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| Pic from Spruce Eats |
First thing to say (and I'll say it again later) is that a martini does not have adjectives – except words such as “cold,” “dry, or “perfect.”
It most especially does not have adjectives like “apple” or “espresso.” If you must order that last ill-named sugary drink, I implore you to call it by its proper name, a vodka espresso, instead of the name intended to steal the lustre of this real drink, the martini.[1]
Second thing to say then, is that we all have our own favourite, and only one of us is right. (Best tip when getting lost in the bush is to first get out your martini-making equipment and begin stirring, at which point someone will inevitably emerge from the bush to say "That's not how you make a martini!" And you can then ask then the way out.)
It most especially does not have adjectives like “apple” or “espresso.” If you must order that last ill-named sugary drink, I implore you to call it by its proper name, a vodka espresso, instead of the name intended to steal the lustre of this real drink, the martini.[1]
Second thing to say then, is that we all have our own favourite, and only one of us is right. (Best tip when getting lost in the bush is to first get out your martini-making equipment and begin stirring, at which point someone will inevitably emerge from the bush to say "That's not how you make a martini!" And you can then ask then the way out.)
The main thing, however, is that the martini is not something to drink alone. The perfect martini starts therefore with ordering up the perfect friends with whom to take the bark off. Shouldn’t be too hard, since who wouldn’t want to share a perfect martini with friends. (And if they don’t, they shouldn’t be your friends.)
The martini itself is three drinks in one. Get each part right, and you have what HL Mencken once described as “the only American invention as perfect as the sonnet.” In other words: the perfect drink.
The first third of this perfection is about that cold breathe of alcohol on your throat and nose as you take your first sip. So start your drink the day before by putting your glasses, mixing jug and your gin in the freezer.
You can use vodka for that strong alcohol hit, but the vodka martini is like an empty soul in the middle third of your drink just when you want to taste your base ingredient. (This, by the way, is why Ian Fleming chose it for his wounded hero.) So use at least a Bombay Sapphire gin for flavour, or a Sipsmiths to be extra dry, to make sure your middle third tastes right. And do make sure you freezer it, 'cos you care (if you're visiting cocktail bars that don't, then they don't), and because you want to keep the drink cool all the way through.
The vermouth and the garnish dominate your drink’s final third. So don’t stint on either. And do make sure you refrigerate both --first off so they're cold; but mostly because vermouth, a fortified wine, starts to go vinegary once it's opened.
And always (always!) use extra dry vermouth. On that much everyone agrees. And most can agree on the brands -- Dolin being good; Noilly Prat being better than good; Martini brand being barely good enough. But the proportions of gin to vermouth are as controversial as a roll of sandpaper in an Australian cricket bag. My own view however is that this is very much up to your own taste, and your own taste will change over an evening, over a year, over a lifetime.
You need more than just a shot of light through the vermouth bottle, but 25:1 can be a fine drink on the right extra-extra-dry occasion, even if the hint of vermouth is barely detectable. This drink (what Hemingway called a “Montgomery” because of the general’s alleged liking for that kind of numerical superiority before mounting an attack) goes perfectly with either cocktail onions or a lemon peel garnish, with that lemon peel being expressed over the top of the drink before serving.
But unless you like what’s called an “upside-down” martini, you wouldn’t want to go over 2:1 – a drink that goes perfectly with three unpitted olives on a toothpick, with just the tiniest dash of brine in the glass before serving. This was how FDR is said to have served his martinis.
My own preference at present is around 6 to 1. But that’s for a variation called a Vesper, perhaps the most perfect martini yet invented (the creation of the aforementioned Mr Fleming) while not actually being a martini at all. So if I were tied up and held down and had a very cold very dry martini forced upon me, today’s preference would be for around 5:1, with cocktail onions. In bartender terms, since you’re ordering, this drink is called a Gibson.
So for each person, if you’re making my Gibson, start by putting into your chilled jug a handful of very coarse ice and a generous half-shot of vermouth for each drinker, swirl it to coat the ice, and let it sit to chill while you prepare your garnish, and your glasses.
Now, each decent martini is around three-and-a-half shots. Make sure your glass will hold this and no more. (Too big a glass looks like meanness when you’re pouring, and like gaucheness when you’re drinking.) When all is ready, add to the jug around three shots of your chosen gin. And then stir gently for about twenty-five seconds, when cold martini-odour begins to effuse.
The martini itself is three drinks in one. Get each part right, and you have what HL Mencken once described as “the only American invention as perfect as the sonnet.” In other words: the perfect drink.
The first third of this perfection is about that cold breathe of alcohol on your throat and nose as you take your first sip. So start your drink the day before by putting your glasses, mixing jug and your gin in the freezer.
You can use vodka for that strong alcohol hit, but the vodka martini is like an empty soul in the middle third of your drink just when you want to taste your base ingredient. (This, by the way, is why Ian Fleming chose it for his wounded hero.) So use at least a Bombay Sapphire gin for flavour, or a Sipsmiths to be extra dry, to make sure your middle third tastes right. And do make sure you freezer it, 'cos you care (if you're visiting cocktail bars that don't, then they don't), and because you want to keep the drink cool all the way through.
The vermouth and the garnish dominate your drink’s final third. So don’t stint on either. And do make sure you refrigerate both --first off so they're cold; but mostly because vermouth, a fortified wine, starts to go vinegary once it's opened.
And always (always!) use extra dry vermouth. On that much everyone agrees. And most can agree on the brands -- Dolin being good; Noilly Prat being better than good; Martini brand being barely good enough. But the proportions of gin to vermouth are as controversial as a roll of sandpaper in an Australian cricket bag. My own view however is that this is very much up to your own taste, and your own taste will change over an evening, over a year, over a lifetime.
