Why Martinis? Why Not.

The What, Where, When, Why, and How

By Margot Mayer

Tom Gregg, Two Lemons and Martini, Oil on Panel

Popular drinks come and go. The Cosmos and Seabreezes of yesteryear have lost their appeal and are only available at hotel bars hidden away on strange avenues in the upper 40s and 50s in Manhattan. Now the drinks of the moment are anything that substitutes tequila for mezcal and natural wines in lieu of traditional harvesting methods.

My tried and true drink will always be an extra dirty martini, hold the vermouth, with three olives. It’s an evergreen cocktail that pairs beautifully with seafood during the summer and meat centric dishes during the winter. Here I explore the essential what, where, when, why, and the how of the Martini.

The What

There’s nothing quite like a Martini to take the edge off of the day. The feeling of the glass in your hand, the stir stick to play with, and above all the excuse to eat alcohol-infused olives are all reasons that I love a Martini. Different camps disagree about the proper way to make a Martini. Shaken vs. Stirred, Up versus Down, Vermouth or No, Gin versus Vodka, Neat vs Dirty, Sweet vs Dry, etc. It’s a cool calculating drink, the kind that screams cunt, and is not for the faint of heart. Martini’s can be dangerous, anymore than three and you are really in for it. Either a classic vom or perhaps a near fatal drunk dial? One is even sufficient if you haven’t had quite enough to eat beforehand.

“Eventually, I managed to put my drink order through but what arrived at my table was an extra dry, not at all dirty, vodka martini that ended up giving me a searing headache and came with absolutely no olives! It tasted like a colonic from hell and was the worst martini I’ve ever had.”

The Where

There are several places around the city where you can get a good martini, a range of spots from fancy (Bemelman’s Bar) to classic (Patroon) to more hip places (Walter Foods). The great thing about a Martini is that there isn’t much of a difference between an expensive drink or a cheap one. The Martini transcends cost because it doesn’t require that many ingredients and it doesn’t take much for it to turn out excellent. As an example, this summer I had a delicious Martini for $10 on the outskirts of New London in Connecticut at an old-school pizzeria. On a scale of 1, drain fluid, to 10, divine, this ranked at a solid 7. The ratio of olive juice to vodka was tipped favorably in the olive juice’s direction, as I prefer, and the olives themselves, four of them since it had been a terrible week, were plump and perfectly briney. While the drink lost points for being served in a tumbler, it really found its footing when served with the anchovy pizza I ordered. It was actually better than a martini I had ordered at Forlini’s, the noted watering hole for the city’s elite old school set of legal cum Instagram crowd. In part, I am to blame for this because I completely fumbled my drink order. When the waiter asked me if I wanted my drink Up or down? I stared blankly at him and lost complete credibility with my fellow dinner companions. Eventually, I managed to put my drink order through but what arrived at my table was an extra dry, not at all dirty, vodka martini that ended up giving me a searing headache and came with absolutely no olives! It tasted like a colonic from hell and was the worst martini I’ve ever had. But, I knew it was completely my own fault. I spent the rest of dinner taking microscopic sips and doing my best not to grimace. A crucial lesson was learned that day: know how to order your drink!

The When and the Why

This past week I’ve discovered what I would choose as my last meal on Earth. I refer to it as the Divorcee’s dinner and I recently had it in the most unlikely of places. I found myself, as I somehow too often do, on the UES with an intense craving. After yet another week of unemployment and bleak future prospects, it seemed like the perfect occasion to treat myself. I longed for a boost and a taste of the good life. I felt deep in my soul that the only meal that would satiate me was oysters, french fries, and a martini. While some restaurants had two out of the three, martini and fries or oysters and fries, I could not accept a meal with alcohol but no carbs or food without the proper drink. I was shocked at how hard it was to find the trifecta! Because I am unemployed, price was a significant factor. I wanted to go somewhere that would not be astronomically expensive but not so inexpensive that I would fear for the aftermath. By some stroke of luck, I stumbled upon what, in my opinion, must be the best kept secret in all of Manhattan. A $20 Martini special with a dozen Blue Point Oysters on the half shell at Eats (at the corner of 75th and Lexington Ave). Belgian style fries may be ordered a la carte but that’s a small price to pay for hitting the absolute trifecta of the Divorcee’s Dinner.

Now before you bemoan the name of this beloved meal, let me get one thing straight. Divorcee is a term being used in the affirmative, referring to an elite, sophisticated specimen who’s entered their prime. Divorcees are survivors who have endured all that life, and men, have to throw at them and have managed to soldier on. Always intelligent, they often times have the body to strength ratio of an ant, meaning they are small nimble beings with immense strength, often from years of pilates, barre, and tolerating an unsatisfactory partner. They’ve found their signature hair cut and have identified all of their food allergies. They are enlightened and no longer care about society’s expectations. In short, they are not to be fucked around with. Who wouldn’t want to emulate that? As I sat at Eats on the UES, sipping my martini and shooting back oysters, I felt my dignity, slowly if not temporarily returning to me. I was wearing an outfit that Nancy Meyer’s would approve of, linen blouse and shorts with sandals. And as I looked across the street, at a seventy year old woman dining alfresco at Orsay, wearing sunglasses that covered nearly her entire face, I felt an immediate kinship to her and imagined her lifting her glass in my direction.

After I paid the bill, I proceeded to take the hour plus journey from the Q to the J at Canal St back to my apartment in Bushwick. To complete the high low spirit of the day, I scrounged together some pocket change to buy a packet of peanut M&Ms from my neighborhood bodega. Honestly, it was the perfect dessert to top off my dinner.

In tough times, it is important to remember that you can live small without being made to feel small. A martini, though associated with excess, is altogether very accessible and affordable. Both in its ingredients and its aesthetic, it has the ability to lift one’s spirits without draining one’s bank account. Calm cool and collected, it is imbued with special powers and strong spirits to uplift you.

The How

Margot’s Perfect At Home Martini Recipe

3 Ozs Vodka, Tito’s is Fine, Grey Goose is Preferred

4 Large Cocktail Olives

5 Teaspoons of Olive Brine

You will need ice, a cocktail shaker and strainer, chilled martini glass and a cocktail pick, toothpick if necessary

The best thing about a Martini is just how easy it is to make one for yourself at home.