s undeniably true. It’s something that everyone who’s worked, visited and performed at the hotel knows. There’s something about Pikes that you can’t quite put your finger on. A feeling, a ball of energy that’s within you. You can leave, but it’ll stay with you, wherever in the world you head off to. The feeling is the magnet that’s been pulling people to the hotel for over 30 years. The DJ Junior Sanchez sums it up, “Pikes is such a magical, mysterious place. The history that it has, has sunken deep into the walls and into the wood of that environment, you can feel the presence of creativity and greatness throughout the hotel…”

This is going to be a fun ride. I take a deep breath, sling my bag over my shoulder and head into the hotel… Cocktail book or not, I’m going to get that ice-cold beer.

I’m fully aware that a stay at Pikes is a marathon and I plan to follow Irvine Welsh’s favoured tactic for enjoying the hotel: “It varies on the time of the day,” he says, “but in the lazy afternoons I like to grab a lounger by the pool with a cocktail, while in the evening I’ll gravitate towards the bar or head upstairs to the restaurant where you have that nice elevated sensation, looking down on the fun but enjoying my nice company, food and wine.” Seems reasonable.

The 26-room haven in the San Antonio hills features bespoke rooms and suites set around the sprawling fairytale gardens, the first of which are to my left, shutters drawn, hiding hangovers no doubt. Fake sheep graze in the shade of an ancient tree, a large garden gnome flips me the bird from a bush while what can only be described as vintage American curios are scattered around. The path bears right and I duck through a small glass door into a dark, cool room that a bright pink neon sign announces is the Pikes reception.

The tall, elegant man behind the desk in the thankfully air-conditioned reception is Diego Freta, who has been welcoming guests here for eight years.

He smiles warmly, greets me in both Spanish and English and sets about finding my booking. “You’ll be in room number 12,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “Is that a good room?” I respond. I can never remember which room is which. Not least because since

Tony Pike built them some of the rooms have changed numbers over the years, as the place expanded.

“Si, si – it’s right in the middle of everything, laughs Diego.

"Come, I’ll take you there.”

So we leave the pleasant air-conditioned room and venture back out into the Ibizan sunlight. There is a breeze though, the eucalyptus tree ahead of me is constantly rustling and fidgeting as the air moves through it and takes the edge off the heat. I hoist my backpack and we wander off into Neverland. We walk past some more sheep grazing in the grass. I’d think they were real but for their neon blue wool. Three cats lounge in the sun, the baked ground warming their lazy bones past yowling into the sunshine. Diego and I walk up a flight of terracotta stairs that bear a cryptic message to all visitors, a line on each step, as you go up:

If you are a pretender

Come in!

“Or you wouldn’t have come here”

of the dreams

and we are the dream makers

“We’re all made here

I’m mad you’re mad”

If you are a dreamer

Come sit by my fire

I climb these steps with a furrowed brow after reading that bastardised version of Shel Silverstein’s poem and alight on a large terrace. Suddenly the sun feels very hot as I take in the view. It’s here the hotel finally reveals itself. It’s here that Paul Oakenfold described when he said, “I think there’s always a special moment when you walk up those little stairs onto the veranda and you first see the swimming pool with the bar to the left and rooms to the right – that’s the Pikes moment, where you’re like, ‘I’m back!’”

It’s true – whether it’s your first time or your 100th, there’s an overwhelming feeling of familiarity when taking in the scene. It’s like the hotel’s giving you a warm embrace as you nuzzle into its bosom. It’s a view like no other in Ibiza – or anywhere else for that matter. To the right, through some bushes, the terrace overlooks a neon pink and deep green tennis court with a giant disco roller boot parked in one corner. It’s a tennis court that has played host to rock concerts, film premieres, screenings, yoga and Goa-influenced cosmic bazaars but precious little, if any, tennis.

A valley of round sofa beds and sun loungers support prone holiday makers in various states of undress. Lounging is the order of the day. As is drinking cocktails. Every guest has a chilled goblet of gin and tonic, Pina Colada, frosty beer or similar to take the edge of off the blistering heat. “I really need one of those drinks,” I say to Diego and he laughs as he leads me past the sun worshippers, past the pool and outdoor DJ booth, tantalisingly close to the bar and up some steps into a courtyard.

