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Published: November 3, 2009
There's not much goin' on in the White House, where the travlin' Prez is seldom at work these days; nor is anything necessary nor constructive bein' worked on under the dense dome of our national Capitol.
We've also apparently already saved the Abyssinian cockroach from extinction and decided who's done the most for world peace, so it would seem that subjects for thoughtful discussion are hard to come by.
Nevertheless, a recent excursion, in the company of worldly and well-informed journalists, turned my attention to a serious problem facing mankind (or is that now "personkind?"): The classic "American martini" is threatened with extinction.
While the dozen or so, reportedly well-educated persons composing our select group, were seated around a long table in one of the better restaurants on Florida's Longboat Key, a waiter began taking orders for drinks. Perhaps half of us ordered a "martini," and in the process clearly demonstrated that the meaning of that word has been so changed, by faddish preferences for alcoholic beverages, that the classic "American martini" is a seriously threatened species. In the name of "Bond, James Bond," we can't allow that to happen! Can one imagine life without that chilled, silvery, clear elixir — "shaken, not stirred?"
The origin of the martini cocktail is apparently as murky as are the several polluted beverages attempting to masquerade as martinis today. There are dozens of different stories about its creation. One version has it that the founding drink was called a "Martinez," after a California town where a recently rich gold miner ordered "something special," way back in late 19th or early 20th centuries. That abominable beverage reportedly consisted of Old Tom gin, bitters, maraschino syrup and an unspecified variety of vermouth (probably squashed out of liberal, California grapes).
A different story was related to me by a man who served in France during World War I. He said that some U.S. "doughboys," faced with drinking only British gin or European wines, resorted to mixing vermouth with gin. Eventually, because one of the vermouth bottles had the name "Martini" on it, the concoction became casually referred to as a "martini." Europeans supposedly later expanded that name to "American martini,' so as to avoid confusion with the continental popularity of drinking unadulterated vermouth (e.g., Martini & Rossi) as an aperitif. But that story is suspect, because well before the "Great War," some bar manuals featured a recipe for the martini, which, it must be noted, even then consisted of nothing other than gin and dry vermouth (sometimes, however, with an optional drop of orange bitters).
That classic martini was most often served in what is correctly referred to as a "stemmed cocktail glass." The American martini is a recipe. It is not the name of the glass in which it is served. Indeed, proper martinis are often served in one of three different glasses: The stemmed type; one where the stem is so shortened that the cone-shaped bowl is attached directly to the base; and a short, nearly cylindrical glass, used when serving the drink on the rocks. There is no "martini glass," as is today commonly and erroneously assumed. In fact, the same stemmed cocktail glasses often used for martinis, are also widely used to hold such as manhattans, cosmopolitans and daiquiris. Simply pouring whatever in a stemmed cocktail glass does not create a martini.
The classic martini (only gin and dry vermouth, about 5:1) is served with an olive or a twist of fresh lemon peel. If one substitutes a small pickled onion as the garnish, the name changes from "martini" to "Gibson." Since the mere alteration of garnish is sufficient reason to change names, then the use of vodka in place of the primary ingredient (gin) is even stronger argument against continuing to call the drink a "martini." A mixture of vodka and vermouth is no more a martini than may be a daiquiri, simply because they are served in stemmed cocktail glasses.
The classic American martini is the pinnacle of mixed drinks; its purity should be preserved and protected by presidential edict. Perhaps we need some sort of Martini Czar, who could dictate terrible penalties for anyone playing loose and free with the name or recipe.
I have nothing particular against the popularity of alcoholic sweets containing chocolate, apple juice, mango pulp, licorice sticks, cookie crumbs or even pink coloring and paper parasols, but for heaven's sake, don't attempt to appear suave by carelessly and ignorantly calling them some sort of "martini." How about referring to them, simply, and accurately, by their main ingredients (e.g., apple, chocolate, cherry, vodka or licorice cocktails)? But then, that wouldn't be "cool," would it?
My lone voice in the wilderness probably won't slow the demise of the classic martini, but my continued enjoyment of that purest of all mixed drinks will help to ease the pain of its passing.
"Here's lookin' at you, kid."
Of Cabbages and Kings is a regular feature of this paper. The author welcomes relevant and rational comment, which may be sent to him at john@have-eye.com.
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