The Perfect Martini: How to Make It

To be great is to be misunderstood. True of artists, true of cocktails. Take the martini. It can’t get any simpler than mixing 2 ingredients over ice. In spite of that simplicity (or maybe because of it), the mere mention of the word provokes the sort of hair-splitting superciliousness one might expect from a civil war re-enactor.

I’ve certainly waged a few war of words myself. Say the words “vodka” and “martini” in my presence and you’ll get an earful. Dems fightin’ words. But you won’t get me to apologize, because I am one of the martini’s most ardent conservators. In fact, for years I have been on a quest to make the perfect martini. And I just may have finally succeeded.

Use gin, not vodka

My discourse of the martini starts here: it's made with gin, not vodka. This isn’t just a snooty preference; to me, the martini simply doesn’t make sense with vodka. Vermouth, the “other” ingredient in a martini, is fortified wine flavored with botanicals. It’s the melding of the botanicals in vermouth and the botanicals in gin (like juniper berries and coriander) that gives a martini its crisp, aromatic character.

In cocktails, vodka’s role is to bring out the flavor of the other ingredients. It’s why it’s used in cooking. And so in a martini it’s bringing out the flavor of the vermouth, which isn’t a desirable base for a cocktail.

Ah, but vodka drinkers have a solution to this: use little to no vermouth! You know the drill. Pour vermouth in the glass, swirl it around, and dump it down the sink. Or use an atomizer to add a spritz. Or, my favorite, twirl a sealed bottle of vermouth over the glass. I’ve done all of it myself. But here’s the thing I learned: it’s not really a cocktail. It’s just a ritualistic way to drink vodka.

This is not the case with gin. When you start with gin, you will actually want to add vermouth. Which gives you, yep, a martini.

Use a London dry gin

As for what kind of gin to use in your martini, start with a brawny, traditional variety that you could imagine Winston Churchill tipping back. You’ll want a gin that doesn’t shy away from its juniper soul and is scarcely ever drunken neat, excepting dares. That leads us to London dry-style gin, such as Tanqueray, Bombay, Beefeater’s, or Boodles.

There have been a number of recent attempts to “contemporize” gin by making it more affable to palates anesthetized by vodka. But these failing Newfangled gins try too hard to mask the earthy juniper bite with strong floral and citrus notes and come off more as flavored vodkas—which I fear is intentional. To be worthy of a martini, a gin should boldly declare its gin-ness and still have enough character transcend it. That’s why the perfect gin for the perfect gin is Boodles.

Think French for vermouth

Living in Pennsylvania, I have precious few choices for dry vermouth. Until recently, top shelf was Martini & Rossi, the Coors Light of vermouth. That changed when some stores started carrying French stalwart Noilly Prat. NP is far more flavorful than the tepid Italians I’ve had and the best available in the Keystone state. But while on vacation in Savannah I snagged a bottle of Dolin Dry, also French, which is easily the best I’ve tasted. Paired with Boodles, it adds a light, grassy acidity that provides the bass notes to underpin the brusque bark of the gin.

Garnish with a twist

Olives are what most people associate with the martini, but the only thing they bring to the party is a briny snack for your significant other to filch while you’re not looking. Olives don’t add anything taste-wise to the cocktail. A lemon twist on the other hand does, provide a bright citrus note to complement the herbaceous botanicals.

James Bond was never a bartender

James Bond is inextricably linked with the martini, but he has probably done more than any real or fictional person to ensure the martini doesn’t get its proper due. Ever since Bond ordered his first vodka concoction in Dr. No, gin has taken a back seat in for martinis. And his suave “shaken not stirred” prescription has prevented many a mixologist from making a proper martini.

Now, if you’re going to have a vodka martini, go ahead and shake it. But gin should be stirred. I don't put much stock into the oft-cited argument that shaking “bruises” the gin. Doing so supposedly creates air bubbles. Regardless, you want some water dilution in your martini, but not too much; shaking is too much. Stir using a cocktail spoon and you won’t water down your cocktail like a certain British secret agent.

Perfect martini recipe

1. Chill the glass. Fill a martini glass with ice and add water—it chills faster.
2. Make a lemon twist. Remove as much or the bitter white pith as possible.
3. Empty ice into a cocktail shaker. Drain water.
4. Add 3 ounces of Boodles gin.
5. Add 1 ounce of Dolin dry vermouth.
6. Stir with a cocktail spoon for at least 30 seconds.
7. Pour into the chilled glass.
8. Twist the lemon peel to release oils. Rub the rim of the glass. Drop into the drink.

Now, enjoy your perfect martini.

Putting Vermouth Back Into the Martini

It's time someone stuck up for vermouth. It has been unfairly shunted to the back of liquor cabinets at the behest of wannabes with coarse cocktail pallets.

I blame vodka. It overtook gin as a cocktail staple for its ability to be emasculated in the shaker. The highest compliment most would pay a vodka is sipping a cocktail and proclaiming, "You can't taste the alcohol!" Well, that just breaks my heart.

