Drink Gin, Dammit

Photo: Orfield Photography on flickr

By Mister Jiggers

I'm depressed. Have you ever listened to Franz Liszt's Sonetto #104? It will kill you and, with great fortune, bring you slowly, vibrantly back to life - all in a six-minute journey on a Steinway. It washes away the pain, quietly, effectively, with a moderate smile. It tastes good. Like a dry martini. And by dry, I am most certainly referring to Gin with a healthy dose (far more than a splash) of Vermouth. It makes perfect sense. You can assume that in its origins a Dry Martini surely referred to MORE dry vermouth. How we ever reached such a period of throwing it out after an unapologetic rinse or mist from an acrid spray can is inconceivable.

Without further ranting I will tell you that a proper martini is one of the great wonders. It holds culinary standards aloft high as the glories of a perfectly roasted leg of lamb or the rewards of homemade strawberry pie.

I ignore the V-word. If you don't know what I am talking about all the better. Go. Get some Plymouth or Beefeater and try the damdest thing around. 2 ½ oz of Gin, ½ oz of Dry Vermouth (try Noilly Prat) and, if you'd like, a dash of orange bitters. Stir over ice 'till the damn thing is colder than you can imagine cold could ever be and strain into a chilled glass. Garnish with a green olive. A fresh lemon twist is different but delightfully bright and refreshing. Tell me it's not the most satisfying thing you have tasted all summer.

I'm depressed. No, it's not the economy (thank god for all of the tourists from Europe). It's not the election (I choose to ignore news about the campaigns until October). It's simply that there are not more good martinis.

Mmmmmmartini. Say it. 

Try it.

It's tasty.

(I promise.)

Ed. note: Can't be bothered to make your own? The folks at Pegu Club can help.