Martini fans can (and will) debate at length what makes up the “perfect Martini.” There are many angles on the topic—gin or vodka, olive or twist, dry or dirty, and so on.
I have my own personal preference, and so when I order a Martini, I always ask for it this way: “Very cold and very dry, two olives, Grey Goose (or Stoli).” I like to see that beautiful, glacial-looking glass coming toward me with a light frosting of ice and a couple of olives resting near the bottom. I may be imagining it, but I think I can tell just by looking at my Martini whether or not the bartender nailed it. For a simple drink, there sure seem to be many ways to get it wrong.
While my husband and I enjoy Martinis, we really don’t drink them very often. I usually have the stuff at home to make them, but in spite my exacting instructions for bartenders, I fail to impress myself with my own spin on the Martini. And the darned things are so strong, you have to have a whole plan for dealing with the situation after you drink one at a bar or restaurant. So maybe, in addition to how it tastes, the perfect Martini is defined by the surrounding circumstances–everything has to be just right.
Last Saturday, my husband and I achieved that perfect alignment of situation and opportunity. We took care of some errands and other business that morning, but after our workout, we found ourselves relaxing in the hot tub at the gym, talking about how one year ago we planned a Valentine’s ski trip in that same spa.
Afterwards, we showered, dressed, and made plans to see a movie. But first, we wanted to grab a bite to eat at someplace nice yet within budget—we have travel and other expenses in the pipeline–and I knew just the place.
We headed south on the Dallas Tollway to Macguire’s and as we walked toward the door, I thought/said, “Martini!” Ben was immediately on board with the idea.
It had been a while since we went to Macguire’s. I’ve always liked their elegant, wood-paneled bar with its contemporary furnishings and muted lighting. They have a good selection of appetizers, including wonderful beef crostini, and we so we planned to enjoy a couple of appetizers with a Caesar salad—and not feel ridiculously extravagant.
We ordered our Martinis to our specifications, and as soon as the bartender brought our cocktails, I could sense they were just perfect, and my premonition proved accurate at first sip. My drink was wickedly cold and deliciously dry with just one gigantic olive bobbing around the bottom.
Ben and I traded stories over our Martinis and laughed like a couple in the early stages of their romance, rather than a married couple of four years with teenagers and full-time jobs. The rest of the evening was just as pleasant.
There is something slightly glamorous and reckless about a Martini. Maybe that’s why we just seemed to drop all the cares of the day and live for the moment there at the bar. Life just seemed… a little lighter and brighter all of a sudden.
So, based on my recent experience, I maintain that the perfect Martini isn’t just about the liquor, the blending, and the temperature. It’s also about how you feel about where you are and who is with you. When you mix it all together, you get perfection.
