234 years ago today saw the troubled, uncertain birth of a nation. Fifty-six frightened men in Philadelphia rather presumptuously committed their two million fellow colonists to casting off the control of the mightiest nation on the planet. They knew they were doing something important, something big, but they had no idea just how big it would become.

The Fourth of July is a day to celebrate, and let me just say that one of the most appropriate possible ways to celebrate the greatness of our nation is with our national cuisine.
What’s that you say? America has no cuisine of its own? We steal the best of other cultures’ schools and enjoy them for ourselves? Hamburgers are not cuisine?
America does indeed have its own cuisine, its own culinary school of art and skill in which delicious dishes are expressed with creativity and style. Like other nations, we’ve exported our cuisine, and you can find it made all over the world, often at the highest levels. But it remains ours, and America remains the source of the best of the craft.

America’s cuisine is the cocktail.

A cuisine is a specific school of preparing food (I contend that drink is integral to food) that reflects the culture of the people who originate it, and the land where they live.
Cocktails reflect the endless inventive nature of Americans. They use the both the bewildering variety of ingredients available in our land, as well as ingredients from all around the world where we have gone as traders. Like so many American institutions, their success is predicated on industrial advances, most especially for cocktails, the mechanical production of ice.
Cocktails are America’s singular contribution to the bedrock element of humanity, the convivial table. The gestalt of liquors, liqueurs, juices, spices, herbs, and sugars is indeed our cuisine.

So on this Fourth of July, even if you aren’t American yourself (or perhaps even more so in that case) celebrate with a cocktail or three. Celebrate our fractious, dangerous, magnificent nation with a balanced, delicious example of our national craft. Make whatever you like, whatever appeals. Create your own, if you like. The genius of the cocktail, that makes it even more American, is that you can do that. It doesn’t take advanced schooling or apprenticeship to be able to make or create a good drink (though it can help). All it takes is patience and perspiration.

But I’ll leave you with a recipe suggestion, nonetheless. I’ve posted on it before, but it is a perfect Fourth of July drink. Born in the fetid swamps of our nation’s capital itself, the Gin Rickey is an overwhelming weapon in the fight against thirst. Moreover, emblematic of the nature of our cuisine as I’ve touched on here, it is easily tinkered with. Simply replace the gin with virtually any spirit that suits your fancy, or you find at hand, and it will likely still be delicious. Try one, or any other cocktail, and raise a toast to those fifty-six men in a hot, sticky hall in Philadelphia, preparing to hang together… lest they all hang separately.

Everybody has a Bloody Mary recipe. And everyone thinks that theirs is the best one on Earth.
Everybody also has an assho….

Hey!
Let’s not insult the readers, shall we? Not in the first line, anyway. Besides, what you say is not true. I do not have a Blood Mary recipe.

…!

Among the (many) holes in my cocktail repertoire, perhaps the largest is the Bloody Mary. I always avoided it due to its resemblance to the hated V8 Juice, and thus I find myself with no experience here at all. During a momentary need for escape from Tiki monomania last February, I ordered my first Bloody Mary in a bar and found it darned intriguing. I resolved to undertake the task of developing my own Bloody Mary recipe this Summer. That quest begins here.

The problem is that it is a daunting task. Recipes are highly individualized, and since I have drunk perhaps five Bloody Marys in total, I don’t have a lot of experience to give me leads. I began with the basic recipe, at least as given in the BarSmarts Wired course, which matches up pretty well with a number of my books. It gave me the basic elements of a Bloody Mary: Tomatoes, Vodka, citrus, and spices.
But what kind of cocktailian would I be if I didn’t want to go beyond, to concoct my own twist on this most personalized of classics?

