MARTINI TIME

Let the debate begin, I suppose. Martini recipes are no different from mince & tatties, cassoulet, or bolognese. They are user dependent and adapt to whomever is shaking or stirring. Hawkeye's "accomodating and quite dry" concoction aside, the martini shares unfortunate company with so many other grizzled classics submitted to the Remake/Remodel machine. Suddenly a "martini" is designated simply by stemware and not what the vessel holds. It can be vodka, apple liqueur, or sake. It can have frozen fruit floated across the top or flames rolling from the lip. Nothing can be farther from the truth. Yes, all horribly wrong and reason 1,001 for any traditionalist worth their salt to go on a shooting spree, preferably in a Williams-Sonoma mall location.

My first experience with a proper martini came from the paternal
grandparents (read:labroche.blogspot.com/2008/03/few-pops.html), who managed to concoct their quaff as right as rain. I certainly didn't come close to the silvery, shatteringly cold gin and vermouth cocktail for quite some time. In fact, I think I've only really recently learned how to prepare them "accurately."

There are some tricks, of course. The first is the shaker. I "prime" my shaker with a dash of bitters. I roll the herbal essence around the walls of the shaker and then flick as much of it out as I can. Lots of ice. Two jiggers gin. I religously use Beefeater, Boodles, Bombay. A ghost of dry vermouth. Stir. Stir. Stir. Stir 'til ice forms on the shaker's exterior.

Prime your martini glass with a lemon peel. Three olives. Decant the cocktail. Cold. Glowing, luminous. Ah. Have fun!