Martini Time

The impetus for this post came from reading Lowell Edmunds' nice little book, Martini: Straight Up, an exploration of all things Martini-related, telling its history both as a beverage and and as social phenomenon.  It's full of fascinating anecdotes and literary passages demonstrating the place of this drink in American culture--and yes, the Martini is most definitely an American Drink.

But, as good as the book was, it is nothing compared to the Drink Itself.

The Martini is, without a doubt the finest alcoholic beverage.  (It is not, of course the finest beverage period--coffee holds that title.)  I have been seriously disturbed, and I mean seriously disturbed, over the years at the shocking ignorance regarding the proper making of this most perfect drink.  I recently dined with my wife at one of the finest restaurants in the area (the Blue Heron) and had a shockingly and perfectly horrid Martini.  This restaurant prides itself on its bar, and the bartender displayed a complete an utter ignorance of the Proper Means of making of this drink  (It was, I kid you not, warm.  I have never sent food or a drink back at a restaurant, but I came really close to doing so on this occasion.)  (So, I would recommend the restaurant to anyone (seriously, the food is outstanding), but whatever you do, do not order a Martini there.)

So, here, as a Public Service, is a Guide to Making a Perfect Martini.

First, Martinis are made with Gin, not Vodka.  The "Vodka Martini" is an Abomination and a Blight upon Civilization.  Vodka is a fine substance, perfect when you want alcohol with no flavor (which is the whole point of vodka), and thus much beloved by people who don't actually want to taste the alcohol in their fruit punch.  But a Martini is not fruit punch, and vodka has no business being associated with the drink.  This does mean that the term "Gin Martini" is redundant.  The phrase "Vodka Martini" is an oxymoron, but useful for benighted souls who do not know about what they speak.

Don't even get me started on the Candytini Craze.  Suffice it to say that pouring a bunch of colored sugar water into a Martini glass makes for neither a potable beverage nor a Martini.

A Martini is Gin and Dry Vermouth.  That's it.  Dry Vermouth is the clearish kind, not to be confused with Sweet Vermouth, which is red.

It is acceptable to have a Gin to Vermouth ratio of anywhere between 3:1 and 8:1.  The lower the amount of vermouth, the more "dry" the Martini is--so a dry Martini is 8:1.   3:1 is a bit outside the normal upper range for the amount of vermouth, but it has some historical merit, and makes for an acceptable drink.  I prefer something in between 4:1 and 5:1; getting a more finely tuned ratio requires a rather full set of measuring cups.  (And, yes, the amount of alcohol must be measured out--if you ever see anyone just eyeballing the proper amounts of liquid in making a Martini, just ask for a glass of water instead.)  As noted, 3:1 is pushing the limit, any ratio beyond that is a different drink.  8:1 is the lowest permissible amount of vermouth.  If anyone ever says they want their Martini "very dry" or "extra dry" or some such other phrase, tell them to just order straight Gin.  Truth be told, people uttering such a phrase probably have no idea what they mean, but they think such a statement makes them sound sophisticated.  [I once heard a gentleman in a restaurant loudly tell the waitress than he wanted a "Vodka martini, extra dry."  I almost laughed out loud.  Such a drink would, by definition, have as little flavor as possible.]

There are two acceptable methods for mixing the Martini--Shaking or Stirring.  Much ink has been spilt over which is the proper method, but the truth is that both are acceptable, they just make different versions of the Martini.  Stirring gently mixes the Gin and Vermouth, lulling the Gin to sleep in the drink--it is the proper method when one wants a soothing Martini, designed to calm the nerves and lull one into a lazy complacency in which the world looks like the Sunset over the Pacific Ocean.  Shaking, on the other hand, wakes up the Gin, making it lively--it is the proper method when one wants a Martini designed to shake off the cares of the day, preparing one for an evening with friends or family, giving a new start in which the world looks like a Sunrise over the Atlantic.  Most of the time, I prefer to Shake my Martini--I like the optimistic feel infused into the Drink.

To properly shake a Martini, one needs a proper Shaker.  I prefer the Standard Stainless Steel shaker--some prefer fancier Shakers, but I like the idea that the Shaker is Functional, and not a form of Art.  (Using an artistic Shaker is acceptable, however.)  Fill the Shaker 3/4 full of Ice.  Add the Gin, then the vermouth.  Shake vigorously until the shaker itself becomes too cold to hold.  (This is one of the virtues of the standard shaker--with some of the fancier variants, you will have to adjust the shaking time accordingly.)  When the shaker is too cold to handle, pour the liquid into a chilled Martini Glass.  The glass must be chilled.

To this, you can add either a lemon peel or an olive.  I have never understood the appeal of the lemon peel, so I use olives.  If olives are used, it must be an odd number of olives--it is acceptable to use either one olive or three olives.  An even number of olives--e.g., two olives--is an insult.  And, I cannot think of any excuse for ever using a Martini as a means of insulting someone.  The olives should rest in the drink until the very end--they may be eaten after the drink has been finished.  For this purpose, it is acceptable to experiment with different types of olives--just please don't used those canned black olives--that is simply repulsive.  Green olives are normal, but I have enjoyed excellent Martinis with other kinds of quality olives.

The choice of olive is one way that permissible individuality can be added to the drink.  The other, and far more important, decision to be made is the choice of Gin.  [I prefer Tanqueray; I suspect, however, that this Gin choice comes from the fact that my grandmother used to drink Gibsons (just like a Martini, but with a cocktail onion instead of an olive--though in later years, I don't know if she added vermouth--she may have just been drinking Gin with an onion--I was too young to know anything about alcoholic beverages, so I never really paid much attention) and this was her Gin of choice--so, usually at a subconscious level, the aroma of Tanqueray reminds me of her.]

An acceptable, and quite good variant on the Martini is a Dirty Martini--follow the above but add a small amount of the brine from the olives to the mixture.  FDR used to make his Martinis in this fashion.

Now, as you will note, it is not terribly difficult to make a proper Martini, which means that there is really no excuse for an improperly made Martini.  Yet, I am often shocked at most  restaurants because the bartender has no idea how to make such a simple, yet perfect, drink.  And I wince every time I see one of those little signs on a restaurant table with a list of "Martinis" served by the establishment, none of which is actually a "Martini."  The name of a perfect drink has been stolen and applied to liquids which no civilized person should ingest.  The decline of the Proper Martini is without a doubt the surest sign of the Decadence of Western Civilization and a sign of the coming Collapse of Civilization as we know it.