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The Martini
The food writer MFK Fisher once said that the Martini is to America what vodka is to Russia. Hemingway said they made him feel civilized. I say they are the perfect antidote to rainy days (literally or figuratively) – to quote Mae West, I like to get out of my wet clothes and into a dry Martini. No other cocktail inspires more comment or opinion. Should it be shaken? Should it be stirred? Should it be gin or should it be vodka? And how much vermouth is too much vermouth?
Throwing myself into the Martini melee, I should point out that the opinions below are merely my own. They’re also right. So don’t argue.
Shaken or stirred is a matter of preference. I prefer mine stirred to the point where it’s as cold as the bottom of a penguin’s foot. If you shake it, you will break the ice cubes and make a cloudy and more diluted drink. I think that a Martini’s ice-cold clarity is a big part of its charm.
A Martini is made with gin. A Vodka Martini is made with vodka. Apple Martinis are an abomination. That is all.
An olive or a twist is also a matter of preference, but the twist should always be lemon – if you want lime, order a Gimlet and be done with it. The lemon should be unwaxed. The olive should be vividly green and unstuffed. If you like it ‘dirty’ – with a splash of the olive brine – be as dirty as you please.
‘I like to get out of my wet clothes and into a dry Martini’
—Mae West
I don’t care that Noel Coward thought it sufficient to wave the shaker in the general direction of Italy – there must be vermouth. So you can add a drop of vermouth to your gin with a pipette, you can swirl the vermouth through the glass and discard it (the Bartender’s Martini, as seen at The Frolic Room), or you can be like Clark Gable’s Jim Gannon in Teacher’s Pet, and simply wet the vermouth cork and wipe it around the rim of your Martini glass. This is a mixed drink: without the vermouth, it’s not a Martini. It’s just a glass of cold gin.
The ice must be fresh. The longer it’s in your freezer, the more it picks up residual flavours. With the Martini, we’re shooting for drinking perfection. We’ll never make it, but we were born to try.
This is how I make mine…
Fill a cocktail shaker with fresh ice. Pour in one-eighth to one-quarter capful of dry vermouth. I favour Noilly Prat. Stir vigorously to coat the ice cubes thoroughly. Add a cocktail-glassful of gin, about 60–90 ml (2–3 fl oz). Or two, or three, if you’re making more with commensurate vermouth, though I never make more than three in one batch as the drink becomes too diluted before it reaches the requisite temperature. Stir until it’s as cold as a corrupted politician’s soul. Leave to rest for a minute, or as long as it takes to spear your olives on to a cocktail stick or cut your lemon twist. Strain into the glass, garnish and serve at once, ideally with Salted Almonds (see below).
Note: Apart from those made at 91a, the best Martinis I believe are made by the ever-young Manny Aguirre at The Musso and Frank Grill in Hollywood. He is, indeed, The Merlin of Martinis.
Salted Almonds
If you don’t do anything else at all, just make these. There is nothing like a salted almond with a dry Martini. Heaven.
200 g (7 oz) blanched almonds
½ tsp softened unsalted butter
fine sea salt
Preheat the oven to 140°C/275°F/Gas Mark 1. Place the almonds on a baking sheet and, with your hands, generously coat them all over with the butter.
Bake for 25–30 minutes, checking every now and then and giving them a shake, until they are honey blonde.
Remove from the oven and place straight on to a sheet of greaseproof paper. Salt them generously straight away. Then crumple up the paper a little and leave to cool. Transfer to a bowl, sprinkle with the salt left on the paper and serve.
I Flip For Felicity
When my dear friend and agent Felicity got married, we asked what she’d like for a present. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I could use a drink.’ This is it.
The flip is arguably the oldest of cocktails, and certainly among the first of the American classics, combining spirit and egg with sugar and spice. We’ve lightened this one, removing the egg yolk, and sharpened it up with a little lemon. And, with its hint of English rose, need I say more?
50 ml (1¾ fl oz) gin
25 ml (¾ fl oz) fresh lemon juice
1 egg white
15 ml (½ fl oz)
5 ml (1 tsp) rose water
a good dash of Angostura bitters
Pour the gin, lemon juice, egg white, syrup, rose water and bitters into a cocktail shaker. Shake hard to emulsify. Fill with ice and shake until very cold, then strain into a cocktail glass. It should be frothy, with a slight blush, and delightfully cold.
KAY’S TIP: The qualities of rose water vary enormously. You need a pure rose water for this — if you only have one made with concentrate, use just a drop, otherwise the drink will taste too much like Turkish Delight.
The Vesper
This is the classic cocktail of Bond, named for Vesper Lynd, the chic femme fatale of Casino Royale (oh, to make one’s entrance in a dress of black velvet, ‘simple and yet with a touch of splendour that only half a dozen couturiers in the world can achieve’!). In the book it’s made with gin, vodka and Kina Lillet, a fortified wine bittered with quinine. Lillet modernized it in the 1980s to make Lillet Blanc, which is less bitter, and some bartenders now use Cocchi Aperitivo Americano to attain the original flavour. I think that touch of bitterness is appropriately Bond-esque. He may have named a drink after her, but it can’t ease the hurt of her betrayal. I like to think that in ‘the violet hour’, an older Bond might order one and remember Vesper a little more kindly.
