The Original Martini

It is feasible that one could dedicate the rest of his or her time on this planet researching the origins of the famed Martini—"King of Cocktails." Clues to its creation abound, but so do dead ends, follies, and inconsistencies.

The recipe I am posting here is not for today's typical dry Martini—though it is dry compared to the earliest iterations of the drink, which date to the mid-1800s—since this version probably has far more vermouth in it than any self-proclaimed dry Martini aficionado would tolerate. No, rather than merely washing the ice, or swirling and discarding the vermouth, or opening the cap and allowing the fan to blow the essence across the glass, this calls for a full half ounce of a good dry vermouth. And it even has bitters in it.

I realize that some basic Martini background and lore may be necessary.

For the very basic crash course: today's classic Martini tends to be dry gin and dry vermouth, mixed in a ratio that has as many variables as there are Martini drinkers. Some prefer two or three parts gin to one part vermouth. Some prefer a dash of vermouth, with the emphasis on the gin. There are many tales of people who warn that the vermouth and the gin should never meet, instead insisting that a mere glance at the vermouth bottle is sufficient. Basically, the less vermouth, the drier the Martini. The garnishes go along accordingly, from lemon twists to green olives to the Gibson's cocktail onion. (Though some might argue with including the Gibson Cocktail on this list, to this drinker the Gibson is essentially a very dry martini, with a pickled onion instead of an olive or twist; the Gibson has its own lore, and is worthy of its own entry at some point. The main difference, aside from the onion, is that the Martini originally utilized bitters, and the Gibson never has.)

As reported in "Drink Recipes: How to Make a Dry Martini, Classic Cocktails" (Thirsty NYC):

The ratio of gin to vermouth has been steadily increasing since the cocktail was created. A ratio of 1:1 was common at the turn of the 20th century, and 3:1 or 4:1 martinis were typical during the 1930s and 1940s. During the latter part of the 20th century, 6:1, 8:1, 12:1, or even 50:1 or 100:1 Martinis became considered the norm.

The more I consider this, in fact, the more I think a dry Martini is the most uptight drink in the world: there is an over-abundance of specific rituals and requests when it comes down to making it, despite the fact that it is basically just cold gin with endless possible ratios of vermouth. It's pompous, uptight, and controlling—even if it has its pleasures, too. "Americans in hell tell each other how to make Martinis," wrote Randall Jarrell in Pictures from an Institution (1954). I encourage you to read more on this angle—and, incidentally, where the so-called 'vodka" Martini stands—in the very interesting Washington Post article "Stirrings of a Better Martini."

Anyway, now that I have likely offended the "serious" Martini drinkers among you (forgive me), let's talk Martinis a bit. Then I'll give you the recipe I am so thrilled about.

Where does the Martini come from? Who can lay claim to making the first one? In The Craft of the Cocktail, preeminent mixologist and founder of the Museum of the American Cocktail Dale DeGroff offers some clues:

The British claim the Martini was named after a late-nineteenth-century firearm of the same name, famous for its kick. The Martini & Rossi Vermouth company take credit for its name, since vermouth is the defining ingredient in the Martini, and they did market a bottled dry Martini around the world in the 1890s. Martini di Arma di Taggia, the principal bartender at the Knickerbocker Hotel in New York City at the turn of the century, is also given credit for the Martini. Mr. Di Taggia played an important role in the evolution of the drink when he married dry gin with dry vermouth (and orange bitters) for the first time, but there's more to the story. There was a cocktail in the 1850s called the Fancy Gin Cocktail that paired Old Tom Gin and orange curaçao. At the time the Fancy Gin became popular, Martini & Rossi Vermouth was not readily available in this country, the Martini and Henry rifle was still on the drawing board, and Martini di Arma di Taggia was just a small boy.

Cocktailian Gary "Gaz" Regan writes in The Joy of Mixology, "My research points toward the drink being a direct descendant of the Manhattan. Recipes for the Martini started to appear in the cocktail books in the late 1800s, and many of them were very similar, and sometimes identical, to recipes for the Martinez, a cocktail that appeared in print in the 1880s and was often described as 'a Manhattan, substituting gin for the whiskey.' Thus, theoretically at least, the Martinez was a variation on the Manhattan, and the Martini is, for all intents and purposes, a Martinez."

Got it?