The original finca is ahead of me, housing the kitchen and legendary nightclub Freddie’s with its heavy wooden doors ajar. An enormous bougainvillea rains down from a balcony above me and this courtyard, according to the traditional sign on the wall, is called Plaza Mayor. The courtyard is covered with white awnings gently flapping in the breeze while disco balls of different size and shapes throw sparkling shapes dancing around the walls. To the right are some steps up to a deep blue open-windowed restaurant and cocktail bar, Room 39 and, next to that, the doors to the basement night club Chez Fez. “Here’s your room!” Diego cheerfully announces, pointing at what looks like a wooden door for a cupboard. I think he’s joking but surely enough he slides the key in the lock and opens it. In all my times coming to Pikes I’ve never noticed this door. Room 12 is a hidden gem, right in the very heart of the hotel. It’s a trip and stumble away from everything the hotel has to offer. It is absolutely surrounded by the buzz of Pikes. The back terrace on one side, Plaza Mayor and Room 39 on the other and the nightclub Freddie’s lies behind its bathroom. It’s cool, dark, very spacious and absolutely perfect. I drop my bags, change into shorts and head back to the bar for that drink.

The Pikes pool is nearly three metres deep, and 13 metres long. But no one is ever really there to swim. Sure, as I arrive I witness an eager person doing a length, but as I move closer, she slithers out onto the side and sidles up to the bar to receive an enormous gin and tonic in one silken movement. This is my kind of place, I think to myself for the thousandth time. A red crocodile peeks out over the pool area. It’s sitting on the roof of a DJ area, nose just visible to the swimmers it oversees. I wander towards the bar, cerveza anticipation at maximum. The bar is painted a deep blue and overlooks the infamous pool seats and Tiki hut that George Michael sat at for the Club Tropicana video. Countless selfies are taken here over the summer as guests recreate it. A quartet of bartenders buzz behind it, preparing drinks, crushing ice, ferrying pool snacks to the guests and dancing to the music. The dub beats I arrived to have sashayed into some classic house and disco. I grab a seat on the south side at the bar. A tall, white stool with a back. Perfect, I think and as I turn around to check out the place I’m interrupted. “That’s Tony’s seat” says a dark-haired barman with a grin, as he furiously rattles a Boston shaker full of ice. “Oh shit, I’m sorry!” I say in perfect Englishman-abroad style, looking around for the guy whose seat I took.“It’s fine,” the barman laughs as he pours his concoction into two copa glasses, “but that’s where he always sat.” Of course he means THE Tony. Pike the raconteur would perch in this very seat while crowds would gather all summer long to listen to him tell tales so impossible they must be true.

Suddenly I feel a little uncomfortable in my chair. I’m not sure I deserve to be sitting in it. I feel the weight of a million tall tales bear down on me as I sit down. I ask the barman if everything I’ve heard is true. “Probably!” he says, grinning and handing me a frosty beer. It tastes like sweet nectar. I find out this barman is the fabulously named Emil Geronimo and he has been working behind this very bar overlooking the pool for 30 years. He must have seen some sights. Emil’s been serving the great and the good for so long he’s become an actual part of the place. Even when the season ends he stays on at Pikes and paints the walls and fixes the hotel up. What quickly becomes apparent when you speak to the staff is, that, for many of them, leaving Pikes is not an option. They are a part of it and it is a part of them. And maybe that’s one of the ingredients of what makes this place so special. Every one of the staff you meet feels like they couldn’t fit in anywhere else. They all play a crucial part in keeping the hotel ticking along and each play a leading role in the neverending play that is Pikes Hotel. Whether it’s booking the DJs, serving behind the bar, organising events, cleaning the rooms, cutting the grass, cooking in the kitchen, waiting the tables, managing the night-time escapades, or hosting their own boudoir and ball-pool jacuzzi karaoke room, they all add something unique to the hotel. As Emil moves away from me to serve another guest, I turn my back to his bar and drink in the scene, and beer, before me. Things are the very definition of lounging. All shapes and sizes of people are sprawled on sun loungers and chairs. There are few better places to have a hangover. People are laughing and chatting across the terrace. They’re smoking, checking last night’s Instagram, the dub beats and the sun’s heat are making everybody’s bones heavy and there’s no reason to move.