This article is part of a guide to New York from FT Globetrotter
A martini is an exact alcoholic analogue to life in Manhattan: concentrated, bracing, dangerous if mishandled, and not for everyone.
The drink is also, like all the best New Yorkers, absolutely straightforward. Cold, clear spirit, a little fortified wine. Garnish optional. Ingredients and proportions can be adjusted to taste, but the martini holds no secrets. At its best, it is no more or less noble than a simple thing done well.
The less said of knock-offs, such as the appletini and the so-called espresso martini, the better. These vulgar and childish drinks are related to the real thing in the same way a shih-tzu is related to a wolf.
There is no real debate over gin versus vodka or twist versus olive (gin and olive are the clear default among New Yorkers). These are just matters of taste and mood. The fundamental distinction is whether or not the spirit is held in a freezer or cooled on the spot by stirring or shaking with ice. Here I declare my bias: I believe cooling warm booze through contact with ice renders a drink that is diluted and insufficiently cold. There is a case for a little dilution, which softens the taste of the booze and may help blend it with the vermouth. But, if dilution is desired, it can be more precisely achieved, while maintaining the correct temperature, by adding a little water to the alcohol before placing it in the freezer. Beyond this fundamental issue, what matters is care in preparation, competence in presentation and finding the proper setting.
The matter of volume is important too: high-end New York cocktail bars, perhaps to justify charging $25 for a drink, pour a six-ounce martini. A first drink of this magnitude means the decision about ordering a second will be made under significant impairment. Care must be taken.
Below, then, are six classic and new-classic Manhattan martini venues. This list cannot be exhaustive and is not even representative. I concentrate on the midtown, the high-end and the traditional — places where the venue stands up to this strongest of drinks.
The top shelf
The Grill
the seagram building, 99 East 52nd Street, New York, NY 10022
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Good for: Revelling in mid-century modern glamour
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Not so good for: Your budget
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FYI: Martini, $26. Lunch: Monday—Friday, 11.45am — 2pm. Dinner: Monday—Saturday, 5—11pm. No reservations
Mies van der Rohe’s 1958 Seagram Building and its Philip Johnson-designed restaurant are a waking dream of modernism and timeless glamour. The square bar at The Grill, the current steward of Johnson’s space, would be a magical place to drink a glass of water. But a martini, with its mid-century Manhattan associations, is the right match for the architecture. And, as it happens, the one served there comes as close to my ideal than any I’ve ever had.
Nathan McCarley-O’Neill, a soft-spoken native of Northern Ireland and head of bars for the Major Food Group (he oversees drinks for 35 restaurants worldwide), walked me through the construction of The Grill’s house martini. The first element is temperature. Both the pre-mixed drink and the glass it is poured into are pulled from a freezer at -19F (about -7C). This is cold, but not extremely so. Alessandro Palazzi of Dukes hotel in London, by consent the global dean of martini makers, pours his several degrees colder, O’Neill pointed out to me. But below -19F, O’Neill wonders, “Are you tasting anything at all?” I was sceptical of this argument at first, partially out of loyalty to the peerless Palazzi and partly because I enjoy the syringe-of-novocaine-between-the-eyes effect of a truly Arctic martini. But O’Neill may have converted me to his gentler form of anaesthetic.
Next: dilution. To many drinkers, the idea of adding water to liquor defeats the purpose, or even seems like a rip-off. But almost every bartender I talked to argued that a little water makes the drink smoother, more delicious, less medicinal. “Water binds the ingredients and takes the heat off the gin. Even 40 proof is pretty hot,” O’Neill says. At The Grill, they add a quarter ounce of water for every four ounces of gin.
Lastly, the booze. A blend of two dry gins (Tanqueray and Plymouth) and two vermouths: Noilly Prat and Dolin. That last is relatively sweet. “As you cool gin, it loses some of its sweetness. You are adding it back.”
The precision of the mix and the temperature mean the drink is, by necessity, mixed ahead of time. So no performance with the shaker; this will disappoint some weekend martini drinkers; connoisseurs, however, just want the drink made right.
“The first one goes quickly,” O’Neill said as the result was set before me. It was lunchtime, and I had an afternoon of work ahead. It took a lot of will not to drink a second in the name of research.