Perhaps David Wondrich puts it best in his book Imbibe!: "In the absence of certainty, bullshit blooms." Wondrich uses a series of historic pros and cons to present an investigation of the Martini's origins. If you want the details, you should buy or borrow the book, as they are too extensive to include here. However, in short, Wondrich posits four possibilities:

1. The cocktail was created by famed bartender Jerry Thomas, who was working in San Francisco at the time (1860s) and who ostensibly created the drink for a traveler bound for the East Bay town Martinez (verdict: "extremely unlikely").
2. Martinez, Calif., bartender Julio Richelieu invented the drink in the 1870s "as change for a gold nugget a miner gave him," and the elixir became popular when Richelieu relocated his business to San Francisco's Market Street (verdict: "unlikely, and will remain so until [the town of] Martinez documents its claim"). 
3. The Martini was born in New York's Manhattan Club, invented by a New York judge named Randolph B. Martine in the mid-1880s (verdict: "possible, but not proven"). 
4. The Martini was created at New York's Turf Club—and there is a documented "Turf Club Cocktail" made of gin and vermouth published in 1884, the same year the first Martinez reference appears—but it seems to be illusory as the Turf Club Cocktail was also reportedly another name for a mix of whiskey, vermouth, and bitters (otherwise known as a Manhattan). 

"In a muddle like this, anything is possible," Wondrich concludes. Are we clear on this now?

For the record, I'm not a routine Martini drinker—I do enjoy Martinis, and I tend to like them fairly dry, but I am not particularly persnickety about the gin used (I like a variety of brands) or the dry vermouth. I certainly do not spend time specifying in detail how little vermouth to mix with the gin. More accurately, though, I order Martinis dry in order to minimize the chance of a poorly made drink. After all, how can you bungle chilled gin with a splash of dry vermouth? When in doubt about an establishment's ability to make a Manhattan (whiskey, sweet vermouth, bitters), I order a Martini.

So when I stumbled upon the "Original Martini" being offered at Workshop Kitchen + Bar in Palm Springs, California, I was intrigued by its ingredients of Plymouth Dry Gin, Dolin Dry Vermouth, Angostura Orange Bitters, and lemon oils. First, in the dry heat of the California desert, it sounded refreshing. Second, it presented itself as a true cocktail with bitters—something that seems to have been factored out of today's typical dry Martinis. I tend to appreciate the depth created by judicious application of vermouth and bitters, so I ordered it, and it was a revelation for me. Suddenly, I enjoyed a dry Martini in a true and honest way. So much so that I wanted to figure out the ratios of the ingredients so I could make it for myself.

The ingredients, here, are rather important—though, assuredly, you can probably approximate the taste with other brands. You can use other dry gins, or other French vermouths such as Noilly-Prat, but I advise staying with the Angostura Orange Bitters, as they are virtually clear and will no discolor the cocktail, allowing it to retain its pleasing crystal clarity."We don't know who poured the very first true Dry Martini—that is, Plymouth or London dry gin mixed with French vermouth and no syrup," writes Wondrich in his preamble to the recipe for the Dry Martini Cocktail in Imbibe! "Mixed like this, with half gin and half vermouth and a dash of orange bitters, the Martini is an entirely different drink from the one we know and, as many still believe, a superior one. For those who have learned the Dry Martini as a fiery chalice of unmixed tanglefoot, it will come as a revelation."

Knickerbocker Hotel, c. 1909

On their menu, Workshop Kitchen + Bar aligns their recipe for the "Original Martini" to that of "head bartender at the Knickerbocker Hotel in NYC, Martini di Arma di Taggia’s original recipe from 1911." According the The Nibble, some folks assert that di Taggia made his Martini for "America’s first billionaire, John D. Rockefeller, co-founder of the Standard Oil Company. True or not, it seems to be the first time the Martini made its way to Wall Street, and then Madison Avenue, where the 'three Martini lunch' was a standard among executives for decades. By the way, Rockefeller’s Martini was made with London Dry Gin, dry vermouth, bitters, lemon peel and one olive."

So there we are, come full circle, and none the wiser for it. Without further delay, I provide my version of the recipe for one of the better Martinis I have had the pleasure of tasting.

The Original Martini

• 3 oz Plymouth dry gin
• 1/2 oz Dolin dry vermouth
• 2 dashes Angostura Orange Bitters
• Oils from a few swaths of lemon peel
• Castelvetrano olive

Take a swath of lemon peel and gently spritz the citrus oil into a mixing glass. Discard the peel. Add the bitters, the gin, and the vermouth, and stir with ice until very cold (fifty brisk stirs). Strain the clear, cold concoction into the glass. Take another swath of lemon peel and spritz the oils across the surface of the drink (again discard the peel). Garnish with an olive (or a Tomolive), and enjoy while the drink is cold.

