Much has been made in the media about the Martini Culture that
has become increasingly popular in the several years--lounge
music (recycled "grown-up" songs from the 1950s and '60s that are
now thought of as arch, cool, or charmingly anti-cool, where once
they were squaresville), swing dance clubs, sharkskin suits with
narrow lapels for gents, and so on. The central symbol of this
trend is the martini, newly resurgent as the libation of choice
for hipsters.
While I actually enjoy the idea behind Martini Culture (even
though for the past year or so people-who-know-about-these-things
are trying to drum up the Next Big Cultural Trend) and the
ring-a-ding-ding-revisited stuff, I must say that the martini
itself has been corrupted. You can actually find books now, for
example, that go on for two hundred pages about the martini.
Why? Because they give recipes for SCORES of martinis. This
itself is not a big deal to me...a person ought to drink what he
or she wants to drink.
What bothers me is the use of the term "martini" to describe
those drinks. I think that the name "martini" should be
protected--like the term "Olympics" or the image of the Academy
of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences Oscar (just try to use THAT
word or THAT image casually or without permission, which you'll
never receive, from the powers that be and see what happens).
I'm sorry, but if you're slugging down anything with chocolate,
espresso, or liqueur in it, you aren't drinking a martini, even
if your little cup of joy has the word "martini" slapped onto it.
Question: If there aren't "scores" of martinis, how many are
there? Answer: One. If you can't drink it, then either change
your poison, or change the name of what you're drinking. A book
about martinis can have as many pages as it wants containing
history and lore of a drink that has a more powerful mystique
than vintage Humphrey Bogart. But there should be exactly one
entry in the "recipe" section of the book, and it should read
something like this:
Step 1: Start with gin--that's right, GIN. For a proper
martini, not even vodka will do, let alone some of the wild-ass
bases promoted these days, intended to make a martini palatable
to the weak-of-will. Martini does not come to you--you come to
martini.
One of the most shocking experiences I can recall ever having in
otherwise civilized society is the first time a few years ago I
ordered a martini, and the bartender asked, "Gin or vodka?" That
is tantamount to saying to a car buyer "Do you want that with or
without the steering wheel?"
Boodles Dry Gin or Bombay Dry Gin are recommended--the
classics. Bombay now markets a smooth, expensive "Sapphire"
line, with a beautiful blue hue to the liquor. Nope--use that
for something else. Maybe stick it in your medicine cabinet in
case you run out of Bactine.
Step 2: Grab a cocktail shaker. Forget about all the James-Bond
shaken-not-stirred crap. He didn't say that to be cool; he
simply knew that it is impossible to get the martini to the
proper level of chill any other way than by shaking it.
(However, the famous line in the play and movie Auntie
Mame--"Never shake a martini, you'll bruise the gin"--is very
funny.) For reasons that will become clear in Step 6, the shaker
should be stainless steel--not glass or, God forbid, plastic; it
should have no insulation or decorative covering.
Somewhere around this time, place the rest of your equipment in
arm's reach: cocktail strainer, jar of olives (green with pimento
stuffing), and enough martini glasses for all who will partake.
The latter must be classic triangular stemware called, simply and
elegantly enough, "martini glasses." Today you can find a two
piece martini glass designed to keep your martini chilled. One
piece is a round globe, a bit smaller than the bowl of a brandy
snifter, that you fill with crushed ice (or with ice water).
Fitted into the mouth of the globe is a martini glass without
stem. Most of it is submerged in the ice. You remove it to sip
your drink. Avoid this frippery. If your martini is made right
and you don't nurse it all evening long, it will keep its chill.
Plus as the ice melts, the water clings to the bottom of the
removable glass and drips all over the place as you drink.
Make sure the glasses are at least room temperature. Don't, for
example, take them freshly out of a hot dishwasher seconds before
filling them. (Some people freeze or refrigerate their martini
glasses, but this is more of a superstitious action than anything
that will really enhance the drink.)
Step 3: Get yourself some ice. Avoid chopped ice; go for the
standard freezer-tray ice cubes. You may get some argument about
this, but the rationale is: when you get to Step 7, you don't
want small rogue chips of ice to plunk into your glass.
Step 4: Grab your vermouth. This should be DRY vermouth, not
sweet.
Step 5: The assembly of the martini: Generally, martinis should
not be drunk alone, so allow two servings per shaker. (If you
want to drink alone, there's always beer or whiskey.) Fill the
shaker with ice. Pour gin into shaker. Pour vermouth into
shaker.
"Pour gin into shaker. Pour vermouth into shaker." Sounds so
simple...yet the classic controversy is just how much gin to how
much vermouth. Preferences--and martini ratios are always quoted
as gin-to-vermouth--range from three-to-one, to five or six to
one (the classic formula for a "dry" martini), and on down to the
famous "whisper" of vermouth, which would translate to upwards of
ten or fifteen to one. Some wags report that they remove the
cork or cap from the vermouth bottle and wave it over the
shaker. Others say that they literally whisper "vermouth" into
the bowels of the shaker, over the gin that trickles down on the
ice.
So what's best? This is in fact the ONLY area of martini where
you have some leeway. Just be prepared to absorb abuse and
derision if you make one of your beloved four-to-one martinis for
a fifteen-to-one connoisseur.
Step 6: Close the shaker and...SHAKE! Fast and
vigorously...noise is good. Shake until the outside walls of the
shaker have just begun to acquire some very light, almost
imperceptible icing on them. (Insulation or decoration would
hinder the process of icing up as well as detecting when the
critical moment has arrived.)
Step 7: Uncap the shaker and pour the ambrosia inside through a
cocktail strainer into the glass. You should have a chilled,
slightly oily-looking concoction that causes the glass to take on
a slightly icy veil. Drop one olive into the glass; there should
be a pronounced plop but no splashing.
Do not insert a pick into the olive; let is snuggle into the
bottom of the glass. Do not substitute a twist for the olive;
that's an abomination foisted on society by drinkers of vodka
"martinis." Do not refuse the olive. If you don't like olives,
don't eat the olive. Please realize, however, that the slightly
salty undertone of the perfect martini is in fact part of the
drink, and comes specifically from the olive. A "martini" served
without an olive is just as much not a martini as a "martini"
with a drop of grenadine added for color or taste.
Step 8: Sip and savor. Watch out--a perfect martini will nail
you if you aren't careful and drink it too fast. Nurse it for a
good 25 minutes or so. Notice how the taste changes subtly from
the clean gentle bite of the chilled libation, to the richer,
fuller mouth that the gradual loss of temperature brings. The
martini must be considered flat when it reaches room temperature.
One final note: If you like olives, eat the olive after you've
finished the martini. Fish it delicately yet confidently from
the bottom, pop it into your mouth, and chew with your mouth
closed.