60 ml (2 fl oz) gin
20 ml (¾ fl oz) vodka
10 ml (2 tsp) Lillet Blanc or Cocchi Aperitivo Americano
a large twist of lemon, to garnish
Fill a cocktail shaker with ice and pour in the gin, vodka and Lillet Blanc. Shake vigorously until it’s ice cold. Then strain into a Martini glass and garnish with a large, thin twist of lemon peel.
Note: Bond says Gordon’s gin; I prefer something with 40 per cent alcohol.
‘When I’m…er…concentrating,’ says Bond, ‘I never like to have more than one drink before dinner. But I do like that one to be large and very strong and very cold and very well-made.’ Well… this is strong, and arguably enough for two ordinary mortals lacking in Bond’s super-human capacity for alcohol!
The Bronx
One of the Five Boroughs Cocktails, this drink was allegedly created by Bronx-born restaurateur Joseph Sormani in Philadelphia around 1905. Its proportions vary from recipe to recipe, ranging from equal parts of gin and the two vermouths with just a dash of orange juice and orange bitters, to the much drier version I use here. The Bronx also exists in silver and gold versions – the silver contains an egg white, and the gold an egg yolk. If you fancy either version, make sure you shake it vigorously before you add the ice so that it emulsifies properly, then shake again.
15 ml (½ fl oz) fresh orange juice
10 ml (2 tsp) red vermouth
10 ml (2 tsp) dry vermouth
40 ml (1¼ fl oz) gin
a twist of orange, to garnish
Fill a cocktail shaker with ice and add the orange juice, vermouths and the gin. Shake until it’s very cold, then strain into a Martini glass and garnish with a twist of orange. Serve at once.
The Queens
This is apparently a genuine Harry Craddock cocktail, or so says Robert Vermeire, author of Cocktails: How to Mix Them, published in 1922. He ought to know. Craddock was his contemporary, and the author of The Savoy Cocktail Book, one of the pre-war bibles of mixology.
Appropriately, for a Five Boroughs cocktail, it is very similar to the Bronx, replacing the orange juice with fresh pineapple.
½ slice of fresh pineapple
20 ml (¾ fl oz) red vermouth
20 ml (¾ fl oz) dry vermouth
40 ml (1¼ fl oz) gin
Crush the pineapple with a muddler in the bottom of a cocktail shaker. Fill the shaker with ice, then pour in the two vermouths and the gin. Shake well, then strain into a cocktail glass.
The Gibson
There are various stories about the Gibson’s origins. Two of them involve characters named Gibson, who would ask bartenders to serve them water in a Martini glass with a silverskin onion garnish so they could tell their drink apart from their friends’ alcoholic Martinis. A third version says that the Gibson – a much drier version of the Martini than was fashionable before the Second World War – sported its onion to single it out from its more vermouthified colleagues. Martinis have become drier and drier over time, but I think the Gibson’s onion makes it a perfect dinner cocktail, preferably served with a rare grilled steak.
5 ml (1 tsp) white vermouth
60 ml (2 fl oz) gin
1–3 pearl onions, to garnish
Fill a cocktail shaker with ice and pour in the vermouth. Stir vigorously to coat the ice, then pour in the gin. Stir again. When the cocktail is perishingly cold, strain into a Martini glass and garnish with the onions.
KAY’S TIP: Replace the gin with vodka for a Vodka Gibson.
The Fine & Dandy
I think the Fine and Dandy is a bit of a forgotten gem. It’s fresh and sophisticated, and its pale peach hue is a delight to behold. The thing is, I cannot find out where it came from. So, since every cocktail should have an origin story, here goes mine.
Fine and Dandy was a show written in 1930 by Kay Swift, the first woman to score a full Broadway musical, and a long-time paramour of the legendary George Gershwin. It was a massive hit, and its title number was covered by everyone from Charlie Parker to Barbra Streisand. So I’m going to stick my neck out and say the drink was named for it. On a side note, Kay Swift eloped with a rodeo cowboy in 1939. She sounds like my kind of girl.
20 ml (¾ fl oz) fresh lemon juice
20 ml (¾ fl oz) Cointreau
40 ml (1¼ fl oz) gin
a dash of Angostura bitters
Fill a cocktail shaker with ice and add all the ingredients. Shake until icy cold and strain into a cocktail glass.
KAY’S TIP: Some people garnish this with a maraschino cherry. I feel it’s better without. Either way, sup with Peggy Lee’s recording playing in the background.
The French 75
Is this a gin cocktail or a Champagne cocktail? I say gin, but either way it’s said to have the kick of a French 75mm field gun. This was created by Harry MacElhone of Harry’s Bar, New York, in 1915. It definitely packs a punch – you have been warned!