By the way, the reason one stirs a Martini is to help the clear liquors retain their brilliant clarity, whereas shaking it with ice creates a murky effervescence that is not quite as pleasing to the eye. Plus, as Gary Regan says, "the sight of a bartender lovingly stirring this drink for at least twenty to thirty seconds is something people enjoy." 

Bottoms up!

Jasmine Cocktail

I come to you, at the tail-end of May, with a cocktail that is certainly - and I hope you agree - well worth the wait. What has kept me, you may ask? Moving from an apartment of 12 years into a new house, after a year of scouring the market. A promotion at work which brought with it, unsurprisingly, more work. And, with the karma of this year's premature spring catching up with Boston in May, a patch of cool rainy days that did nothing to inspire explorations beyond the considerable comforts of the Manhattan. This weekend, however, has been lovely, and the warmth put me in a mood for gin and citrus.

So, I concocted a drink I had seen on the menu at the Hawthorne Bar in Kenmore Square (ironically, my last post came from a drink I had there too). It is called the Jasmine Cocktail and it was just the ticket after a long day working the commencement event at the college that employs me. It was not difficult to find a recipe online, thanks to the Imbibe site. I found that this particular version was adapted from Paul Harrington’s original recipe by Robert Hess; I will include both versions of the drink here - adaptation and original. Personally, I think the Hess version has a little more depth to it, but it is also a touch sweeter (and a tad bigger).

In the spirit of this site, which is not to invent new cocktails but to present those which I think are superlative, I offer the Jasmine Cocktail. A perfect list of ingredients for a warm evening: gin, Campari, Cointreau, lemon juice, all combining to refreshing effect: the bitter Campari is assuaged by the sweet Cointreau; both, in turn, are tarted up by the lemon, and it all works wonderfully with the gin, which pairs to delightful effect with Campari.

Make one for yourself today! Two versions follow; note the difference in ratios:

Jasmine Cocktail

As adapted by Robert Hess (my preferred):

• 1 1/2 oz gin
• 1 oz Cointreau
• 3/4 oz Campari
• 1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
• Lemon twist

As originated by Paul Harrington (drier and more tart):

• 1 1/2 oz gin
• 1/4 oz Cointreau
• 1/4 oz Campari
• 3/4 oz fresh lemon juice
• Lemon twist

Combine all ingredients and shake with ice. Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish.

Bottoms up!

The "Drew Barrymore" Cocktail

Photo courtesy of Dave Aaronoff.

Derived from the Du Barry Cocktail, this delightful sipper substitutes one ingredient and adds a little flame - in the process, transforming from doomed courtesan to pyrokinetic prodigy, hence the name "Drew Barrymore" (remember Firestarter?). This one was named (and flamed) by my friends Dave and Kerry, after they determined that the original Du Barry was lacking in some depth.

Speaking of the original Madame du Barry: in short, she was the last maîtresse-en-titre of French King Louis XV. She came up off the streets and ended up catering to the erotic needs of the aristocracy of France. Eventually she found herself servicing Louis XV, on the down-low, until she was officially presented to the Court at Versailles in April of 1769 as the king's maîtresse-en-titre. After the king's death in 1774, Mme du Barry was exiled. She eventually met her demise under the guillotine's undiscerning blade on December 8, 1793. Her last words, famously, were "Encore un moment!" (wait!).

So, why was the original called the Du Barry? Is it because it is basically a martini, done up with a bit of finery (Du Barry had grown accustomed to extravagant jewels and attire)? Is it because of the Pernod? While the Pernod absinthe distillery was not developed until 1797, this anise liqueur does represent the French element. Is it the gin? Typically associated with the English, could gin symbolize Du Barry's missed chance of survival? During a visit to Great Britain, the English tried to prevent her from returning to certain doom at the hands of the French Revolutionaries, who were bent on eradicating the aristocrats and royalty. Or perhaps it is the bitters - after all, her fate was a bitter one.

In this version, the original's thin slice of orange is now a flamed orange peel. Also, this calls for Peychaud's bitters - connecting again to the French element (in this case, New Orleans' French Quarter) - instead of Angostura bitters.

