Martini And More -- These Specialty Drinks Step Beyond Clear Vodka And Gin

THE SPECIALTY martini has arrived, in strength and in bewildering numbers, which raises two questions:

What?

And why?

Call it humanity's inevitable urge to tinker with perfection, or attribute it to society's ongoing urge to re-do what is done. Maybe it's a new-found sophistication. Or, possibly, it's merely suicidal.

The "specialty" martini is a class of gin and/or vodka drinks composed largely of 1) clear, strong alcohol and a dash of 2) accenting liquor, liqueur or wine designed to augment, ameliorate or disguise ingredient 1).

They are increasingly fashionable. Increasingly expensive ($7 or $8 a drink is not uncommon).

I tend to think of them as martinis for people who don't like martinis, and there are adequate reasons for shunning martinis.

For one thing, unless you LIKE the taste and jolt of nearly unencumbered grain alcohol, why endure it?

And if you do like it, chances are you belong to one of two classes of Americans (the martini is a strictly American drink): successful, ebullient risk-takers. Or drunks.

True. I suspect that the new popularity of specialty martinis is largely due to the worrisome fact that, although they are quite strong, some of them taste seductively good, except to regular drinkers of classic martinis, and whatever their effects, they are undoubtedly legal.

Gin is an alcoholic herb tea.

It is water-diluted ethanol (80 proof is 40 percent alcohol; 90 proof is 45 percent, etc.) infused with herbs or botanicals (typically juniper berries; sometimes anise or caraway) for flavor.

Bombay, an imported British gin (of a group often called "London Dry"), for example, prints a 1761 recipe on its labels citing infusion by coriander seed, licorice, almonds, angelica and iris roots, cassia bark and the base flavor, juniper root.

The martini started out, probably in San Francisco in the 1860s, possibly as the Martinez. One ounce of gin was mixed with a glass of dry vermouth, two dashes of maraschino, a dash of bitters and a slice of lemon over ice.

Over time, the ratio of gin to vermouth reversed - dramatically.

Prior to World War II, four parts gin to one part vermouth was standard (the bitters and maraschino had disappeared along with the lemon slice). By the later 1940s, the ratio was 6 to 1, then 8 to 1. Now, frequently a few drops of vermouth are added almost as a token to pure gin and cracked ice.

In other words, the drink got "dryer," stiffer and, for many palates, harsher.

It was no wonder that a somewhat more delicate alternative became appealing.

A little over three years ago, the Seattle Martini Classic Challenge was started, sponsored by the Mayflower Park Hotel. The purpose was to give downtown Seattle bars, restaurant lounges and hotels an annual forum for their best martinis, both classic (gin or vodka) and specialty. I've been one of the contest's judges since its inception.

For the past three years, bartender Michael Vezzoni at the Garden Court of the Four Seasons Olympic Hotel swept the specialty category. (The classic martini winner for the past two years was bartender Michael Rule at Oliver's in the Mayflower.)

Vezzoni works behind a small, dramatically lit bar at one end of the soaring Garden Court chamber. His first entry, in 1992, a pale ice-blue creation called, appropriately, the Glacier Blue, made me realize the specialty martini probably had a future.

"The Glacier Blue is still our most popular specialty martini," he said. "We make a lot of them. We make a TON of them."

Glacier Blue Martini:

Made with almost military precision, the cocktail is made in an ice-filled martini mixing glass with: 1 1/4 ounces of Bombay Sapphire Gin, 1 1/4 ounces Stolichnaya Cristall Vodka, 5 drops of blue Curacao. Stir briskly 40 times and strain into an ice-cold martini glass. Garnish with a long twist of orange peel.

The following year Vezzoni got even more ornate. He invented the Olympic Gold Martini: 1 ounce Bombay Sapphire Gin, 1 1/2 ounces Absolut Citron Vodka, 1/3 ounce Canton (Chinese honey-ginger) Liqueur, 1/6 ounce Martell Cordon Bleu Cognac. Stir and serve as above with a twist of lemon.

In 1994, Vezzoni won with the Copper Illusion Martini: 1/4 ounce Cointreau, 1/4 ounce Campari, 2 1/2 ounces Beefeater's Gin. Stir vigorously as above and serve with a twist of orange peel.

The Illusion was a gorgeous cocktail, especially when backlit by the Garden Court's mirrored bar. But I didn't think the Campari worked, with either the gin or the orange-flavored Cointreau. The other judges, obviously, disagreed.

The most unusual "martini" in the specialty category was concocted last year by bar manager Mario Valiani and bartender Mike Beaver at the Metropolitan Grill (which looks and feels more like a 1940s bar than any place in town, with the possible exception of McRory's, or maybe the Sorrento Hotel).

Beaver broke all the rules with his Decadent Martini, which owed some of its genesis, perhaps, to the chocolate shake. It didn't taste much like a martini, but it undeniably tasted good.

"Every year we try to come up with something unusual for the Martini Challenge. Some of them are pretty nasty. At first, for the chocolate (Decadent) martini, we tried dipping the olive in chocolate. That didn't work at all. The brine came through - strongly. Then we tried one with Goldschlager, and had gold flecks in the martini. But the cinnamon in the liqueur wrecked the drink. The Decadent actually worked."

The Decadent Martini: 1 ounce Ketel One vodka, 1 ounce Tanqueray gin, a dash of Godiva chocolate liqueur. Stir, strain into a chilled martini glass. Garnish with an olive-shaped chocolate truffle (!), custom made for the Met by Fran's Chocolates.

Or I suppose you could simply stick in a Snickers bar as a swizzle stick.

I was surprised that I liked Mike Rule's Classic Martini best last year. Because it broke some rules that I used to consider vital to good martini making.

First it used very little vermouth. The recipe (which follows) calls for a quarter ounce of vermouth, but most of it is discarded after swirling around the martini shaker.

Second, it is shaken, not stirred - which, regardless of James Bond's preferences, is heresy. A stirred martini has a silky, almost sullen lethality. Wisping traces of oily vermouth curl through the drink like sinful memories.

Shaken?

The gin is bruised. The texture is almost like cheap champagne.

But Rule's drink was persuasive. He maintains that minute particles of ice permeate the cocktail and make it more lively to the taste buds - assuming you have some.

Oliver's Classic Martini: 1/4 ounce Cinzano dry vermouth, swirled into mixer and discarded. 1 1/2 ounces Bombay Sapphire gin or Stolichnaya Cristall vodka. Shake vigorously. Garnish with two vermouth-marinated olives.

Refrain from eating more than six additional olives.

John Hinterberger's restaurant and food columns appear in The Seattle Times in Sunday's Pacific Magazine and Friday's Tempo. Greg Gilbert is a Times photographer.