Inspiration struck last week in the form of a date night with Maggi, down to M at Miranova to see Columbus’ best bartender, Cris Dehlavi. (No really, she was just voted Columbus’ Best Batender) With all the mutterings around the web about Aviation variations, I wanted to try her new Violet Sour, an Aviation made with lavender-infused Plymouth Gin.
However, the other new offering I tried was her take on the Bloody Mary, which she calls the Heirloom. The key feature with the Heirloom is that it uses tomato water instead of juice. This makes for a less in your face appearance and a smoother texture that really appeals to me. Cris also garnishes it in a way that is beyond my resources right now, but I’ll work on gilding the lily when I have a lily worth gilding. If you are in Columbus, go try her Heirloom.

Or you can stick with me and give my experiment a try to see if you like it. I think you will.

The easy but time-consuming part is to make some tomato water. There are all sorts of recipes out there on the web, with varying degrees of complexity. I chose to eschew any peppers or other produce for this first run, simply choosing six or seven of the best looking tomatoes I could find and quartering them. I put them in my Blendtec (the new larger carafe makes this work a lot better) and hit the smoothie button. Have I mentioned before how awesome this blender is? It takes about four seconds to go from this…

to this…

Lay your largest strainer over a glass bowl and line it with several layers of cheesecloth. Carefully pour your pureé into the cloth and let drip overnight.

The next morning, you can discard the pulp and you have a lightly cloudy, pale red, very fragrant liquid. The amount it yields will vary on the size and quality of your tomatoes, but you may get more than you were expecting the first time.
Rick Stutz tried this last fall, and recommends refrigerating during the draining, but I chose not to. Cold can do things to tomato flavors and textures that I like to avoid if possible. Cover overnight and live dangerously.
Interestingly, I could not find a commercial source of tomato water anywhere. If anyone knows of a brand of commercial stuff I could keep on standby for when I want a drink now, instead of tomorrow, I’d love to hear about it.

At last, I was ready to make my first shot at a decent, somewhat unique Bloody Mary. Here’s what I came up with, after a few iterations:

Just a quick note here.
Protect your basil from any errant May frosts, or those two measly leaves in the picture will be all you have left that aren’t ruined!

The result is a mildly spicy deliciousness. The texture is far lighter than with traditional Bloody Marys, but it still possesses a definite comforting richness in your mouth and gullet that would be helpful with a delicate constitution. That said, the transient nature of the tomato water means I’ll be looking for a juice version to have on stand by if I ever get around to having my first hangover….

Stick around over the Summer, and help me figure out how to say, Well, my damn Bloody Mary recipe is the best there is! Or you can post your own version in the comments and I’ll steal from it shamelessly down the road if it is any good at all.

Apparently the Secret Handshake™ is enjoying a resurgence of interest ’round the Cocktailosphere these days. Dietsch weighs in over at A Dash of Bitters with a proposed improvement on the Classic Recipe.

The popular perception of Tiki drinks is that they are all rum all the time. While rum is certainly the central spirit to the movement, the Ancient Tiki Masters did not hew to it exclusively. Today’s Tiki drink is a gin-based concoction originated by Trader Vic.

More sour than your average Tiki drink, the Pogo Stick is nonetheless delicious. And it is the first gin drink of any genre I’ve encountered that uses a blender.
The name comes from the alternate garnish option that the Trader came up with. As I said, this drink is brighter in flavor than most Tiki concoctions, but rather than just hit it with some simple syrup, he would set a rock candy swizzle stick next to it when serving. It you want it sweeter, just stir the drink with the stick. The longer you stir, the sweeter it gets. It’s a cool idea, and I hope to find time to experiment more with it later this month. For my taste, this drink is delicious as is, without the stick, but for many, I can definitely see the appeal.

Welcome to Not Martha readers! It is Tiki Month here at the Pegu Blog, so please look around while you’re here!

From: Trader Vic’s Tiki Party!

There is a Secret Handshake™ among the cocktailian elite of the 21st Century. If you see anyone displaying proficiency with it, you know they are members of the Lodge. And should you employ it yourself, other cocktailians will know you are conversant in the mysteries.
This handshake is the Aviation Cocktail.