Two classics
Bemelmans Bar at The Carlyle
35 East 76th Street, New York, NY 10021
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Good for: A martini set to jazz in a jewel-box room
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Not so good for: A quiet conversation
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FYI: Martini, from $27. Open Sunday—Monday, noon — midnight; Tuesday—Thursday, noon — 12.30am; Friday—Saturday: noon — 1am. No reservations
Bemelmans Bar in The Carlyle hotel stirs its martinis with ice, but solves the temperature problem elegantly. Half of the drink arrives in the glass. The other half — the “dividend”, as head bartender Luis Serrano refers to it — comes in a small carafe, resting in a dish of crushed ice. “It gives you the chance to enjoy the perfect martini at the perfect temperature.” Otherwise, the martini is a classic dry: your choice of spirit, stirred with ice, and just enough vermouth to rinse the glass.
The handsome and affable Serrano has been at The Carlyle for more than 30 years. It is easy to see why, once behind the Art Deco bar, one would stay for good. The room’s famous murals by Ludwig Bemelmans of Madeline fame, the gold-painted ceiling and intimate banquettes are simultaneously grand and cosy. The room is always busy, and today more than ever. The crowd is younger now than it was in the ’80s, when Serrano started. Back then it was mostly Upper East Side locals.
And what do these young people like to drink? Dirty martinis, and lots of them. Serrano notes that he once took the olive brine out of the olive jar. That would be impossible now: he goes through two large jugs of the stuff (the brand is Filthy Premium Olive Brine) every night.
(A side note: as popular as they may be, dirty martinis are bad. All you can taste is salt and alcohol. People order them because saying the word “dirty” makes them feel risqué. This is pathetic.)
At the centre of the room is a piano. There is jazz (and a $10 minimum cover charge) almost every night. But service from Serrano and his team may be as big a draw. “You have to like it — not do it as a simple job,” he says of his work. “Do as much as you can, be a good listener and every day you learn.”
The King Cole Bar at The St Regis New York
Two East 55th Street, New York, NY 10022
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Good for: Drinking in the glow of a classic artwork
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Not so good for: Avoiding tourists
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FYI: Martini, from $24. Open daily, 4pm — 11pm. No reservations
One goes to The King Cole Bar at the St Regis to drink in the glow cast by a picture and by the history of New York. The 1906 Maxfield Parrish mural that gives the bar its name lives up to its luminous reputation. Its story goes as follows: John Jacob Astor IV, heir to a real estate fortune, had to pay top rates to commission Parrish for the mural, which originally hung in Astor’s Knickerbocker hotel on 42nd Street. Parrish resisted the rich man’s high-handedness and, as a teetotaller, disliked decorating a bar-room. Astor wanted his own face as the merry old king’s, and Parrish (it is said) had his revenge by giving the millionaire the expression of a man passing gas (Parrish’s reaction to the news that Astor died on the Titanic six years later is not recorded).
Flatulence aside, the picture is lovely, featuring Parrish’s trademark saturated colours.
There is another, less well-known piece of New York history in the Cole. Head bartender Bill Dante grew up watching his grandfather mix martinis at a bar outside of Boston, and moved to New York to act (favourite role: Astrov in Uncle Vanya). To make ends meet, he found work pouring drinks in ’80s hotspots the Roxy and The Tunnel, where his customers included Divine, Madonna, Cyndi Lauper and Grace Jones. “I never saw the light of day in winter,” he says, and he lasted three years in the fast lane: “It was get out or go under.” Work at more genteel establishments, such as Tavern on the Green, followed. At the old Stanhope Hotel, opposite the Met, he once served Jackie Onassis and her friend Brooke Astor, related by marriage to John Jacob (they both had a hamburger, no bun, and a double gin and tonic).
He pours a lot of martinis — there is generally a queue to get in the bar — following the rule that gin should be stirred or shaken very gently (to avoid “bruising” the flavour) and vodka shaken vigorously (the resulting dilution takes the edge off it). The glass is chilled with ice beforehand. The 6oz result, while a fairly standard example of the species, did noticeably increase the glow of the mural.
The resurgence of the martini and other old-fashioned, straight-booze cocktails presents a challenge to bartenders, Dante says, as many patrons, particularly young ones, can’t handle them. “You always have to pay attention. If their eyes start to drift back and forth, usually after two drinks, they are headed out to sea,” he says. “It’s dangerous — the bathroom is up a flight of stairs.”
