Join our Parisian friends as we raise a glass to the legend of Harry MacElhone

SELDOM do the French look to the Scots for lessons in art de vivre, the “art of living”, and so when they do we should stop and take note. In Paris, this week, they celebrated a Scotsman of whom few of his countrymen are even aware, but in the pages of Le Parisien he received just such a rare compliment for a foreigner, while Le Figaro described him as a “star” and his bar as “a legend”. Yes, like many of his kin, Harry MacElhone, the son of a manufacturer of hessian cloth from Dundee, understood the theatricality of a good bar as well as the artistry of strong liquor.

However, this is a tale of two Harrys. And two bars. And two memorable cities. So let us pour out their details, one at a time. In 1911, Tod Sloane, an American jockey living in Paris, had grown weary of wine and frustrated at the French’s inability to master the cocktail, and decided to invest in a bar of his own.

The popular story goes that he was anxious to recreate an American pre-Prohibition stand-up saloon in the French capital, (but as nationwide prohibition in America was still almost a decade away, this would have required tremendous foresight). Either way, he persuaded a friend to purchase the interior of a Manhattan bar, dismantle it and ship it across the Atlantic. On Thanksgiving, 1911 the dark mahogany bar, complete with the insignia of American universities, opened for business as “The New York Bar” and behind the counter, polishing the glasses and pouring out the perfect dry martini, was Harry MacElhone.

If there are men born to be barkeeps, then MacElhone was such a man. His wit was sharp, his company warm and he understood the subtle chemistry of alcohol and taste. Born in 1899, he had no desire to weave sacks for a living and started his career at the Royal Hotel in Dundee, before weaving his way to Paris, via London.

Soon “Harry’s Pick Me Up”, which consisted of two ounces of cognac, two dashes of grenadine and the juice of half a lemon, was a popular order. Yet Harry MacElhone had greater ambitions and moved to London to make his fortune, working first at The Savoy and later The Plaza in New York. In his absence, Fernand Petiot, from Ohio, took over and, in 1920, had the splendid idea of mixing a can of tomato juice with an equal measure of vodka.

On just that very evening of pioneering alchemical intoxication, one of the regulars commented that the mixture reminded him of the “Bucket of Blood” club in Chicago and, as his daughter’s name was Mary, the new drink was christened “a Bloody Mary”.

Three years later, in 1923, Harry MacElhone returned to Paris with the necessary funds to buy out Tod Sloane and a new “red and gold neon” sign was erected: “Harry’s Bar.” Since its launch, 12 years before, the bar had been a magnet for American ex-pats, intimidated by snooty French waiters, unfamiliar with the language and in thirsty need of a large nip rather than a watery wine. MacElhone built on the notion of the bar as home for English-speaking ex-pats and visitors by putting an advert in one of the city’s newspapers which read: “Just tell the taxi driver: ‘sank roo doe noo’”, which was a phonetic approximation, in broad Scots, of the bar’s address on No 5, Rue Daunou.

For the “Lost Generation”, those American writers who flocked to Paris in the 1920s attracted by the culture and an exchange rate that meant a silver dollar when dropped rolled way further than at home, Harry MacElhone, was a familiar face with Ernest Hemingway, a regular, becoming a close friend of the family. George Gershwin is said to have composed the music for An American in Paris while in the bar, whose patrons also became celebrated for its ability to pick American presidents.

In 1924, MacElhone decided to conduct a straw poll among his American customers on who would win the election: Calvin Coolidge or John W Davis. They picked Coolidge and have got it right every election apart from two: Gerald Ford in 1976 and George W Bush in 2004.

In June 1932, the swift consumption of alcohol became a matter of international note when an American succeeded in downing four pints of beer in just 11 seconds. Little wonder, Ian Fleming would have James Bond describe it as the best place in Paris to get “a solid drink”.

Yet what is interesting is that 1,000 miles south-east, in Venice, is another Harry’s Bar. A connection is both claimed and soundly dismissed. According to Isabelle MacElhone, the widow of Harry MacElhone’s grandson, who now owns Harry’s in Paris, the Scots bar owner “authorised” Giuseppe Cipriani to open a “Harry’s Bar” in Venice in 1931. However, this idea is swept off the tabletop by the Cipriani family who have always explained that their “Harry” refers not to a Scotsman, but an American, Harry Pickering. Giuseppe Cipriani was working behind the bar in the Hotel Europa in 1930 when he met Mr Pickering, a quiet student who had been despatched to Italy to take a cure for “alcoholism”, one which, clearly failed to take root.

Cipriani took to the student and lent him 10,000 lira, which, at one point, he thought he might never see again. But in the winter of 1931 Pickering returned with 40,000 lira and the suggestion that they open a bar together. As Mr Pickering said: “Let’s call it Harry’s Bar”.

The two Harrys shared a famous customer. While Hemingway drank regularly at Harry’s Bar in Paris in his youth, in the winter of 1948 he was resident in Venice and was hard at work on his novel, Across the River And Into The Trees, the typing lubricated by frequent drinking sessions at Harry’s.

Orson Welles was another regular, one who would wash a dozen shrimp sandwiches down with two bottles of iced Dom Perignon and frequently forget to pay. While Harry’s Bar in Paris invented the Bloody Mary, Harry’s Bar in Venice bestowed upon the world the Bellini, pureed white peaches and Italian champagne, and, for the foodies, the “carpaccio” – an appetiser of thinly sliced raw meat.

Both are wonderful destinations in their own right, and celebrate their unique simplicity, (in Venice the cashier has a little booth by the door) though visitors wishing to dine at Harry’s Bar in Venice should perhaps begin saving now. However, the food is worth every euro and the ambience is free.

In a week when Scotland’s tourist industry was challenged to raise its game, it may learn a lesson from Harry MacElhone, who believed in great drinks, great service and creating an atmosphere to which each new customer would wish to enjoy again and again.

Today at Harry’s Bar, the barmen still wear white coats and aprons and there is no music and television to disturb the conversation, other than when the piano bar is operating two evenings a week.

Harry MacElhone died in 1958, but his spirit lives on in his great-grandson, Franz-Arthur, who plans to take over the keys and recently visited Scotland to source a whisky in Harry’s name. On Thursday evening, on the 100th anniversary of Harry’s first shift behind the bar, his loyal customers raised a glass in his honour. Tending bar was Harry’s game and clearly he won.