There are a number of reasons that this drink is so appealing to drink wonks.

• First, it is delicious. Delicate and balanced, but potent, the Aviation provides a lot to think about while you enjoy it.
• Second, it’s a classic. At nearly a hundred years old, the concoction dates back to the golden age of cocktails.
• Third, it has snob/wonk appeal. There are unconventional and exotic ingredients in the Aviation. And nothing appeals more to the modern cocktailian than the opportunity to employ such ingredients. Just drop in for any TDN to behold the truth of my words.
• Fourth, it is gorgeous. The pale violet color is appealing on its own, and makes a great frame for the dark redness of the nestled cherry.

You know, you could just cut all the purple prose, and tell us how to make the drink….

Oh very well. I just wanted to flaunt my knowledge of the Secret Handshake™, so all the cool kids will know that I’m an initiate.
And har har. Purple prose. Very cute. You can be replaced, you know.
Anyway, here is how I make an Aviation:

It is a simple cocktail to make, but a hard one for which to acquire the ingredients. Luxardo is reasonably available, even in Ohio, but you will have to look in a specialty store for it. Creme de Violette was unavailable anywhere on Earth for decades, and its successful reappearance on the market was one of the early indicators that our modern cocktail renaissance had commercial legs. You can make the recipe without the Creme de Violette, but it won’t be purple, it won’t be quite as good, and as far as I’m concerned, it won’t really be an Aviation.
Lastly, there is the gin to consider. The occasion for my writing this post was the Liquor Fairy’s arrival with a bottle of Aviation Gin, along with a bottle of Krogstad Aquavit. Aviation is a brand I had heard of all over the place, but had never personally encountered before, but I am now thoroughly hooked. I’m hooked on it in general, but for Aviation Cocktail’s in particular, which should hardly be a surprise.

Aviation Gin was actually named after the Aviation Cocktail. This is a tribute to the brand’s uniquely cocktailian heritage, as it was developed through a partnership between craft distillers and a mixologist.
My usual process when testing a new gin is usually to first make a Pegu… hey, it’s what I do. But here I made an exception and instead whipped up an Aviation the first evening the bottle arrived.
This is a delicious gin, folks.
House Spirits Distilling deliberately downplays the juniper in Aviation. The juniper is still the lead, but it lets the other kids speak too. The resulting spirit would likely be a lot more accessible for those drinkers who are a bit leery of gin, or are outright gin virgins. For the gin evangelists out there, Aviation Gin is a powerful preaching tool. I found it particularly great with the Aviation Cocktail because the broader, more complex and less powerful taste of the gin lets the maraschino and creme de violette relax, rather than working for attention.
Aviation bills itself as a New Western Dry Gin. This is intended to indicate that it is a style distinct from London Dry or Plymouth. Another (very different) example of such a gin would probably be Hendrick’s. If House Spirits and other makers of such gins want this new appellation to take hold, they will have to produce a better description that they currently have. You can read it at this link (PDF), since it is too long for me to reasonably blockquote here. This is one of its problems, of course. It is also chatty, colloquial, and indefinite.

Sounds like you….

Exactly. But I’ll take a shot at writing a definition that doesn’t sound like I wrote it. We’ll see what people think.

New Western Dry Gin
New Western Dry Gins are produced through the redistillation of neutral spirits with a variety of botanical elements, chief of which is juniper. New Western gins are distinguished from London Dry in that the supporting botanicals form an ensemble with the defining juniper, rather than a supporting cast.

Regardless, the ensemble in Aviation Gin puts on a very enjoyable performance. And for the record, it makes a delicious Pegu as well. An Aviation Gin Pegu is lighter and less bracing than one made with a Bombay Sapphire or Beefeater’s. I’d suggest it as a good choice of gin for a Pegu with dinner.

The Liquor Fairy Was Here!
The following product, Aviation Gin was recently provided to me as promotional consideration to encourage me to discuss it.
For a complete disclosure of my policies regarding promotional items and all other financial interests, please click this link, or follow the Liquor Fairy link in the header of this page.