40 ml (1¼ fl oz) gin
20 ml (¾ fl oz) fresh lemon juice
10–20 ml (2–4 tsp) sugar syrup
chilled Champagne, to top up
a twist of lemon, to garnish
Fill a cocktail shaker with ice and add the gin, lemon juice and sugar syrup to taste. Shake well, then strain into a Champagne flute. Top up with Champagne and garnish with a twist of lemon.
Tom’s April Sour
Our friend Tom Williams’ fragrant cocktail evokes memories of English spring and early summer with its bright citrus tang and hints of elderflower and cucumber. He designed it specifically to pair with similar notes in the Hendrick’s gin, while the egg white gives it a dreamy lemon meringue finish. Sip while sprawled on a cool grass lawn.
50 ml (1¾ fl oz) Hendrick’s gin
25 ml (¾ fl oz) fresh lemon juice
25 ml (¾ fl oz) elderflower cordial
a dash of egg white
a thin slice of cucumber, to garnish
Pour the gin, lemon juice, elderflower cordial and egg white into a cocktail shaker and shake until emulsified. Fill the shaker with ice and shake again until it’s very cold. Strain into a glass and top with the cucumber float.
The Negroni
This is alleged to have been invented in Florence by Count Negroni, who asked the bartender at the Hotel Baglioni to strengthen his Americano with a spot of gin, but no one knows if this is actually true. Orson Welles was one of the first Americans to write about it, saying ‘the bitters are excellent for your liver, the gin is bad for you. They balance each other out’. James Bond orders one in the short story Risico. So consider it a drink endorsed by proper drinkers.
20 ml (¾ fl oz) gin
20 ml (¾ fl oz) Campari
20 ml (¾ fl oz) red vermouth
a slice or a twist of orange, to garnish
Pour the gin, Campari and red vermouth over 3–4 ice cubes in a tumbler. Stir the alcohols together until they are very cold. Garnish with a slice or twist of orange, ideally a blood orange.
KAY’S TIP: if you replace the gin with prosecco, you get a Negroni Sbagliato, or a Wrong Negroni.
The Gimlet
I’m sure there’s someone out there who calls this a Lime Martini. But we won’t go there. It’s one of the classics. The Savoy in London used to make two versions of this, a Gimlet with equal parts gin and lime, and a Gimblet with two parts gin to one part lime. In the former, the lime was Rose’s lime cordial; in the latter, it was fresh juice. My Gimlet blends the two.
60 ml (2¼ fl oz) gin
5 ml (1 tsp) Rose’s lime cordial
a twist of lime, to garnish
Fill a cocktail shaker with ice and add the gin and lime cordial. Stir vigorously. Strain into a Martini glass and garnish with a twist of lime.
The Fizz & The Collins
The Fizz, the Collins and the Sour are closely related. Each involves a similar blend of lemon juice, sugar and spirit, then the recipes deviate. In essence, a Fizz is a shaken Sour that is topped up with soda. And a Collins is a stirred Sour that is…topped up with soda. Does it make a difference? Generations of bartenders say so. I suggest that, on a hot summer’s night, they are both equally refreshing.
The Gin Fizz
25 ml (¾ fl oz) fresh lemon juice
50 ml (1¾ fl oz) gin
10 ml (2 tsp)
chilled soda water, to top up
Fill a cocktail shaker with ice and pour in the lemon juice, gin and sugar syrup. Shake hard until ice-cold. Strain into an ice-filled highball glass and top up with soda water.
Variations: You can substitute the gin for rye or bourbon, or for Nick Cuthbert’s sloe gin. You can also replace the lemon juice with Meyer lemon juice, which is slightly sweeter, to make a Meyer Lemon Fizz.
The Tom Collins
I am particularly attached to the Tom Collins, for it was down to this very drink, sipped under a starry Mumbai sky on board the good ship Oriana, that yours truly became more than a twinkle in her mother’s eye…
25 ml (¾ fl oz) fresh lemon juice
50 ml (1¾ fl oz) gin
10 ml (2 tsp) sugar syrup
chilled soda water, to top up
To garnish:
a slice of lemon
a maraschino cherry
Fill a Collins glass with ice and pour in the lemon juice, gin and sugar syrup. Stir well to combine, then top up with soda water. Garnish with a slice of lemon and a maraschino cherry, and serve.
Variations: If gin makes a Collins into Tom, then other spirits will change its name as well. It won’t surprise you to know that no one can agree on these names, so here are a few options:
Vodka The Joe Collins, Vodka Collins or Comrade Collins
Bourbon Colonel Collins, and sometimes John Collins
Irish whiskey Michael Collins (though if you swap the sugar syrup for Grenadine, it becomes a Kevin Collins)
Scotch whisky Sandy Collins or Jock Collins
Cognac Pierre Collins
Calvados Jack Collins, after American Applejack
Tequila Juan, Pepito, Ruben or José Collins, variously
Pisco The Pisco Collins, or occasionally Phil Collins, after the singer – can you feel it in the air tonight…?