Hunt for the Perfect Martini
I've recently discovered martinis. Not the fruity concoctions served in a martini glass—lemondrops, cosmopolitans, or other cocktails. Not the various flavored vodkas so fashionable for chocolate "martinis" or appletinis, and so on. While those are perfectly legitimate cocktails, they're served in a martini glass, and they're well worth exploring—they aren't what I mean when I say "martini".
Nope, I mean the good old-fashioned James Bond-style martini. The classic, traditional martini means gin.
Let's talk about different gins for just a minute while I'm thinking about it. I'm one of those people who, if I can't afford the good stuff, would rather just wait until I can. So if your preferred hootch is that clear mystery-mix in a plastic bottle that tastes like nothing so much as it tastes like lighter-fluid, this probably isn't the post for you.
So for our purposes, when I say "gin" I mean Bombay Sapphire dry gin.
Now, I tend to believe in experience being the best teacher. I have friends who drink martinis, have done so for years, and who kept actively trying to convert me to their martini religion. So—in spite of having been a bourbon-on-the-rocks drinker for the last several years—I set about to learn martinis. A month later, nearing the bottom of a bottle each of vodka and gin, I have to admit: The martini is a damned fine drink, done properly.
Let's start with gin. If you walk into your favorite upscale cocktail place, and order a martini, your bartender will want some information. Most basically, do you have a preference for brand? How dry? With olives, or with a twist? We've already talked about brand; you want good gin. Most bars have Sapphire gin, and although you'll pay a bit more, it's worth it. Dryness refers to how much vermouth and less often what kind of vermouth you expect the bartender to use. If you hate green olives, you'll either want a twist of lemon, or if you're a roguish and adventuresome sort of soul, a cocktail onion (which turns your martini into a Gibson.) Your bartender probably doesn't have any cocktail onions. They've mostly gone out of fashion.
My recommendation? Ask the bartender for a Sapphire martini, very dry, with three olives. But I really like olives, and I'm not a big fan of vermouth. Now, this is good. This is really, really good. The gin should be icy cold, and like breathing resinous mountain air, the vermouth adding overtones of complexity in every sip, with the olives to sort of nibble on, throughout the experience. When I make martinis at home, I put both the bottle of gin and the martini glasses in the freezer overnight, because I'm stone lazy about things like cocktail shakers, and I never have enough ice on hand to make as many drinks as I want. (Break the seal on the gin, first, if you haven't opened it yet. And if the bottle explodes, you'll please note that it's not MY fault: the label on the bottle clearly warns you NOT to put it in the freezer, what on EARTH were you thinking?)
Take the martini glass out of the fridge, put about a capful of dry vermouth in the glass and swish it around. Dump the leftover vermouth down the sink (or into the next martini glass) and fill with icy-cold gin. Spear two or three olives on a toothpick, and give the gin a swizzle with the garnish when you drop the olives into the alcohol. Sip, don't guzzle—but sip fast. Warm gin tastes a lot like cheap cologne, even the top-shelf varieties.
Next time, the perfect vodka martini.