Considering a Martini

The martini is a precision drink. Making a martini is not an art, it is a science. The ratios need to be exact, the pieces carefully selected, and the way in which everything is combined repeatedly tested.

I know this because for a very long time I did not appreciate it. I have always been fond of gin. At first it tasted like summer to me, because growing up, my parents had gin and tonics when it was warm and they could sit out on the porch. But this is not the true essence of gin and instead I have learned to recognize in it the smell of pine trees. This is why the liquor taste should be so strong—like fresh air, that first sip of strong alcohol pulls us into the present and reminds us that we are in the here and now.

And at first I thought of martinis as only a large glass of booze. I would wave the vermouth over the glass as if the essence of it could somehow travel through the air in to the liquid. A few drops would fall, the texture of the drink would change, I would add bitters, and then would call it a martini. I am afraid to say that there were some negative results from this behavior; the average person is not well prepared to drink a actual glass of largely uncut gin, much less a parade of them.

Since then I have learned that mysticism does not create a good cocktail. I bought a jigger and accepted the fact that a bottle of vermouth does not last six months. Then learned about ratios. There isn’t just a big difference between a martini that is seven or eight parts gin with one part vermouth compared to a martini that is three or four parts gin with one part vermouth; there is a big difference between a martini that is six parts gin and a martini that is four parts gin.

In retrospect, this is not surprising. When I made pizza dough with too much yeast, it rose too fast. I once added too much oregano to my eggs and found them inedible. So why shouldn’t any change in the amount of vermouth have an effect on the resulting martini? There is, after all, a reason why a martini with more gin is dry. Like cold air and dust, gin makes you reach for water and leaves the skin feeling dry.

Vermouth is more moderating. It smells like wine and even dry vermouth has a sweetness to it. Combine the dryness of the gin and the sweetness of the vermouth and you create these undercurrents, like the air at the edge of a storm. They mix and tumble, falling in and out of each other as the bitters tumble between the fronts. Dry martinis, then, are like a high pressure system, lots of cool, dry air that bring good weather and light winds. In comparison a martini with lots of vermouth is a low pressure system. That circling warm, sweet air brings storms and strong winds. All of which speaks to the versatility of the drink. You want rain, you add vermouth. And if you want a cool fall day, I would use a ratio of eight to one.