These are heady times for the Martini. The American born libation is once again the undisputed king of cocktails, atop the list of drinks that every bar and aspiring mixologist must excel at making. Ones trademark Martini needn’t be elaborate, just well conceived and skillfully executed.

That having been said, purists say many of the so-called Martinis popular today bear no resemblance to the original. Although tasty, they contend cocktails made with cream, juice, cordials and confectionary are interlopers infringing on the drink’s good name. Others suggest that ever-changing drinking patterns and consumer preferences have led to an evolving definition of what sort of libation can be called a Martini.

What then is a Martini? Ostensibly it’s the combination of gin and French (dry) vermouth. The vermouth dulls the bite of the gin, rendering the cocktail incalculably smooth and sublime. The other significant element of the cocktail’s anatomy is the garnish, which traditionally is a speared pair of green olives. More than mere window dressing, they imbue the cocktail with a salty, briny flavor.

However, as mixologists know all too well, the Martini is a highly individualized drink. Vary the ratio of vermouth to the gin and the resulting cocktail will taste markedly different. Certainly changing the base liquor from gin to vodka will a have a pronounced effect, as will serving the drink on the rocks versus the more traditional straight up. Even substituting pimento-stuffed green olives for ones stuffed with garlic or bleu cheese will dramatically alter the taste of the drink.

If change and individuality are at the heart of the Martini’s mystique, then where does one impose creative limitations? In other words, when is the drink so severely altered that it stops bearing resemblance to a Martini and begins to more resemble something entirely different?

For instance, what if the vermouth were replaced with an equally appealing aperitif, such as Lillet or Dubonnet? Is it still a Martini? In the novel Casino Royale, James Bond orders a dry Martini, “served in a deep champagne goblet and made with three measures of Gordon’s (gin), one of vodka, half a measure of Lillet. Shake it very well until it’s ice-cold, and then add a large, thin slice of lemon peel.”

Did Bond commit a social gaffe referring to the cocktail as a Martini? Not only does he substitute Lillet for vermouth, he also splits the base liquor between gin and vodka, which to this day is somewhat unconventional.

Finally, the most contentious point involves whether to stir or shake the drink. Both techniques have their supporters. The decision rests on which will best achieve the three primary objectives, the first of which is dropping the temperature of the drink to its proper serving temperature of 37-38˚F. The next is to physically mix the ingredients, and the third to add a measure of water, which softens the cocktail and facilitates the disparate ingredients to meld seamlessly.

Some argue that shaking a Martini with ice quickly achieves the objectives, as well as injecting lively, infinitesimally small air bubbles that enhance its mouth feel. Others insist that violently agitating a cocktail comprised solely of a spirit and an aperitif is overkill, and often results in an over-diluted drink.

In the final analysis, the decision hinges solely on the personal preference of the person receiving the cocktail, not that of the preparer. As to whether drinks like the Appletini, Chocolate Martini or Lindy’s Cheesecake Martini are really Martinis at all, the answer is no.

But why dally in the theoretical? If the cocktail looks and tastes delicious, and the guest holding the glass appears thoroughly satisfied with the result, does it really matter? —RP

November 2008