HELP SAVE A VANISHING SPECIES

Shaken or stirred, with olive or twist, it�s the dickens.

 

There it once stood, unchallenged in its pristine purity. Glistening in its funny, funnel-shaped glass perched on a delicate stem. It had always been a shimmering silver lake of limpid, languid solace, the ultimate civilized sunset companion. The essence of grace. To legions of us, it had been the messenger of quiet bliss, providing a wet gossamer curtain that descends over the cares of the day, washes them deftly away, and draping our entire psyche in the glow of euphoric serenity.

 

But today, it�s a vanishing species. A great icon is disappearing from the American cocktail scene. At the same time, we traditionalists are a dying breed, shunned and sneered upon by the hordes of thirsty, trendy philistines who insist on change, idolizing the next new thing. They�ve provided a ready market to be eagerly exploited by those who�ve been grandly bastardizing this hallowed beverage with blatant forgeries � the nation�s greedy, mischievous bartenders,restaurant menu-writers and ad copy chiefs.It�s the proliferation of the Fauxtini.

 

Just look anywhere. Go to Gibsons where crafty bartender George Cozzi will try to foist upon you an Apple Puckertini made with vodka,garnished with apple slice; or to Restaurant Nine where Ryan Gartner features the Ghostini (vodka, green melon Midori and sour mix); or elsewhere find an outrageous roster of infinite hybrids from the milk chocolatini to the orange-grenadini, crantini,melontini,mangotini , the Dirtytini swimming in olive juice,or The Peninsula bar�s Cosmolini brewed with citron vodka,champagne,triple sec,lime and white peach puree.

 

It�s a free country. Anyone should be able to concoct and advocate any beverage recipe they wish. People should be able to stretch their imagination and taste buds to conjure up the most hideous, disgusting combinations of booze, mixers and garni that could ever trickle down the human gullet. As I�m sure the ACLU would concur, folks should be permitted to experiment, fantasize and reach for new horizons of inebriation. Never let it be said that our modern society should stifle the creative urges of aspiring pioneers, courageously risking reputation �and happy hour clientele�by exploring the uncharted waters of alcoholic chemistry.

 

But is there no veneration of history? Is there no reverence for the elixir invented by 17^th Century Dutch physician Franciscus de la Boe in Leiden, who first distilled alcohol from the juice of juniper berries and blended it with a spirit base of malted barley,wheat and botanicals? Is there no respect for his highness William of Orange who dethroned England�s JamesII, imposed high tarifffs on imported grain spirits from the continent and spurred mass local production of what came to be known as London Dry Gin? Is there no tribute to be paid to that anonymous bartender at New York�s Knickerbocker Hotel in 1910 who first added dry white French vermouth and a pimiento olive?  (never ever to be contaminated in good conscience with blue cheese stuffing).  As fate would have it, the ice was broken �so to speak�when some rascal  fiendishly substituted a tiny onion for the olive. At least he had the decency to call it a Gibson.

 

I ask you, what�s the true test of an enlightened civilization? Is it not to continually enhance its quality of life while sustaining the heritage that made it great, preserving the traditional values that formed its rock solid foundation?

 

Thus it is with extreme revulsion that we witness one of society�s most hallowed symbols disguised in outlandish fashion �yet still fraudulently called by its original name. It�s allowed to masquerade as an �improved� version of the real McCoy when it�s really an impostor � an insidiously emasculated shadow of its former self, totally unworthy of the title.

 

Let them freely call it a Girardelli Splash or a Peach Panache or Rasputin�s Raspberry Razzamatazz. Let them drown it in crushed ice, drench it with pomegranate juice, infuse it with huckleberry essence , shake it with eucalyptus crystals,doll it with strawberry sipping straw, top it off with sea urchin foam and perfumed peacock plumage, and ignite it with lighter fluid. Let them worship it, fan it, can it, bottle it in Baccarat crystal.

 

But please, whatever you do, don�t let them ever, ever try to take a fluid composition that is not four heavenly ounces of genuine Beefeater,Boodles,Bombay or Tanqueray and seven measured drops of imported dry vermouth, all stirred gently with 10 ice cubes in a freezing cold stainless steel shaker�and have the temerity to call it: a martini.

 

Help fight for the preservation of  purity. You�ll be the salvation of someone�s soul. Maybe mine.

 

Isn�t that a sobering thought?