The Two Martini Lunch

I'm a traditionalist, which means I think you should be too. Dry martinis require gin, that wonderful concatenation of grain spirits and, mostly, juniper. The taste profile of gin is more complex than vodka - I compare the difference to driving a Ferrari or a Lincoln Town Car.

The 'dry' relates to the vermouth, the unsweetened white version of this distinctive liquor. Vermouth is fortified, which leads to its high alcohol content (compared to table wine). This, plus the various herbal additives are the reason for the dry mouth feel.

For whatever reason, the fashion thesedays is for martinis made from vodka - and nothing else. I truly don't understand. If you want straight vodka shaken over ice in a martini glass, then just ask for that. Don't fool yourself: that's not a martini.

This is how a classic martini is made:

Ingredients:
* 2 1/2 oz gin
* 1/2 oz dry vermouth
* 1 green olive or lemon twist for garnish

Preparation:

Pour the ingredients into a mixing glass filled with ice cubes.
Stir for 30 seconds.
Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.
Garnish with the olive or lemon twist.

Everything else is just a cocktail.

An internet search yielded this photograph. LIFE captured the moment thusly:

Businessmen smoking, drinking & cheering enthusiastically while watching Milwaukee Braves defeat the NY Yankees in the World Series on an unseen TV in an upscale bar and restaurant.

These are the guys I have in mind when I think of the liquid lunch. Unapolagetic, engrossed, well dressed and completely in the moment, they look like a different species.

Sure, it looks like they're drinking beer and shots, but the photo was taken after their two martini lunch. I can tell these things.

We work with what we've got. It's 2009, so don't try to recreate the past, it's gone. With that in mind, I sought the most luxe drinking palace I could think of in my small Floridian home town. There IS a Ritz-Carlton here, but the ghosts of businessmen dead didn't approve of that. Instead, they agreed that a steakhouse, the Hyde Park Steakhouse in Sarasota, was their kind of joint.

Huh. I seem to be chanelling those guys in light-coloured suits and pencil ties. Interesting.

I thought I could replicate the lunchtime drinking zetgeist at happy hour, so my investigation began at 5:30 pm instead of midday. My barmen at the Steak House bar were the basso-voiced Todd and some other guy.

I ordered two classic Sapphire martinis, up, with a twist. Before Todd-oh could make a dog's breakfast of it, I explained what I was doing, and confirmed he knew how to make a martini. He did. But his buddy was less knowledgeable, and didn't even lie about understanding the concept of the two-martini lunch. Isn't that part of bartender lore, passed down from one barkeep to another ? Don't they want people gassed at lunch?

It's disappointing, I tell you.

The phrase "...the nineteen-fiftes..." is a pejorative today. Snarks ask if you live there and PC police accuse you of being born there. The fifties is the tuberculosis of decades...no, it is the AIDS of decades - dreaded, politically radioactive and just plain bad.

Television led to this insanity. My generation, the stupidest in all history, the baby boomers, reacted against their parents and everything that surrounded them. Hence jeans, tie-dye and acid. Despite what we thought then, we now know that our parents had pretty much the same motivations as us. They might have been un-rebellious suit-wise, but they understood having a good time, and they certainly understood mind alteration.

Enter alcohol and cigarettes. We forget how much alcohol is part of the history of western civilization. In the seventeenth century, alcoholic beverage consumption reached 100 litres (approximately 25 gallons) per person per year in parts of Europe. English sailors received a ration of a gallon of beer per day, while soldiers received two-thirds of a gallon, and the Pilgrims were likewise quite happy starting (and often finishing) the day with beer. So as a matter of historical precedent, drinking during the day is more a part of our cultural tradition than not.

*Hic*

The martinis look good. The green roundness of the olives works well with the clear liquors and the angles of the glass. And it tastes good, too.

Gin reflects the floral notes of the juniper (is that a whiff of bitterness too?) but it's very subtle, and in contrast with the heat of the alcohol. And here's the point of the vermouth - it adds just the barest hint of wine-like sweetness and back of the mouth dryness to keep the gin in check.

There's a lot going on, but it all works. And let's not forget the olives. The salty bite of the preserved fruits fill out the picture, giving every taste bud on the tongue something to do.

This is the all-rounder of cocktails. No wonder one could mistake two or three of them as a meal.

A large group of seasoned ladies parked next to me as I reached the half-way point of the first martini. They were pre-funking a birthday party, downing cosmopolitans and glasses of premium wine at a 17th century clip. Explaining why I had two martinis in front of me, they posited various ideas as to why we no longer two-fist lunch:

- because no-one has the money any more

- because it's not the eighties (a few said this)

- because Dean Martin is dead (!)

- because drinking at lunch means feeling sleepy all afternoon

- lawyers (Not sure wether this referred to litigation, or that attorneys aren't drinking any more. Unlikely, it seems to me, but my notes are getting unreadable by now.)

- because no-one has expense accounts thesedays

- because it's not possible to work afterwards

and my favourite

- because Miami Vice isn't on tele any more.

One particularly salty older lady I talked to looked at me archly when I asked her about the two-martini lunch and said, in a husky voice,

Why, honey, it was never a two martini lunch...it was a four-martini lunch.

There is a point of perfection in any drinking session. It lies somewhere between the first sip and the last order. When drinking martinis, in my opinion, it falls around half-way through the second. There is a particular buzz I associate with martinis, which feels sophisticated and cool, in a powerful but restrained way.

It's a sweet spot, where inhibition is at a minimum, bravado at a maximum, and confidence swells. Think of it as a testosterone apex. (Yes, Rebecca, women have testosterone too. No need to wail feminist on my arse.) The best of a man is when he's unfettered by self-doubt and buzzed enough to forget self-consciousness. Ditto women, which explains a lot about what happens when the sexes meet over martinis.

This, the beauty of alcohol. And although we shouldn't operate lawsuits, concoct company mergers or operate heavy machinery after drinking, two martinis makes us think these are all good ideas.

Sweet irony.

Let's put it down to the following reasons:

1. Although folks would probably like to maintain the T-M lunch tradition, returning to the office at 2:30 appearing to be tipsy might cast doubts on one's character.

2. Speaking of moral turpitude, if one could indulge in a couple of cocktails at lunch, the consequent afternoon drowsiness would lead to some hours of lost productivity, which nobody can afford.

3. Midday drinking to bond with customers, clients or co-workers is simply out of fashion.

The last of these gives me reason for hope, for whatever is out of fashion today, could make a comeback tomorrow. That's a happy thought.

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