You need more than just a shot of light through the vermouth bottle, but 25:1 can be a fine drink on the right extra-extra-dry occasion, even if the hint of vermouth is barely detectable. This drink (what Hemingway called a “Montgomery” because of the general’s alleged liking for that kind of numerical superiority before mounting an attack) goes perfectly with either cocktail onions or a lemon peel garnish, with that lemon peel being expressed over the top of the drink before serving.
But unless you like what’s called an “upside-down” martini, you wouldn’t want to go over 2:1 – a drink that goes perfectly with three unpitted olives on a toothpick, with just the tiniest dash of brine in the glass before serving. This was how FDR is said to have served his martinis.
My own preference at present is around 6 to 1. But that’s for a variation called a Vesper, perhaps the most perfect martini yet invented (the creation of the aforementioned Mr Fleming) while not actually being a martini at all. So if I were tied up and held down and had a very cold very dry martini forced upon me, today’s preference would be for around 5:1, with cocktail onions. In bartender terms, since you’re ordering, this drink is called a Gibson.
So for each person, if you’re making my Gibson, start by putting into your chilled jug a handful of very coarse ice and a generous half-shot of vermouth for each drinker, swirl it to coat the ice, and let it sit to chill while you prepare your garnish, and your glasses.
Now, each decent martini is around three-and-a-half shots. Make sure your glass will hold this and no more. (Too big a glass looks like meanness when you’re pouring, and like gaucheness when you’re drinking.) When all is ready, add to the jug around three shots of your chosen gin. And then stir gently for about twenty-five seconds, when cold martini-odour begins to effuse.
Did I say stir? I did, sir. You may shake, if you want a cloudy and more watery drink, but stirring is preferred. Yes, Ian Fleming does have James Bond order a vodka martini "shaken not stirred," but this is intended to tell us about his character, not about an ideal drink. (Contrast its icy, frozen, tasteless heart with the Vesper he drinks earlier in the first book, before his first love betrays him.)
So shake if you must, and shake well, but not extensively. (No more than 15 seconds.) And to a waltz rhythm. The aim is to make the drink ice cold, not a drink made mostly with ice chips.
And when the stirring or shaking is done, pour and enjoy.
THE MARTINI IS ALL ABOUT the ritual, so make you get your time right (before dinner, at the Cocktail Hour), and your artefacts correct. Garnish: fresh and clean. Toothpicks: simple and unobtrusive. The jug: crystal, not plastic. The glasses: not buckets, but just large enough to hold the drink; and simple and elegant – if they look like a good match for an umbrella, they’re not a good home for your martini.
And when the stirring or shaking is done, pour and enjoy.
THE MARTINI IS ALL ABOUT the ritual, so make you get your time right (before dinner, at the Cocktail Hour), and your artefacts correct. Garnish: fresh and clean. Toothpicks: simple and unobtrusive. The jug: crystal, not plastic. The glasses: not buckets, but just large enough to hold the drink; and simple and elegant – if they look like a good match for an umbrella, they’re not a good home for your martini.
Ice is important – maybe more than you think. This is because ice becomes one of the drink’s four main ingredients. Chipped ice melts especially fast in a shaker, diluting the drink too much. Coarse ice is better, either stirred or shaken, and it very much must be clean, and without assailing fridge odours!
And so is music. A martini is best served with music that creates elegance and supports conversation -- something without vocals (which competes with your talking), with lots of melody (so you can keep track while you're talking) and plenty of space between the notes within which to converse. Something like the Benny Goodman Small Groups is ideal, with Benny out front on clarinet, and Lionel Hampton, Teddy Wilson and Charlie Christian supplying the endless melodic invention in support.
And finally, two words of warning. The first is this: a reminder that the only adjective that should be put in front of the martini are words like “perfect,” “cold,” “exceptional” and “damned fine.” Adjectives before it like “espresso,” “apple,” “pear” or “bikini” however do not denote a martini, but someone’s excuse to douse you in flavoured sugar. Avoid such persons.
The second word of warning about your martini is this: Respect it. Above all, treat it gently. You are drinking a glass without a mixer, while still aiming to be one yourself. The almost-great Dorothy Parker observed
And finally, two words of warning. The first is this: a reminder that the only adjective that should be put in front of the martini are words like “perfect,” “cold,” “exceptional” and “damned fine.” Adjectives before it like “espresso,” “apple,” “pear” or “bikini” however do not denote a martini, but someone’s excuse to douse you in flavoured sugar. Avoid such persons.
The second word of warning about your martini is this: Respect it. Above all, treat it gently. You are drinking a glass without a mixer, while still aiming to be one yourself. The almost-great Dorothy Parker observed
"I like a martini,Two at the very most,After three I’m under the table,After four I’m under my host.”
Dorothy is often a good guide.
[1] Yes, there are plenty of variations on the martini. John Doxat suggests around twenty. Frank Moorhouse in his Martini memoir offers nearly forty variants (from the Kangaroo, i.e., made with vodka instead of gin, to the Black Thorn Faux Martini, which “only sounds like a martini”) along with an additional five “crazy drinks” (from the Flirtini to the Times Square Tootsie). But don’t confuse the crazier drinks for the real thing.
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2 comments:
Espresso Martinis are, indeed, not Martinis and are quite sweet.
Product recommendation: https://www.mrblack.co/au/products/coffee-liqueur
I switched from Kahlua to Mr Black when making Espresso Martinis and never looked back. Stronger; much nicer coffee flavour; and far less sweet. Highly recommended.
The term vodka martini is an oxymoron similar to the term apple wine.
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