Recently, a public figure in my community mentioned that his nickname for me was “the muddler” due to the fact that over ten years ago I did a weekly cocktail segment on a local television station, and I seemed to muddle a lot of fruit in my drinks. There’s much to unload here, but before we go too deep let’s start with the obvious: the word “muddler” conjures up something incredibly weird, sinister, and frankly, embarrassing…seemingly in the same category as “peeper” or “streaker” - why would I EVER want to be called or referred to as the muddler? “Hi, I would like to introduce you to Case Dighero, the muddler…” My God - NO!. All said, I was mortified when he told me that, and ever since I’ve been trying to traverse the emotions and vulnerability attached to my unfortunate title.
Plus, I don’t really muddle much these days; certainly never when I’m drinking at home, and only rarely if I’m with a group who request something like the Kiwi Collins http://www.edibleculture.net/blog/kiwi-collins at a dinner or cocktail party.
As of late, I find myself stirring and sipping on dry martinis more then anything else; simple, straight spirit, sans muddling or any fruit, unless I opt for lemon peel instead of olives, which is almost never. The original martini, albeit fraught with some controversy in origin, rolled into the twentieth century as a concoction of London dry gin, dry vermouth, and a garnish of either olives or lemon; then subsequently, Americans manhandled the thing until it was bastardized to the point of it’s name being prefixed with fruit like apple or feigning sophistication by labeling it Cosmopolitan. Don’t get me wrong, they all have their place at the bar, especially if you’re loud, young and obnoxious - which is actually a good way to sometimes describe America. I digress.
My technique for the classic Dry Martini is simple, linear, but oh so satisfying. I like martinis several ways, including both gin and vodka independently, or even a 50/50 ratio of both spirits when the mood is just right…but at the end of a hard day, or the beginning of an even harder weekend, the essential Dry Martini is the one for me.
There’s sometimes a bit of confusion around the meaning behind “dry” martini; especially when you consider dry vermouth and dry gin are the quintessential ingredients; however, the true meaning of a dry martini is quite simple: the more dry the martini, the less vermouth is used. My preference is the baseline recipe that calls for a 3:1 ration of gin to vermouth, perhaps the most perfect way to start a dinner or long evening with friends.
Metro-billy Technique for the Perfect Dry Martini:
Martinis should always be stirred; no fruit, so no shaking. Stirring also prevents any bruising of the spirit - that’s actually a total and complete lie; gin can’t be bruised, but it sounds good at a cocktail party.
Be sure to always chill your coupe or martini glasses ahead of time; this gives the drink an opaque, chilly presentation and helps to keep it cool longer.
Pour 2¼ oz. gin and ¾ oz. vermouth into a mixing glass filled halfway with ice; stir for 25 seconds or until the exterior of the glass becomes chilly and cloudy. Usually, I roll a silver dollar over the knuckles of my left hand while I stir with my right, but feel free to do whatever you like here.
Snag one of your chilled glasses from the fridge, but be sure to handle by the stem - no fingerprints on the bulb of the glass, man.
Strain your drink into the glass and serve with three olives on a bamboo pick.
Now feel free to alter the proportions based on your own personal preference, but this version is tried, true, and requires NO MUDDLING! Sip responsibly - thump thump, sip sip!