The Drew Barrymore Cocktail

• 1 1/2 oz gin
• 1/2 oz dry vermouth
• 2 dashes Peychaud's bitters
• 2 dashes Pernod
• Garnish: flamed orange peel

Shake all ingredients with ice, strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with a flamed orange peel.

The Peychaud's works very well with the anise flavors of the Pernod and the herbal nature of the gin. The flamed peel adds a delicious, complex burnt-sugar hint to the drink.

How to flame a peel: Due to the oils in their skins, lemon and orange peels can be flamed, creating a caramelized flavor in a drink. Be careful playing with fire in the vicinity of strong spirits, though. With a sharp knife, remove a thin section of peel from the exterior of a fresh orange or lemon, about an inch in length and perhaps three quarters of an inch wide, avoiding the pith. You want to end up with an oval of the peel. Holding a lit match or lighter in one hand, and the peel (between forefinger and thumb, exterior facing toward the drink) in the other, gently squeeze the peel so that the oils spritz through the flame and over the surface of the drink. You will see sparks if you do this correctly. In case you need a visual guide, here is a video showing the whole technique at bonappetit.com.

Bottoms up!

The Singapore Sling

In my effort to experience a wide range of classic cocktails without discrimination, I knew that the Singapore Sling was going to come up sometime.

When I think "Singapore Sling," my mind's eye conjures a picture of colonial outposts in Southeast Asia: mouldering rooms with lazy, rattan ceiling fans useless against the oppressive humidity; the unearthly sounds of screaming monkeys and the opium-vision of rainbow-plumaged birds careening beneath the dense jungle canopy; perhaps the sinister slither of a cobra beneath the mosquito-net-enclosed porch.

That's a bit rich (are there actually cobras there?), but you get the point. The Singapore Sling has a bit of exotic mystery around it. 

The Singapore Sling was created by a certain Mr. Ngiam Tong Boon, at Raffles Hotel in Singapore, in the early part of the twentieth century. The exact date can be argued, and other folks are better equipped to do that. Most sources agree it was invented before 1915. Some claim it was around as early as 1903. There is much debate around the authenticity of any Sling recipe. One claim to an "original" recipe is contradicted by another "original" recipe. The bigger issue is, as with all tropical umbrella drinks, time has seen the Sling debauched and debased; sweetened, weakened, and cheapened like a tart. It is hardly itself any more.

That said, there is no shortage of beguiling recipes out there. The one I am going to share is taken from a recipe in Imbibe Magazine, which also happens to have an article about the Sling as well, called "How the Sling was Slung." In that article, author David Wondrich writes:

With a 1903 reference to “pink slings for pale people,” we can begin to lay to rest the common argument that the reference to “dry cherry brandy” in Robert Vermiere’s 1922 Cocktails: How to Mix Them, the drink’s first appearance in a cocktail book, means that it should be made with a clear kirschwasser rather than a red liqueur such as Cherry Heering. Add the fact that the only cherry brandies that turn up in local liquor advertisements are the red Bols cherry brandy or the aforementioned Heering (at the time, Bols had a dry version of its regular cherry brandy, which was its standard version blended with Cognac).

Wondrich is arguing that the "dry cherry brandy" called for in a Singapore Sling is most likely the red Cherry Heering. On the other hand, author Jason Wilson suggests in a Washington Post article that the "cherry brandy" in the recipe is the clear kirschwasser - because Heering is not really a true brandy.

Who's right? Who cares? Both contenders have decent recipes that taste good; that aren't cheapened with pre-made mix; that remain refreshing and tall. I prefer the Sling made with Cherry Heering. I like its red hue, and its combination of tartness and sweetness. The Sling made with kirschwasser is drier and more floral, thanks to the brandy. Here's what I say: Try both!

Below is the recipe taken from Imbibe Magazine. You can find a variation at DrinkBoy.com, in which there is more gin and less liqueurs, plus pineapple juice. For the recipe with kirschwasser, see the Washington Post.


The Singapore Sling

1 oz London dry gin
1 oz Cherry Heering
1 oz Bénédictine
1 oz fresh lime juice
2 oz soda water
1-2 dashes Angostura Bitters


Take the first four ingredients and put them in a shaker with ice. Give it a quick shake and strain into a tall, ice-filled glass. Top it up with the soda water, and add the bitters as a float on top. Amazingly for an umbrella drink, this has no garnish. If you can't live with that, take a hunk of pineapple or a lime, and stick a plastic umbrella or sword in it, and use that (see illustration, left).

