The Lure of the Martini

Close your eyes and say the word “Martini.” You can picture it, right? Tall, stemmed glass, coated with condensation or icy slivers, holding a perfectly clear liquid submerging an olive on a tiny spear.

The visual appeal of a Martini is just part of its enjoyment. The feel of the glass - sensual. The first sip - bliss. The last sip - a fond farewell.

What put me into this frame of mind? A book. Lent to me by Ted, a friend and fellow ad-guy since the mid-1960’s. The book: “The Martini: An Illustrated History of an American Classic,” by Barnaby Conrad III, published in 1995. I’m not going to do a book review here; only to say it’s written with a devastating sense of humor, a wealth of history and  information, and a generous display of photographs, illustrations, artwork, and New Yorker cartoons.

A promise: buy it or check it out or borrow it, read it, and you’ll be compelled to get a Martini, either in your kitchen, your bar, or the nearest restaurant or drinking establishment. Straight up, not on the rocks; not dirty, gin, not vodka; no fruit, just an olive. Or two.

So, on a Sunday evening in mid-May, my squatter Zelda and I, on our way home from the Comfort Cabin in Innsbrook, stopped at a really nice restaurant in Lake St. Louis. BC’s. I had just finished reading the book the night before, so the thought of an ice-cold Martini still lingered in my mind. We glanced at the menus - I knew I would order the gumbo, a dish they’re famous for. I hadn’t planned to get a drink first, but the image of a Martini still shimmered in my mind.

I believe that getting a Martini at a respectable restaurant with an experienced bartender surpasses the satisfaction one gets at home with a home-made drink, good though it may be.

For years - make that decades - my go-to pre-dinner cocktail had been a vodka Gibson. That’s a Martini made with a small pickled onion instead of an olive. And I preferred vodka to gin. Ted’s book turned me around. Gin. Olive. “Tradition,” as Tevye would sing. Good enough for Winston Churchill, Cary Grant, James Bond, Bette Davis. (Famous line: Bette at a party downs a Martini in two gulps and says, “Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.” The book calls it “one of the great lines in cinematic bitchdom.”)

Back to my meal. A perfectly gorgeous Martini arrived at our table. The waiter set it in front of me, carefully, as though setting a precious jewel. I didn’t touch it. I looked at it. I admired it. I imagined the taste, the ritual of a sip. Finally, I lifted the glass oh-so-slowly and took a small sip. Yep. Perfect. It was all I had imagined it would be.

I won’t bore you with the details of my finishing the Martini. I took my time, talked with Zelda, returned to my drink, watched the sun slip closer to the horizon, took a few bites of my gumbo, always returning to my drink. When you love something, you can’t leave it alone for too long.

I’ve taken the liberty of adding some photos to this piece…a few from the book, and the portrait I took of my Martini.

Beautiful, isn’t it? I knew you’d like it.

Cheers.