My Wife Told Me What To Write about This Week…
If you ask my wife what the best part of her evening is, you will receive this very considered and practiced response: “The first sip of my martini.” The Martini is a preternatural emulsification, gin and vermouth suspended together in a frosted cocktail glass. The best martinis are a hundred perfectly scant milliliters (3.38 fluid ounces) and garnished with artful minimalism. A martini is simultaneously infinite and ephemeral, gone before you realize it yet the ghost of it lasts and lasts. This week, we delve into the art and chemistry of this most worthy cocktail.
Too much ink and blood have been spilled over the origin of the martini. Is it an evolved Martinez (gin, vermouth, Luxardo cherry liqueur, Angostura bitters)? Was it named after the Martini & Henry rifle, a favorite of the British redcoats during the Crimean War? Did some poor forgotten barkeep lend his name to it and promptly pass into the dustbin of history? Besides the point. The martini has become a cultural expression, a palimpsest upon which we imprint our presumptions and consumptions, changing from place to place and generation to generation.
Let us set a few basic matters down as general principles. A martini - The Martini - is gin and dry vermouth. Any modification or alteration is not a martini. Vodka Martinis, Lemon Drops, Espresso Martinis, Apple-tinis, &c., &c., are a realm apart hazarded at your own risk. Second, and I must be most insistent upon this, a martini must be stirred. A shaken martini is a masterclass in bruised botanicals and ice shards. When you stir a martini, it allows the molecules of the drink to lie sensuously atop one another. Third, the glasses must be chilled to the bone in your freezer before serving. A small but brazen cohort of food professionals have been seen on the internet pouring their cocktail into a room temperature vessel. Infamia.
Once you accept these general principles, it is time to make your martini. I will not tell you this is the right way to make a martini. But it is the only way you should make a martini. Thirty or so minutes before you intend to imbibe, place a cocktail glass capable of holding 150ml (4 fl.oz) into the freezer. (You may have heard it is good practice to place the gin in the freezer. If you follow these directions, that step is quite unnecessary.) Place a large cocktail pitcher on a kitchen scale, set to milliliters, and tare. Add ninety-three milliliters of gin and seven milliliters of dry vermouth. Remove the cocktail glass from the freezer. Add a handful of ice cubes to the pitcher. Stir with a bar spoon firmly but not fast. Pay very close attention to the cocktail pitcher. When a robust frost has overtaken the exterior, your martini is properly mixed. Strain the mixture into the prepared cocktail glass.
Dryness in a martini is a fraught matter. A longtime friend of my father has an atomizer filled with vermouth with which he gives two or three scant sprays of his cocktail glasses. Winston Churchill would bow briefly toward France with his martini to add the vermouth. Quel drôle. There must be vermouth in the martini, or else it is not a martini (more so, it is not a cocktail, which requires the blending of two or more ingredients by definition). You may find your tastes more or less dry, but your ratio should add up to exactly one hundred milliliters.
Now the garnish. There are only three acceptable garnishes for a martini. First, the lemon peel. Whether you artfully design some Van Gogh-esque swirl or just slice a bit of rind off, the addition of a pop of acid and a pop of color is what counts. Second, the olive. It should be large, green, and pitted. It can be stuffed with a pimento or, if you are my wife, a small amount of gorgonzola dolce. Finally, there is The Gibson. A perfectly skewered pearl onion floated gently into the glass. Mater amata, intemerata.
Your martini - stirred, strained, and garnished - is now ready for consumption. There is a particular velocity to drinking a martini, rather like running a race. Take an even pace, steady on through the peaks and valleys, try not to linger too long at the back of the pack or lead the way breathless. Time and consideration of your effort is crucial, but do not let the thing get too warm (refrain from adding any more ice to the glass, lest you dilute your efforts). A bowl of vinegar and salt potato chips? Exquisite. Serrano ham and cracked wheat rounds? Have at it. Smoked salmon dip? Indubitable.
We offer a varied selection of gin and vermouth for your Martini Era. Here are a few recommendations, both on and off the beaten path:
Plymouth English Gin ~ United Kingdom
A classic base for a martini. Juniper, orange peel, and herbs. Don’t forget to bow toward France.
Song Cai, Floral Gin ~ Vietnam
For the lovers of flowers and exotic botanicals. Powerful, heady, and delightfully smooth.
Uniquely kissed by the sea and based on the Albariño grape. Light, refreshing, and thoughtful.
The Martini is consummate proof that a classic never goes out of style. Each return is a new journey down a familiar but immensely enjoyable walking path. It is a golden ticket to a wider and deeper world filled with pirates and politicians, nabobs and noteworthies. A final piece of advice, while I fill my own cocktail pitcher. Never forget the unofficial motto of my prep school: one is too few, while three is too many.
