The Dry Martini

by Joseph Dobrian
Whether the day has been fair or foul, there is nothing, for my money, quite so nice to do in that half-hour before dinner as to put away an ice-cold martini.

No question,
the martini has suffered some bad press over the years. It's supposedly the drink of people who are too rich, politically incorrect, and so forth-and besides, for crying out loud, it's gin!!! Lots of gin, with nothing to adulterate the taste. To make matters worse, they're coming back into vogue. Martini-lovers can't very well call themselves part of a cult now that nasty soulless yuppies with no aesthetic appreciation are drinking them just to be trendy. Oh, well. That doesn't mean I'm going to give them up, not me. I'll just make them better than anyone else in the world. The martini has been around considerably longer than most mixed drinks. According to legend, the drink was invented in the town of Martinez, California, around 1850.

The story goes that a miner burst triumphantly into a saloon one evening, babbling about a massive gold strike right smack in the middle of his tiny claim. Having bought drinks for everyone in the joint, he asked the bartender to fix him up something really special, in honor of his new-found riches. The bartender responded by mixing equal parts of Old Tom gin (a paleozoic brand, much sweeter than today's gins) and sweet vermouth, adding a dash of bitters and a maraschino cherry. The miner was pleased with the concoction, and passed the recipe along to other saloon-keepers he met on his subsequent travels. The drink came to be called the martini, in honor of the town in which it was invented.

In time, the basic martini recipe went through some changes. Originally a very sweet drink, it was toned down considerably when dry gin came into fashion late in the 19th century; at about this time, dry vermouth was substituted for sweet vermouth. Someone suggested substituting a slice of lemon peel for the cherry; someone else said, no, let's try a green olive instead.

Over time, the proportion of gin to vermouth was altered. By the early 1920s, when the drink really began to enjoy some popularity, a typical martini consisted of three parts gin to one part vermouth; vermouth's importance has continued to wane. Today, there are violent arguments among martini-lovers as to how much vermouth a proper martini should contain. At one end of the spectrum are those who advocate four parts gin to one part vermouth; at the other are those who say that the word "vermouth" should merely be mentioned loudly enough to make the gin cringe.

There are also debates of great import concerning the garnish. A green olive is the standard of one camp; that of the other is the slice of lemon peel. A tiny minority prefers a pickled onion, which, if used, makes the drink not a martini, but a Gibson.

There are those who say that a martini should be shaken with ice; some say it should be stirred. There are those who prefer a martini on the rocks; others prefer to strain it into a chilled glass, with no ice.

With the exception of the shaken-versus-stirred controversy, I am willing to concede that there are reasonable and honorable persons in each camp. The martini, for the martini drinker, is a very personal thing, and everyone's little quirks deserve a modicum of respect. However, I do have very strong views of my own on how a good dry martini is made. I pass them along herewith, and give you leave to experiment as you please.

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