People. You are supposed to taste alcohol. Rejoicing in the tastelessness of your cocktail is like announcing a choice cut of meat "tastes like chicken!" If all you want to do is get loaded, then have some self-respect and start an addiction to prescription pain medication. You'll feel better about yourself than you would ordering apple-tinis, trust me.

What does this have to do with vermouth? Well, it is one of two ingredients in a little cocktail called a martini.

Let's get this out of the way: subbing vodka for gin is a perfectly good cocktail. I do it myself on occasion. But it's not a martini. It's a vodkatini (vodka martini also begrudgingly accepted).

Therefore, gin martini is redundant in my book. A martini must has gin and vermouth to be worthy of the name.

Vodka and vermouth also make a decent combination, but here's the rub: vermouth has a taste. And the vodka constituency does not appreciate anything of the sort. So with vodka, vermouth is often left out altogether. (With no vermouth, your cocktail is neither a martini or a vodkatini: it's chilled vodka, but never mind.)

As a result, vermouth often languishes on the shelf.

Which is of great concern for martini drinkers like myself. First, consider that the ratio of gin (or vodka) to vermouth is typically about six to one. At times, much less than that. Which means one might have to drink 100 martinis to finish a one-liter vermouth bottle. It might take a mere mortal a year to bottom that bottle.

This is a problem because vermouth is essentially wine to which is added herbs and spices. You wouldn't keep an opened bottle of wine on a shelf for a year, so why do the same for vermouth?

As a result, I venture to guess that there's a lot of stale vermouth out there, especially in homes. Consequently, when most people taste vermouth, they are tasting bad vermouth. And, predictably, they don't like it, and it's banished to the back of the cabinet.

Bringing vermouth back:

* Buy smaller, 375ml bottles of vermouth.

* Keep it in the fridge after opening. Estimates vary, but an open bottle of vermouth should stay fresh for at least two months refrigerated.

* Try vermouth. There's a reason a martini has lasted a century or so. It makes a difference.

Flower Power: St-Germain Liqueur

I’m not generally one for liqueurs. They tend to be oversweet desert drinks high on sugar and low on complexity. The worst offenders are those meted out by the shot glass at college parties and shore houses, often on a dare. Countless hangovers start there.

Consider the regret-filled shudders that accompany the likes of Aftershock, Southern Comfort, Sambuca and the umlaut twins—Goldschläger and Jägermeister.

Still, let’s not impugn the entire category. Many liqueurs do suitably well as mixers. Campari makes a lovely negroni. Cointreau does wonders for a margarita. And Chambord ... comes in a super fancy bottle.

So when I recently felt like mixing things up a bit, I picked up a bottle of the hot liqueur of the moment, St-Germain. It's made from elderflowers. What are elderflowers? Beats me. But I was taken with the method in which they are gathered: In the foothills of the Alps, eccentric Frenchmen pluck the blossoms by hand and transport them by bicycle to market. And according to its bottle, it's the “first liqueur in the world created in the artisanal French manner.” They had me at artisanal.

Celebrated bartenders who like to think of themselves as artisans rave about the stuff. And the New York Times named the St-Germain cocktail among last decade’s best (more on that later).

So, I was expecting something like James Bond at a Monte Carlo casino. An elegant mixer that was subtle, complex, charismatic.

Well, it was not quite like that. Surprisingly, it was not particularly subtle or floral. It was overpowering—more Brown than Bond. Boy, elderflower must be one fruity flower. It smacks of grapefruit. A little peary. Honeyed a bit. Sweet in a not-entirely cloying way, yet still way too sweet for me.

But I wasn’t going to drink this straight. I was planning to mix it. I had a hunch it would go well with gin. And I thought Mrs. McDrinkerson would go for the aforementioned St-Germain cocktail (2 parts sauvignon blanc, 1.5 parts St-Germain, 2 parts tonic). So I made a cocktail for the Mrs. and a “Left Bank Martini” (1 part sauvignon blanc, 1 part St-Germain, 1.5 parts gin) for me.

Both had just a bit too much zing. I rebooted my wife’s drink with a St-Germain and tonic:strike two. So overpowering was the St-Germain that the two cocktails tasted almost identical—just varied shades of indomitable elderflower. It turned away gin even when the latter was trebled. The only spirit to stand up to St-Germain was the last of my Patron Anejo. Flower power indeed.

Still, it actually paired well with some sauvignon blanc and dry vermouth. But I had to use about a quarter ounce—and lots of Beefeater—before it quieted down enough to be called “subtle.”

So in the final analysis, St-Germain is certainly not a wallflower. It is an intriguing mixer, but you really have to exercise restraint with this one. Alas, despite all its uniqueness it is still a bloody liqueur. For better or worse.

-tini: The Most Abused Suffix in Drinkdom

I recently noticed a colleague of mine sipping an interesting drink at dinner. Its glass announced itself as a -tini drink, but it was not of the fluorescent-colored, overly garnished variety that plaque our drink menus. In fact, it looked like seawater. I was intrigued. I was told that it was a French martini. The drink wasn’t bad; I have since made a couple myself. It was not, however, a martini.

The Cosmo, also not a martini, FYI.

