Picture we’re on a cruise. Not one of those giant miracles of maritime engineering that slowly ply the waters between Port Canaveral and Nassau with a belly full of pudgy redfaced four-day colonizers. It’s a smaller, old fashioned style ship and we’re leaning with an elbow on the rail overlooking an azure sea. Small surface undulations like flustered little ripples up close become a static pattern at large. Similar to the way that forest sounds harmonize to a pleasant cacophony. In Caribbean dusk our suits of beige linen cover the sweat marks of our dress shirts. Rather, yours does. Mine is folded over my other arm, tie loosened and top button unfastened for the heat that now dissipates ever-so-slightly as the sun winks its final burnt-orange goodnight over the horizon. Some of the other passengers wave goodbye to it as we sail away leaving it to the next group of hapless bastards gravitationally glued to this spinning rock. I turn to look towards the dark night ahead. “Don’t you wanna see the sunset?”, you ask. “I’m okay”, I reply, “I’ve seen enough beautiful goodbye’s to last a lifetime. I’ll keep looking this way till she comes back around.” Presently, the jazz trio in the corner of the open air deck picked up a Thelonius Monk tune. I looked to the Copacabana style bar. A few blades of thatch straw hung listless over a mahogany bartop with gold trim. A few well dressed gals were courting a good time at one corner while an older couple picked at pretzels occasionally laughing a little too loudly. The fella behind the bar spins a bar spoon in a mixing glass with one hand while shaking a silver tin in the other. Nice enough guy, I’ll have to remember to tip better next time. But, he wasn’t the reason I knew this tune. What was it? So familiar. I don’t know if I recognized the tune or smelled her perfume first but, when I did, it hit me instantly. This was the melody playing in the background the first time I saw her behind the bar at that underground jazz joint in the city. She wore cropped blonde hair encircling the biggest gray-blue eyes. Eyes reminiscent of shallow ocean limpidity. Eyes that purveyed more emotion in one glance than I do believe my little heart can hold in a lifetime. She walked in slow motion, her hips writhing with every step under that tight floral dress. Navy blue with pink and yellow orchids. Her golden hair was longer now and twisted up over her head like a halo. My heart felt like to stop right there but I managed to look away for a moment to say to you, “Alright, buddy. Time to scram. I’ll catch up with you.” When she made her final approach, coming to a halt, bouncing in all the right places, she looked at my hand. Not the one bent over the rail, the one with my coat slung over it, no, the one holding a coup glass with an olive sunk into the crystal liquid. In her flirtiest ‘I do what I want’ tone she asked, “How about getting one of those for me?”
I tip my panama hat to the boys in the band as we amble up to the bar. One of the goodtime gals keeps glancing over in hopes I might meet her gaze, but I’m transfixed on the bombshell in blue beside me. Raising my glass to the bartender, “Hey, how you doin’, pal?”
He replies, “name’s Paul.”
“How you doin’, Paul.” An exclamation, not an inquiry. “Two Martinis. Plymouth, five to one. And hey, Paul. Do me a favor and make ‘em one at a time.”
“You got it…” He left the sentence hanging.
“Tony. This is my wife, Faith. Here...”, I placed a twenty on the bar. “Put the drinks on room 107 and keep this for yourself.”
He prepared the drinks simultaneously in separate mixing glasses, the whole thing an intricate ballet of pouring and stirring, before straining them into small frosty coups with a, “cheers.” Faith and I raise our glasses to each other, “Salud” and the first sip is bright, crisp, efflorescent with a dry bite.
Later, with the balcony door ajar in our cabin, faint sounds of the jazz band are carried by on the wake of an open ocean breeze. The notes blow gently in, circle the room, and seeing we were in the mood for privacy, excuse themselves back over the balcony to explore the night.
In the morning I awake, foggy, but content, home in my own bed. The lambent light of day creeping around the curtains. To one side she’s curled up in the comforter. To the other side, on my nightstand, is an empty coup glass. Damn, that was a wonderful dream.
Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Tony and this is Pod Tiki. Part 2 in our exploration of the Martini.