By the way, should you be interested in learning about the lore of the class of cocktails known as the Rickey, you can read my latest post over at the Mixosoleum, entitled Hey, Rickey!

The Aviation is a great drink to serve to people who are fond of telling you “I don’t like gin.” It tends to go down far better than a slap upside their head as you yell, “Well, it’s about time you learned to like it, you . . .”
—Gary Regan

This is from Gary’s latest article, Ten Essential Cocktails You Can Make at Home, in SFGate. Good wisdom, but it goes even better when applied to the Pegu!

I wrote this post before reading the comments. As usual with cocktail articles on SFGate, there are some stunningly, entertainingly stupid things said in the comments that need, um, reasoned correction. Fly my winged monkeys! Fly!

Since this is a quote post, I’ll include my favorite two here:

Yikes, where’d you dig up these trashy oldies?

and this gem, from someone who clearly hasn’t the slightest f’n idea who the hell he is dealing with:

The author obviously does not know how to make a martini. If you included this much dry vermouth in a martini to anyone who “knows” the drink, it would be rejected.

Beefeater has a new product, called Beefeater 24, which is rolling out here in United States pretty much as I write this. It does not appear that the State of Ohio in its infinite wisdom has added 24 to its May 2009 price list, so I guess the good news is that there unaccountably remains room for improvement in my state’s available liquor offerings. However, the good folks at Beefeater had sufficient faith in their product to submit two bottles to the harsh and demanding standards of the Pegu Blog for review.
Let’s start with the bottle. The silhouette has the same square shape of the classic Beefeater bottle, and the color scheme is the same red and black and gold. But the 24 bottle is embossed all over with lovely designs that suggest the botanicals of gin. The label is smaller and missing the eponymous protector of the Tower of London. The square divot under the bottle is colored a brilliant red and practically seems to glow, even when not lit from underneath. It is a gorgeous bottle, and I stuck one up on my display pillar, rather than stowing it down in the cabinet.
The 24 in Beefeater 24 comes from an additional step in their distilling process. They first steep the aromatics to be used in the base spirits for 24 hours before redistilling them in the more traditional gin fashion. The blend of aromatics is also modified. Distiller Desmond Payne takes his foot off the juniper pedal a tad, while adding in a touch of tea. The idea, I believe, is to produce a fuller, more integrated set of flavors.
So, do they succeed?
Yes. On several levels.
Beefeater 24 is a rich, delicious gin that succeeds in having both big flavor and a mild edge in the same bottle. From the pricing, Beefeater seems to want 24 to compete heads up with Tank Ten and Sapphire as a premium, mainline gin. From the taste, I’d say they will succeed. Unlike a lot of other recently introduced premium gins, 24 is a gin first and foremost. Products like Hendrick’s and Whitley Neill, both of which I love and buy regularly, are oddball gins. Whether you call them infused (perhaps a redundancy) or exotics, they are special purpose liquors, and you can’t count on them working in just any general gin recipe you pull from a hat.
I could tell from the beginning that 24 would be the kind of gin that you can safely, indeed happily, apply to any recipe that just says gin. My experiments with it from the first try (and I have enjoyed those experiments) have borne out this assumption. While some with better palates than me can identify them, to me the teas in the 24 do not announce themselves as, Hey! We’ve got some tea in here! They seem to me to simply enhance the essential gin-ness of the liquor. But not the ginny-ness, if you understand me. If you don’t I can’t figure out a better way to say it.
Of course, for me the most important test of any gin is how it works in a Pegu, and how it compares to my baseline favorite in that cocktail, Bombay Sapphire. 24 is a great Pegu gin. The Pegu rubs a lot of the edges off any gin, of course, which gives you a better feel for the subtler flavors, if any, the gin you are using brings to the table. A Sapphire Pegu is the bigger, more floral of the two, while the 24 Pegu is crisper, more citrusy, and just plain fresh. It has been forever since I’ve posted the basic Pegu recipe here, so I’ll use the occasion of reviewing this super gin to correct that:

