Of all cocktails, none are as needlessly pretentious as the martini. I say “needlessly” because there’s a very simple way to make them, with minor variations based on personal preference, as with all cocktails, yet unlike other cocktails, we as a people judge these variations of personal preference as bastardizations of an elitist beverage.
I have a good idea why: James Bond.
“Vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.” (Nearby woman starts swooning and taking off her clothes).
Now I’ll add my opinions. Martinis should be gin, not vodka. Vodka can be used of course, but then it’s not a true martini. They should also be stirred and not shaken. Shaking them introduces air which modifies the taste and texture. Of course, this method requires being patient, as one has to allow the gin to sit in the ice for a time to get the right amount of melting–this will drop the gin to the correct temperature as well as enhance the flavor with the small amount of added water. In short–everyone is making their martinis wrong except me. There–pretentiousness achieved.
But enough of that. So I prefer extra-dry martinis. This of course means adding a very small amount of vermouth. In my case, this means a very teensy weensy bit of vermouth, like 2 drops. As family was visiting for Thanksgiving I unsurprisingly sought solace in my liquor cabinet. It had been a while since I had made a martini, and catching a glimpse of the vermouth bottle fancied my whims and I decided it was time.
Apparently my pretentiousness has limits, as I’ve never been one to appreciate more expensive vermouths–probably because I only use 2 drops at a time.
And it’s because I only use 2 drops at a time that I realized that this was the same bottle I’ve had since before I could legally buy it.
Dry indeed. Perhaps, when I finally finish the bottle, I’ll have achieved ultimate martini-making mastery, and villainous women in fancy hotel bars will swoon over me too.
–Moorhead. Simon Moorhead.