Alice Lascelles’ Martini Masterclass

The first martini I ever had was a Vesper at The Dorchester. I was in my early twenties and had just landed a job as a journalist at a drinks magazine, even though I knew nothing about drinks. By pure chance, I met Robbie Bargh, a rather fabulous hospitality consultant who spent his days designing cocktail bars for some of the world’s finest hotels. Bargh was horrified by my ignorance of cocktails, so he took me to The Dorchester (at a totally inappropriate time, like 3pm on a Monday), he sat me down on a plush bench and ordered me a Vesper.

I can still see that chilled chalice now, sitting on its coaster: the star-bright liquid, flecked with lemon oils, rising silkily to the rim; the Y-shaped glass, once frosted, gradually filling with beads of condensation. Robbie told me the recipe had been invented by Ian Fleming. I took a sip and then stood there, rapt, as its cold fire hit my solar plexus.

In the two decades since, my quest for a good martini has taken me all over the world: from the high-rise bars of Tokyo to some of the seediest slums in Brooklyn; from the rain-swept moors of Northumbria to the poshest hotels in St James’s. I’ve had martinis in Delhi, Barcelona, ​​Paris and Milan; and one very memorable lychee martini in a speakeasy tucked away in the back of a Panamanian hair salon.

Surrounded by the world’s best mixologists, I drank memoriam martinis next to the grave of Savoy Bartender Harry Craddock. We drove there in vintage cars and toasted in ice-cold thermoses. I’ve driven thousands of miles in the name of vermouth and gin. And the reason I’ve done it is because the martini is more than a drink. It’s a Platonic ideal, a totem, a kind of alcoholic cultural prism. A drink bound by recondite rules and steeped in tradition and superstition. Its minutiae have had some of the world’s greatest minds dancing on a pin: Ernest Hemingway, J. Robert Oppenheimer, Ian Fleming, Winston Churchill, Homer Simpson.

It is the sum total of all that is exquisite, but it is also a perfection that is within anyone’s reach. You are just as likely to discover the martini of your dreams at your kitchen table as in a first-class bar. The way you drink your martini is as particular as the way you drink your tea. Is there any other cocktail that requires the bartender to ask you if you prefer it?

If you’ve never made a martini, you’ll only know half of it, because the rituals that go into making it are part of its magic: choosing the gin, breaking the ice, cutting the scented twist. It’s an antidote to a world of hellish distractions; a chance to be fully present. The only thing better than making a martini for yourself is making one for someone else. Making it just the way they like it, even if you don’t approve, is the ultimate act of kindness.

The Martini: The Ultimate Guide to an Iconic Cocktail by Alice Lascelles is published by Quadrille at £18.99

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Eve’s Martini

The Vesper Martini was first described by James Bond in Ian Fleming’s novel Casino Royale (1953). He gives the casino bartender the following instructions: “In a deep champagne glass… Three measures Gordon’s, one measure vodka, half a measure Kina Lillet. Shake it really well until it’s chilled, then add a large, thin slice of lemon peel. Do you understand?” The Vesper has a reputation for being macho, but it’s actually slightly sweet. The fact that it’s shaken rather than stirred also helps to mellow it out a bit. The French aperitif Kina Lillet was discontinued in 1986, but can be approximated fairly well with Lillet Blanc and a drop of Angostura bitters (or use Cocchi Americano, a golden aperitif from Italy, which is bittered with gentian and quinine). Bond would probably have scorned today’s Gordon’s, which is bottled at a rather weak 37.5 percent ABV (at least in the U.K.). I’m guessing he’d opt for something with a bit more torque, like the classic Tanqueray.

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Tomato Leaf Martini

I love the smell of tomato leaves, and their green and spicy notes pair wonderfully with a martini. Pick them at the last possible moment, on a summer evening, to capture the best of the aroma.

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Jasmine Tea Martini

Jasmine tea brings a fabulous fragrance and subtle green tea astringency to this elegant martini. I like it best with a refined vodka like Belvedere or Haku (but a softer gin could work too) and one of the fresher dry vermouths like Martini Extra Dry. A good loose leaf jasmine tea makes all the difference – Rare Tea Co, Postcard Teas and Jing are all excellent.

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Suit and tie

Adapted from a recipe by Kristina Magro

An elegant cross between a vintage Tuxedo and a 1990s Lychee Martini, pale pink in colour and as dry as a Provençal rosé. Magro recommends using Giffard Lichi-li lychee liqueur, which I wholeheartedly recommend: it’s hedonistic, fruity and floral, but still quite delicate.

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Lucky Jim

By Kingsley Amis

One of my favorite writings on drinks is by Kingsley Amis. Drink every dayAmis urges readers not to waste good vodka on this recipe. Cucumber juice, he says, gives it a “mysterious” appearance, “the green wine of Chinese emperors come to life.” It is named after his novel Lucky Jimcontaining one of the best descriptions of hangovers ever printed.

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Arnaud Martini

This cassis martini is named after early 20th-century French actress and musician Yvonne Arnaud. Think of it as a super-potent Kir. Best paired with a very dry vermouth, and shaken, not stirred.

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Flame of love

This pyrotechnic Vodkatini was created at Hollywood venue Chasen’s for movie star Dean Martin. Martin’s friend Frank Sinatra reportedly loved it so much that he bought one for everyone in the place. It’s extra dry, with a hint of nutty sherry and sweet orange oils, and it’s very sophisticated. We guarantee it will convert even the most ardent Vodkatini hater.

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Alpine Eve

By Mike Sager

Equal Parts is a fantastic Hackney bar with a simple philosophy: every drink on the menu is equal parts. This martini tastes like a minty Negroni, but because it’s made with Luxardo Bianco, it’s almost clear. If you can’t get your hands on Luxardo Bianco, you can make it with Campari (though then it’ll be red).

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Martinez

The Martinez is the missing link between the Manhattan and the Dry Martini: it has all the spicy sweetness of a traditional whiskey drink, but you can see the gin and vermouth formula waiting in the wings. It is often claimed that the Martinez was created in Martinez, California, for a thirsty gold prospector. This theory has been debunked, sadly, but why let the facts get in the way of a good story?

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Daisy

This delicate citrus aperitif is another early cousin of the martini. A good choice for gin would be Plymouth. The splash of brandy-based curaçao orange liqueur (or triple sec, in a pinch) is there to season rather than sweeten – it warms the drink from within, like the filament of an incandescent light bulb.

@alicelascelles