If Pegus aren’t your thing, consider getting treatment. But in the mean time, I can tell you that the 24 has been very successful for me in such varied cocktails as the absinthe heavy version of the Corpse Reviver #2, my own berry-rific Blue Beetle #2, and the classic Vesper. Also, while I don’t much drink the basic Martini myself, I can report that a guest of mine this weekend who has been a Tanqueray Ten fan since its introduction was very taken with the 24 Martini I served her.
The general conclusion is this: Beefeater 24 will absolutely replace basic Beefeater as my go to gin when I need a plain (in the best sense of that word) gin. It is a worthy competitor to Bombay Sapphire, and I would suggest that once 24 is available where you are, you should keep it on hand as part of your arsenal of essentials.

I’ve been fascinated for a while with the concept of the four bedrock drinks of cocktailia. Each is based on one of the four foundation spirits upon which classic drinking lore is laid: Gin, Bourbon, Rum, and Brandy. I refer to these cocktails as The Four Gospels. I’m not sure if I made this up, or if I read it elsewhere. I suspect I read it elsewhere, as I ain’t that clever usually.
This post is about the Gospel of Gin, the troublesome Martini.
If there is a Gospel of Gospels, it is the Martini. It is an order of magnitude more popular the the other three Gospels combined. That triangular glass, with its crystal clear contents and light frost on the outside is the icon of cool in cocktails, perhaps the icon of cool, period. The very name, Martini, is almost synonymous in the laity’s mind with the very concept of cocktail. And that is the challenge it presents.
If the Manhattan has changed the least from the time of its invention, the Martini has changed the most. Its exact origins are shrouded in significant mystery. Success has many fathers. Given the Martini’s success, it is not surprising that it mother appeared to have gotten around a bit. Trying to figure out the truth is like watching the first half of Mama Mia. All we know for sure is that it was invented in the United States, and the first one mixed would be unrecognizable to the average modern Martini drinker.
Warning, do not watch the following video if you are susceptible to earworms.

Let us consider a pretty representative base Martini recipe, as it has been slowly codified over time:

