Bakar distills longing. In a tucked-away Jordaan loft where copper pipes coil like ivy and glass beakers catch the last amber light of dusk, he crafts small-batch gin infused with memories — not literally, but anyone who sips his 'Midnight Row' swears they taste the city breathing. He doesn’t label his creations; instead, he names them in hushed voice notes sent only after midnight, each pour paired with a whispered story meant for one listener. His alchemy isn’t just botanical — it’s emotional: rosehip for regret, lemon verbena for electric anticipation, a touch of ghost pepper to mirror the burn of first honesty. He works alone by design, not out of misanthropy but because attention is a limited resource and he spends it all on the subtleties — the shift in someone’s breath when they lie, the way rain changes pitch as it strikes zinc roofs.He lives above the distillery in a converted weaver's attic where skylights frame passing clouds like cinema reels. Every night at 2:17am — never earlier, rarely later — he climbs onto the rooftop garden with two tins: one filled with kibble for strays who know his footsteps, the other holding seedlings destined for the floating greenhouse tethered beneath Westerlicht Bridge. It’s there that Bakar hosts what he calls ‘taste-tests for the brave’ — immersive dates where scent precedes speech and touch is negotiated through shared glassware warmed by palms.His sexuality isn’t performative; it’s architectural. It builds slowly — a graze of knuckles when passing a chaser tonic, consent murmured like poetry into collarbones during thunderstorms on fire escapes, desire mapped through curated sequences rather than instinct alone. He once designed an entire evening around someone’s childhood fear of bridges by leading them across twelve in a single night, each crossing marked by a new flavored gin drop on their tongue until they laughed through tears at Waagplein.The city amplifies everything. Tram lines dictate timing; rainfall alters intimacy; golden hour dictates revelation. Bakar doesn’t believe in love at first sight — only in falling incrementally, molecule by molecule, like vapor condensing into something drinkable.