For the second half of our deep dive into the Martini we’re going to start where we usually finish. Making a drink! So, let’s jump into ingredients.
The idea of distilling or blending botanicals within spirits began in Italy. That’s basically what Amaro’s are. From there the practice spread to France, because they have to smudge their pretentious little fingerprints on everything, before reaching the Dutch and becoming Genever - the promethean gin.
We spoke in the first part of our journey how gilded age gins such as Holland and Old Tom were heavier bodied, sweeter, and lighter in botanicals. That’s what made them interchangeable with whiskies and brandies. Think how dark rum could be substituted for bourbon in an Old Fashioned or Manhattan. However, by the early 20th century, as the Martini grew in popularity, things began to dry out. No, no… I don’t mean people sobered up. Aghast! I’m referring to the dryness trend. Sweet was out and the educated tippler began to appreciate tasting their spirit. Dry wines and liquors were all the rage. Contemporaneously the age of cocktails run amuck was coming to a close as recipes and techniques became codified. This led to the London Dry style of gin, as well as the official Martini recipe calling for London Dry gin and dry French vermouth.
Now, in the rum world, much like the pirates, poets, and revolutionaries who drank it, we don’t have a lot of rules. But, across the pond they value tradition a bit more than we do. Probably because they have more of it. Thus, in order to be classified as London Dry gin the botanicals used must be all natural and must be included during distillation. As opposed to added later. The most prevalent of these being juniper. London Dry is very floral and citrus forward; the citrus aspect slouching towards bitter like when you express oils from a rind. This is going to proffer that bright, crisp bite I suggested earlier. Notice I didn’t mention anything regarding provenance. That’s because London Dry gin does not need to be made in London, or even England at large. A lot of New World gins like Hendrick’s or Corsair are in the style of London Dry as long as they follow the aforementioned guidelines.
I guess we should also discuss the idea of “dry” as a texture. I finally undestood the idea of dry as it pertains to red wine but, it’s also common in cigars, tea, and coffee. That sensation of drinking a liquid that actually leaves your mouth feeling dried out. The science behind the sensation is a mix of astringency on your tastebuds and the natural diuretic effects of alcohol, caffeine, or nicotine. The oxymoron of a dry liquid is fascinating.
However, there is another acceptable martini gin that is only tangentially related to London Dry style. Plymouth. Plymouth gin does in fact have to be made in Plymouth England and is only made by one brand called, you guessed it - Plymouth.
Plymouth gin also uses botanicals, like juniper. But, where it differs is the relative balance of those ingredients. Juniper is subdued allowing herbal and citrus flavors to rise to the fore. There’s also an element of barrel aging not found in other gins that renders a fuller body and more refined palate. The texture is silkier, less dry, and the sharp corners are rounded off.
London Dry is the official ingredient for a Martini but, Plymouth has two things going for it. One: It is a derivative of the London Dry style and two: it’s purported that Sir Winston Churchill himself claims it’s the only gin to make a Martini. Given, he’s a bit partial, but I’m inclined to agree with him. I used to be a mark for Bombay Sapphire. Loved the stuff. But, after trying Plymouth my mind has been sufficiently blown. I’m wondering now about beloved Tiki gin drinks like Suffering Bastard or Royal Hawaiian? As much as I love a Sapphire Martini my go-to for gin has always been Beefeater, for its versatility and flavor. Yet, in a cocktail that is only two ingredients and mostly gin I find Plymouth superior.
Sapphire or Beefeater will garner a light, botanical, almost floral Martini with vaporous undertones and almost a bitter sweet flavor. While Plymouth is deeper and richer with herbal overtones but including a nuanced patina. Both are wonderful expressions of this drink. Therefore, as much as I crave definitive structure in my libations, the choice is solely yours.
Next we tackle vermouth. Although this style of fortified wine once again finds its origins in Italy as a sweet reddish-brown tincture, it was indeed the French who perfected the dry white version. I’ve avoided specific dates and history because we’ve discussed all that in depth before in our Negroni and Manhattan episodes. In the French style there are two main variations important to us. Standard dry vermouth and Chambery, the latter of which must be from the Chambery region of France. Chambery is used in popular drinks like the Presidente. It offers fruitier notes with a little more body. This is my preference for most mixed drinks. However, in Martini?, nothing is quite like that bitter-sweet dry bite you get from Noilly Prat. Furthermore, it’s affordable and available. The Noilly Prat brand is your standard no frills French Dry Vermouth. That is, the least amount of frills the French could have while still being French.