There you go. Possibly the simplest, most elegant cocktail recipe there is. The resulting drink is complex, flavorful, and visually stunning in its elegant simplicity. There is a reason that this is the most popular cocktail in history.
Quality of gin in a Martini is of paramount importance. Like all the Gospels, it lovingly features all the magic of its base spirit. If you use bad gin, it will lovingly feature the badness, so don’t go there. Likewise, the vermouth plays an important role in a properly made Martini. Though some find huge variations in quality of various brands, most drinkers will be happy with any reasonable vermouth… as long as it is fresh. Unlike gin and other liquors, Vermouth is a wine. It does go bad once opened, not as quickly as regular wine, but it does get flat and stale. For the home bar, you should buy your vermouth in small bottles, and store them in the refrigerator.
Like the Daiquiri, the Martini can be subjected to a fair amount of interpretation and still be considered the gospel truth. Unlike the Daiquiri, these modifications are less about the players, and more about how they are arranged.
The first main variant is the garnish. The classic image of the Martini has that lovely green olive, nestled at the bottom of the glass, or impaled upon an artistic skewer. It imparts a little briny taste to the drink, especially at the end, as well as providing a tasty snack mid drink, for those who can stomach the darn things. But of equal canonical legitimacy is the long twist of lemon. This is my favorite, by the way. The lemon oil adds a brighter, fresher accent to the drink than the olive brine. And if you or your bartender have some skill with the knife, the long, luxurious, curling peel, nestled in the glass or crawling over the edge, provides a sophisticated yet whimsical image. Um, don’t do both. It won’t taste or look right.
The next question regards bitters: Do you add them? I do, but opinion is divided. A few drops or even a good dash of bitters, usually orange but Angostura works too, will add another harmonious dimension to this already complex drink. It does add a bit to the degree of difficulty, however. Not in making, but in drinking. It is probably better to omit the bitters for those who are just beginning to plumb the depth of this cocktail.
Lastly, you may play with the ratio of gin to vermouth. I like four to one, but that is truly just me. It should be somewhere from 2-1 (almost no one goes this far anymore), to seven or eight to one. The higher the ratio of gin to vermouth, the dryer your Martini is considered, and the more expensive and high quality your gin had better damn well be.
Beyond that, we start to get into the heresies of the Martini, which are legion.
We begin with the the question of dryness. Many bars, bartenders, and home mixers today will simply omit the vermouth in a misguided quest for dryness. A Martini with all gin and no vermouth is not a Martini. It is, get this, a glass of cold gin. No one in their right mind goes around calling for a round of shots of gin. Yet we see people all the time ordering and consuming giant, oversized shots of gin and calling them Martinis. Do. Not. Do. This.
But beyond that are the self-deluding heretics that subscribe to the wash method, or the super high ratio. The wash is simply rinsing the glass or the ice with vermouth and pouring off whatever does not stick. You get similar results with the super high ratio method, where you creep into the 15-1 range. These drinks all should be more properly called Montgomerys. This arrangement is named for British field marshal Montgomery, who was known to the Americans as the leader who would not attack without at least a 15-1 advantage in troops, and known to the French as the most crazy brave leader in military history…. Sadly, today you are more likely to get a Montgomery than a Martini in most places unless you take your bartender firmly in hand.
Next we have are those drinkers who order up a Martini with five, seven, or more olives. This is not a Martini. It’s a meal.
And some folks like their Martinis on the rocks. No. You know, I suppose that for some tastes…. No. Just no.
The heresies only get bigger from here folks. Here’s a phrase you’ve heard before: Shaken, not stirred. Bond may have made the Martini cool (or more likely the Martini made Bond cool), but this is not the right way to make a Martini. While I do not buy the idea that shaking bruises gin, at least one source that I respect states that shaking will bruise the vermouth. (Not using vermouth? Heretic!)
More to the point, shaking will cloud your Martini, leaving bubbles and shards of ice to mar its crystalline perfection. I am in general a shaking proponent for most drinks, craving the greater coldness you usually get, but for the Martini it is better to take the time (a lot of time) to properly chill the drink with gentle stirring.
An even bigger heresy than that of shaking is the heresy of vodka. Before we go a step further, allow me to raise my hand and state for the Inquisition that, My name is Doug, and I’m a Vodka Martini heretic. A Vodka Martini (note the capitalization?) is a different drink. It is not a Martini, folks! It is a much less challenging, more accessible, less interesting, and currently more popular cocktail. Here’s the difference between the two in pictures:

Imagine if you will the Vodka Martini (left), versus the (gin) Martini (right)

Worth a thousand words, no?
Lastly, we come to the greatest heresy of all, the one that infects otherwise great bars all across the land. Dark are the times, and fear walks among the women and children. I speak of the Cosmopolitan Martini, or the Appletini, or the Blueberry Mango Martini, or any of a hundred thousand other concoctions, most made with vodka, and all served in a Martini glass.
Stop! Stop right there, or you had best expect the Spanish Inquisition.
These drinks are not Martinis. Many of them can only charitably be called cocktails. The definition of Martini is in no way, shape, or form, an alcoholic beverage served ‘up’ in a triangular cross-sectioned glass. The glass itself is a cocktail glass, not a Martini glass. Even if it has a real Martini in it, it is not a Martini glass.
Pant. Pant. Pant. Whew, I’m worn out from all the righteous indignation!
The Martini is a magnificent cocktail. A cocktail to which modern cocktail culture, most drinks, and frankly most bars, owe their existence. It deserves respect and knowledge. It isn’t for everyone. The last thing that distinguishes Martinis is how many people really don’t like them, or think they don’t. I really don’t prefer them myself (see confession above). But they are a marvelous cocktail, filled with history, and the best way to showcase most fine gins. Treat them well.