In recent years, "martini" became an umbrella name for vodka-based cocktails served in a fancy glass so bars and restaurants can charge $11 a pop for them. Which is curious because gin, not vodka, is the base for a true, classic martini. Vodka is favored for -tini drinks because of its neutral taste, whereas if you used gin the cocktail might taste as though there was liquor in there. In other words, it would taste like, well, a martini.

I drink both vodka and gin martinis, oftentimes in succession. It’s a matter of preference. But the real deal foe me is gin and vermouth. What makes a martini is how the dryness of the vermouth tempers the juniper bite of the gin. I advocate the term vodkatini when subbing vodka for the gin because they are completely different drinks.

Now that we know gin makes a proper martini, there are plenty other conundrums still to consider:

Ratio of gin to vermouth? Classic recipes usually have a ratio of three parts gin, one part vermouth. I prefer six to one with a London Dry like Tanqueray. For cleaner, new-style gins I prefer something close to what Hemingway called “The Montgomery.” Named after a British Field Marshal, Papa’s drink had a 15 to one ratio, which purportedly the battle odds Montgomery favored.

Shaken or stirred? Stirred. (Sorry James.) You’re not mixing a can of paint. Too much shake causes ice particles to dissolve in the drink, watering it down. The idea is to get the drink as cold as possible. A better way to achieve this is to ice the glass too. Then use a cocktail spoon to give it a vigorous stir for 30 seconds or so. You'll still get some dilution, but not too much.

Olive or twist? I have always been an olive guy, but since getting a zester, I have favored a twist. It really brings out the citrus notes. Twist gets my vote with gin, olives with vodka. Matter of preference.

Bitters? Many believe bitters are essential and some classic recipes included orange bitters. I like it, but mostly I don’t like anything mucking with the gin taste.

Most important thing is to keep it simple when it comes to a martini. Besides, if you have a few, they will cause plenty of complications.

Make Your Margaritas Count

Come summer I do fancy a margarita. A good margarita. And, let's get this out of way, not a frozen margarita.

We do not discuss Slurpees here.

Real drinks do not give you brain freeze. Nor are they sucked through straws.

Besides, more often than not, all that shredded ice is there to hide the skank of bottom-scrapper tequila.

And we should all know by now, boys and girls, that every drink starts with the booze.

Tequila often gets a bad rap. One's first experience with it typically involves the application of peer pressure, something soon to be regretted and the licking of salt off your arm (or, optionally, someone else's person). There's not so much sipping involved as there is a brisk throwing back. But tequila is some complex hooch and it makes the margarita.

For a margarita, I start with clear tequila, known as blanco or silver. This is unaged and sweeter, purer than it's golden cousins. Tequila picks up color when it's aged in barrels. Not a bad thing in itself, but this adds a woodsy, scotch-like taste that doesn't sit well in margaritas. These are your sipping tequilas. They aint for body shots.

Second, make sure your tequila is 100% agave, if for no other reason than I cannot tell you what inferior brands make up the difference with. There's a reason wine bottles don't say, "100% grapes."

Third, your tequila should in no way be affiliated with Sammy Haggar. This has more to do with principal than anything else. Why buy your tequila from an aging B-list rocker if you don't have to? And you don't have to. Buying his tequila may also unwittingly lend support to more Van Halen reunions. So be part of the solution, not the problem.

I happen to like Patron Silver, but anything that meets the above criteria should do the trick.

Next, let's talk triple sec. This is just an orange liqueur and you would be wise to upgrade to Cointreau or, if feeling frisky, Grand Mariner for a little quality control.

Lime juice will hopefully be fresh if not squeezed from actual limes. These are green in color and available wherever produce is sold.

The rest is just mechanics people. Play with the ratios depending on how "refreshing" you would like your margarita to be. Try a 2:1:1 ratio and tinker from there.

Salt to taste.

You may have it on the rocks or chilled in a fancy glass.

Notice how I did not reference Jimmy Buffet once. Take meaning in this.

First We Take Manhattan

In case you haven't noticed, I have an affinity for classic cocktails (some may substitute "affinity" for a more, ahem ... clinical word), the martini first and foremost.

Next on the list is the Manhattan. Like its namesake, this cocktail combines elegance and mayhem, the latter resulting from over-indulgence in this heavy hitter. But it's so good it's tough to drink just one.

Recipe. The two main ingredients are bourbon and sweet vermouth. As with the martini, the ratio of these two is all. The classic recipe is two parts bourbon, one part sweet (red) vermouth. I prefer four to one. You'll also want to add a dash or two of Angostura bitters to take an edge off the sweetness.

Bourbon. I have been using 100-proof Knob Creek and it's been doing a bang up job. It's tasty and smooth. I tried making one with Eagle Rare and it didn't have the same bite.

Garnish. A cherry or orange zest. Two possible problems ordering at a bar: the cherry is likely to be maraschino, which some people have an aversion to (not me), and only fancy pants NYC bars make orange zests.

I like to sip a Manhattan sip while watching Mad Men -- and rule of the house is that you must have a drink when the boys and girls of Sterling Cooper are on. But learn from my mistake: watch one episode at a time. I watched three on DVD and by the third I found myself in the middle of a drinking game. I think I lost.