Bottoms up!

The Attention Cocktail

Here's an interesting recipe, using Rothman & Winter Crème de Violette and absinthe along with gin and dry vermouth. This was posted on the product page for Haus Alpenz importers. It's definitely worth a try, but how much you like it will depend on a few things: whether you enjoy the perfume-like flavor of the Crème de Violette, and whether you can tolerate the strong anise of the absinthe. And if you don't like gin, well, read no further.

By the way, if you're in the Boston vicinity and you're looking for an interesting selection of liqueurs, apéritifs, amari, and hard-to-find vermouths, check out the wine section at Dave's Fresh Pasta - located in Somerville's Davis Square.

Aside from the exotic flavor of this drink, you'll be pleased by the amazing violet hue it shows. It is a stunner, and will grab the attention of anyone in the room.

The Attention Cocktail

• 2 oz dry gin
• 1/4 oz Crème de Violette
• 1/4 oz absinthe (I use Kübler)
• 1/4 oz dry vermouth
• 2 dashes, Regan's Orange Bitters

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Serve with a lemon twist. Bottoms up.

Pegu Club Cocktail, 2 p.m. Easter Sunday

Pegu Club Cocktail

This morning I warned my wife that we would be trying a Pegu Club Cocktail in the afternoon, followed by a Leatherneck Cocktail in the evening. The first would be to celebrate the first real day of spring... I mean the first day without rain or rawness, the first day of spring in Boston to reach the 70s in temperature. The second would be our inaugural attempt at the concoction of whiskey, lime, and blue curacao that is called the "Leatherneck," and which is the most unreal blue color. But more on that drink here.

So, this morning we arose early and opened all the windows in our flat, before heading out for a walk in Arnold Arboretum, where the spring blossoms were exploding in clouds of white and pink, and the air was redolent with that hint of citrus and perfume that those first blooms possess... A scent one can only fall short of explaining, for how can words, in their relative permanence, capture the weightlessness of that exotic fragrance? It was warm outside, for the first time of the year, and residents of the neighborhood were out en masse, as were the more adventurous tourists.

We walked for a few hours through the Arboretum and absorbed the warm, pine- and blossom-scented air. I took in some sun, trying vainly to restore the fading color earned during a recent vacation in Hawaii (more on that later, when relating the magic of a true Mai Tai). And then we returned home, and I made my second-ever Pegu Club Cocktail.

The Pegu Club of Rangoon was located in the far reaches of Burma (Myanmar today) during the era of British colonialism. I am not sure if it still exists. Sequestered in their sweltering outpost, the British colonists took refuge in their club, and enjoyed their gins and tonic or "Pink Gins" (gin and Angostura bitters). Luckily for them, the Pegu Club devised the cocktail which ended up taking its name.

It is refreshing and lovely to look at, with the herbal nature of gin, the tart note of citrus, and the sweet hint of orange. The beauty of the Pegu Club is that you can change the nuance of the flavor with variations in the amount of bitters you use. I haven't really broken from the recipe (which is taken from Gary Regan's Joy of Mixology), but I have adjusted the use of bitters, and in doing so, have had a few distinctly unique experiences with the Pegu Club.

I used Rogue Spirit's Spruce Gin (from Oregon), but it is probably made more frequently with Bombay or Tanqueray (or any of the London dry gins); you could try it with Hendrick's, or your favorite dry gin, for various nuances. Perhaps somebody has tried it with genever or other styled gins. It would be an interesting experiment.

Pegu Club Cocktail

2 oz gin
1/2 oz fresh squeezed lime juice
1 oz Cointreau
2 generous dashes of Angostura bitters
2 modest dashes of Regan's orange bitters*

Shake it hard with ice. Strain it into a chilled cocktail glass. Gaze at the beautiful color. Clink glasses. Savor the flavor. I don't use a garnish but you could use a lime wheel or lime peel. "They" say grapefruit peel might be nice with this too. I'd say it is fine without any of those.

Bottoms up...

*Ah, the bitters. This is the element of any cocktail which truly makes all the difference. How many dashes? Which brand? I enjoy using Regan's orange bitters in this, two small dashes. It is a more bitter orange flavor than Fee Brothers orange bitters, in my humble opinion. I'd like to try it with Angostura orange bitters too. By the way, the Angostura bitters in this drink provide it's marvelous hue. A sunset color, sort of. Vary your Angostura and see what happens. I use two generous dashes in my version.