Two newcomers
The Bar at Baccarat Hotel
28 West 53rd Street, New York, NY 10019
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Good for: Over-the-top luxury
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Not so good for: Aesthetic understatement
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FYI: Martini, from $29. Open Monday, 4pm — midnight; Tuesday—Saturday, 4pm — 1am; Sunday, 4pm — 11pm. No reservations
The Bar at Baccarat Hotel — opened in 2015, opposite MoMA, as part of an effort to expand the reach of the ancient French luxury house — is luxe right up to the point of absurdity. This may be intentional; it is certainly part of the pleasure. Three huge and baroque chandeliers hang from the barrel-vault ceiling. A wild mix of pictures, contemporary and antique and many quite pleasing, hang on the walls. Every surface, sparing the walls, is polished. Cocktails start at $30, and there is a $1,780 one, featuring a century-old chartreuse, on the menu.
And of course there are the glasses: all shapes and sizes, some unique, all satisfyingly heavy crystal. “Whenever one chips, we send it to the company to be ground down and returned,” says the manager, Mark Tubridy. The result, over time, is some notably short glasses, which Tubridy generally uses to hold bar snacks.
The martini is not a signature drink at the Baccarat, which specialises in more elaborate mixes (such as the Baccarat Rouge: tequila, passion fruit, St Elizabeth’s Allspice Dram, Cardamaro, lime, Baccarat Blend tea and hibiscus ice cube). But it is worth ordering one, just to drink out of the elaborate and attractive glass it comes in: a cross between a coupe and a wine glass. The house mix is a 5:1 ratio of gin to vermouth, with a dash of orange bitters. “Vermouth is underrated,” Tubridy says, “it’s delicious.” The drink is stirred (unless otherwise requested), for fear of aerating the liquor — a welcome effect in a margarita, but not in a martini.
Lobby Bar at The Hotel Chelsea
226 West 23rd Street, New York, NY 10011
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Good for: An elaborately blended cocktail
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Not so good for: only hotel guests can reserve a spot
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FYI: Martini, $29. Open daily, 7am — 2am.
A couple miles downtown, The Hotel Chelsea has received an upgrade. To some New Yorkers, who remember or imagine the 158-room brick pile as a semi-seedy home to writers and rock stars, may resent this. I might have done so, too, had I not found the new Lobby Bar such a pleasure. The evening I was there, the room was full but not crammed and the crowd was mixed. The decorations are in an attractive, if unidentifiable, antique-but-contemporary style. And the martini, served to me by drinks chief Brian Evans, proved to be an exception to my rule that simplicity is the essence. The martini is a mix of Boatyard Double and Perry’s Navy Tot gins, in proportions of two to one. To every 750ml of that blend, 80g of olive oil is added, and the result is frozen. The fat (but not the flavour) from the oil solidifies and is removed. Filtered water for 15 per cent dilution. A few drops of vetiver tincture, some Noilly Prat extra-dry vermouth and a splash of Aqua De Cedro Nardini citrus liquor are added. The garnish is an olive and a pickled onion.
Did you follow all that? I’m not sure I did, but the drink tasted great, even if I might hesitate to call it a martini. It had a terrific vegetal smell, a wonderful balance of acidity and salinity, and a silken texture. I would drink it again, under any name.
A personal favourite
Grand Central Oyster Bar
Grand Central Terminal, Lower Level, 89 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017
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Good for: A brisk drink and friendly chat.
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Not so good for: Peace and quiet.
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FYI: Martini, from $13. Open Monday—Friday, 11.30am — 9.30pm. No reservations for the bar (except for large groups); reservations for the restaurant recommended
The Oyster Bar in Grand Central station is misnamed. It should be plural. The restaurant contains two bars (not counting the winding lunch counter). There is the wood-panelled tavern, a separate room entered through a door at the back, and the small, semi-enclosed cocktail area at the centre of the restaurant, directly opposite the doors. Its bar has just nine seats, and remains my all-time favourite place to drink a martini.
Beneath the arched Guastavino-tile ceiling, amid the increasingly dated decor, countless commuters over more than 100 years have stopped for a drink heading back to the suburbs. If you listen hard enough, the ghosts tell stories out of Cheever or O’Hara. Their descendants, waiting for the 7.16 to Cold Spring Harbor or the 8.01 to Mamaroneck, are generally game for conversation. After all, they will probably never see you again (failing actual talk, the eavesdropping is also top rate).
The martini is prepared humbly, stirred with ice and poured into a small room-temperature glass. It is only shaken on request. Appealingly, however, the extra from the shaker (a considerable amount) is poured into a highball glass and served alongside. On a recent night, the bartender gave this a name I hadn’t heard: Lagniappe, Louisiana French for “little gift”.
It is also widely and correctly acknowledged that the oyster was designed by evolution to accompany a dry martini. But the best oyster in Manhattan is a separate, equally complex question.
Where in your opinion makes the best martinis in Manhattan? Join the debate in the comments
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