Thus endeth Martini, The Book of Gin.
Here are the other posts here relating to the Four Gospels of the Cocktail:
The Daiquiri, The Book of Rum
The Manhattan, The Book of Whiskey
The Sidecar, The Book of Brandy

I know it is Tiki Month, but I think the following old magazine article which is circulating once again is a refreshing and amusing word from the Strict Constructionist wing of Cocktailia. The writer is a well-known political figure and speaks of other such critters in the piece. I’m redacting any specifics for two reasons:

• Since it’s Tiki Month, I’ve got lots of overproof booze lying around, and a flame war could have devastating consequences.
• With no names named, you can see how much of this advice will apply to you, yes, you personally, in any circumstance where your guy or gal is not the one currently running the country (or your office) (or your team).

The subject is the Martini. Let us start with its value:

How can we forget, how can we take the edge off our pain…? Different strategies will occur, but one of the most promising is the judicious use of alcohol. One cannot, of course, begin the forgetting process at breakfast and continue through the day, since that would have devastating effects on one’s career, marriage, and liver. The tactic is definitely recommended, however, for the early evening hours when, as you zap around the TV channels, you are all too likely to come without warning upon (the news). That can be a nasty shock to your nervous system. If you have not prepared yourself in advance, it will be too late to avoid the damage and you will totter off to bed to lie awake staring into the dark or to toss fitfully dreaming of (the horror). Just the right amount of alcohol taken at the right time will, however, enable you to see the humor in (your situation), and to fall asleep congratulating yourself on having risen above despair.

See? Universal truth.
Beyond this point, it gets a bit sticky. There is definitely room for disagreement. Our intrepid author dismisses wine as an acceptable antidote, and rejects Bourbon and Scotch as too sweet and insufficiently bracing. I’m not sure I agree. If the President just signed a particularly egregious bill, or that moron of a manager sent the runner from second with nobody out in the bottom of the ninth, Brown Liquor is the only remedy. Seriously. Oh, and he acts as if beer does not exist. His choice was the Dry Martini. It is valuable for us to remember there was a day, not so long ago, where the Martini was an endangered species, and this piece was written in that period.
I refer to the author as a strict constructionist because of his take on the basic nature of the Godfather of Cocktails:

Well, then, what is the description of the proper, indeed the perfect, martini? There is in this matter, as on every serious subject, a number of heresies. In the first place, a drink made with vodka is not a martini. A martini means gin. Second, olives are to be eschewed, except by people who think a martini is a type of salad.

Finally, the martini must be straight up. I recall once seeing a martini “on the rocks” and murmuring, “Oh, the horror, the horror!” Insofar as “on the rocks” indicates a form of bankruptcy, it is a perfectly accurate description of gin and vermouth on ice. There should be some small amount of water in a martini (that is inevitable in the chilling process and makes the drink smoother), but when it is served on the rocks, the amount of water keeps increasing, depriving the martini of its special tang.

As he goes on toward greater and greater detail, I find more to quibble with. For someone so sure of themselves, he is remarkably confused as to the proper ratio of vermouth, and he gets the composition and history of the Montgomery a bit muddled. He also commits the ultimate heresy of stating that a martini should be sipped slowly, over time. A drink must be consumed swiftly, while it is laughing at you, no?
I’ll offer a hat tip and a smackdown to Gabriel Malor, a co-blogger over at Ace of Spades, who brought this to my attention. (Gabriel is a lawyer incidentally, and while I don’t usually hold that against him, the earthquake that struck while he was taking the Bar really should have told him something.) He criticizes our intrepid author’s choice of gins. Beefeater is a good mixing gin, Gabriel, but don’t go putting it above Sapphire for martinis. Or in general, for that matter. You don’t want that I should sick your soul-brother in snark upon you….