A wine based aperitif, vermouth is often utilized to bolster the body and character of thinner spirits, but is also lovely as an amuse bouche or mid-meal palate cleanse. The thing I always stress about vermouth is to remember it’s a wine product and therefore needs to be stored in the refrigerator after opening. It also doesn’t last forever. For this reason, when purchasing higher priced Italian vermouths, I often opt for the smaller bottle. With Noilly Prat, being so inexpensive and versatile, that doesn't really come into play.
That brings us to… well, nothing. Because there are only two ingredients. So, let’s make a drink!
A Martini is:
2 ½ oz London Dry or Plymouth Gin
½ oz Dry French Vermouth
Fill a small coup, Nick & Nora, or V-shaped Martini glass with cube or pebble ice and set aside. We don’t want to use crushed ice as that may melt in the glass or leave behind floaters. In a mixing glass add gin and vermouth. Stir with ice till the glass is frosty, discard ice from glasses, then double strain into your preferred glassware. Traditional garnishes are pimiento stuffed olives, lemon twist, or pickled cocktail onion. See our Martini Part 1 episode for more on that.
I’m not going to repeat my flavor experience here because I don’t want to fill your head with pretense. In fact, I want to know your first sip thoughts when you order a Martini. The way the glass looks on the bar. How it feels in your hand. The smell before it touches your lips and that initial burst of flavor to the senses.
How dim are the lights? What’s the finish on the bartop? How soft is the cushion of the seat? Is that jazz? Blues? Classical? Perhaps, Salsa or a slow Calypso? Do I suddenly feel more confident in this suit and is that girl in the tight floral print dress really making eyes at me?
The Martini is a cocktail that is truly greater than the sum of its parts. Not only in the literal sense, but by notion. The imagery of a Martini glass adorns neon signs and billboards the world over. It’s used on Google maps to indicate where bars are. I had club shirts in the 90’s with Martini glass logos on the pocket. Its profound appearances in film and literature are incomparable. From Gatsby era frivolity to the idealized version of the 1950’s American dream. It survived under glittering disco balls and through the faux high culture of the 80’s. In the 90’s, by way of the flavored vodka boom, Martinis represented the first stumbling steps of a cocktail renaissance. The idea that apples, espresso, and a panoply of pallid pastel potions became “tinis” simply by being served in a V-shaped glass may offend the discerning cocktalian but is, in fact, a testament to how deep the Martini permeates through culture. When other drinks steal your name because it’s so well known you’ve reached legendary status. And some of those bon vivant nights drinking Martinis are things of legend. Martini parties that pervaded the early 2000’s, in conjunction with the craft cocktail movement, sparked Martini bars like the Tiny Tini in St. Augustine, Florida. Coral Club, here in Nashville, has a “Tiny Tini” happy hour menu. Last year I ordered a Gin Martini at a speakeasy bar and the bartender replied, “So, a Martini.” Which pleased my purist sensibilities greatly.
The cocktail world seems to have shaped itself around the Martini and without it there would be a V-shaped hole in our hearts. I’m tempted to say that is quite the legacy. But, in order to leave a legacy the thing must be gone, and the Martini shows no signs of going anywhere anytime soon.
So, to all the vintage suits, legendary tipplers, dive bars and opulant lounges, to the good the bad and the ugly, Nicks Noras coups ans V’s, 2 Martini lunches and late night hangs, to you and me and all the girls in tight floral dresses - Here’s looking at you, kid.
Sources: Google AI, forbes.com article Understanding Gin: What Makes London Dry, Old Tom And Other Styles Unique by Emily Price, foodandwine.com article Understanding the 4 Main Types of Gin, According to Experts by Dylan Ettinger
My name is Tony and this has been Pod Tiki. Thank you for listening and Keepi Tiki!