What this dry gentleman needs is a Martini, with a big, wet Capital 'M'.
When trying to remain dry after midnight, the established response, beyond a shadow of a doubt is, "Not a chance!" Dryness comes with fizzy water, peach schnapps and boat drinks - God, would someone please give this gentleman a solution that doesn't end with "equal parts Coca-Cola." What wetness requires is a cocktail that combines robust flavor with a refined clarity that meet the tongue and nose with a smile and a wave. What this dry gentleman needs is a Martini, with a big, wet Capital 'M'.
The Martini has always been more than just a cocktail. The very word stirs feelings of nostalgia, excellence in engineering, and visions of that final shake that closes the deal. Rather than hiding behind fruit juice in a shady tumbler, the Martini comes to the table with all cards showing: the uniqueness of gin, the foreign, albeit familiar, accent of dry vermouth, a dash of orange bitters, combined and culminating with a skewed olive. Clean. Compact. A taste of civilization.
Along with the automobile, the other great invention of the Twentieth Century, the Martini is essentially about the process. It is not so much the destination as it is about the drive. And, like the automobile, the Martini comes in many incarnations: vodka or gin, cranberry juice, olives, lemons, shaken not stirred... Yet, with all these different possibilities, there remains something constant that makes a Martini a Martini.
Purists argue as frequently over the constitution of the original recipe as they do over its dubious origins. Clouded in myth and legend, one such tale begins with "Professor" Jerry Thomas, a legendary bartender who served liquid refreshments at the Occidental Hotel in San Francisco. Supposedly, around 1850, a traveler enroute to Martinez, California came into the bar, threw a gold nugget down, and requested something special. Thomas, known for inventing delicious concoctions, tossed the man a shaken cocktail he called the Martinez - an early embodiment of what would later become the Martini. Another theory, again based in Martinez, California has a miner coming into Julio Richelieu's saloon. Richelieu, the bartender, gave the man a small drink with an olive plopped inside - the Martinez cocktail. To this day, the town of Martinez insists that this is the true origin, and have even erected a brass plaque that proclaims this "fact." Adding to this cloudy brine, English lore posits that the origin of the drink's name came from the rifle company Martini & Henry - the rifle used by the British Army between 1871 and 1891.
Dubious origins indeed. Regardless, what is certain is that by the beginning of the Twentieth Century (the advent of the Cocktail Age) bartenders on both sides of the Atlantic were serving up this clear cocktail that would become the zenith of all drinks.
By 1900, there were approximately 16,000 registered brands of whiskey in the United States, only 60 brands of gin, and Vermouth was still a European liquor. Within the next two decades the popularity of gin skyrocketed. It was a time when parties were thrown to the tune of the Great Gatsby, with riverboat pastels and cool gin drinks with lime and lemon served by a bartender in a white coat.
When prohibition set in - making both the United States and Canada DRY nations - gin became the drink of choice. It surpassed whiskey as the common drink at speakeasies due to its simple distilling method. The term "bathtub gin" comes from this period. The theory that the common Martini glass, with its wide brim, allowing for quick consumption is also from this period in history. Because, you see, Martinis were to be drank in three gulps, allowing for a quick getaway should the police barge in.
The trend towards hard liquor continued through prohibition and into the Forties, bringing the speakeasy to the barroom and finally the livingroom. This transition created the Cocktail Hour on a large scale.
People became experts on how a proper Martini should be made. Mixtures increased the quantity of gin and lowered the amount of vermouth. The only Martini to have was a dry, dry Martini. Some bartenders would quickly pass the bottle over the mixture, allowing for a drop or two to dive into the mix. Another method popular at this time was to put the vermouth into a shaker filled with ice, shake, pour out, and then put the gin in. The idea was to coat the ice with the slight fragrance of vermouth.
Returning home from a long day at work, men and women sat down with a Martini while the radio sifted music into the air. E.B. White, ex-editor of the New Yorker, called Martinis "the elixir of quietude." The drink carries away worries, stops the phone from ringing, the bell from tolling, and allows for a slight drift in mental states. What better way to end the day.
