The Perfect Martini

Memories and Martinis work together nicely. There was period of about 2 years in my life where the very thought of a Martini made me ill (this the result of a lost weekend that began with nothing buy pitchers of Martinis and popcorn). But, most memories are pleasant. One is perfect.

Before you die you should find a perfect Martini. It adds something to the memory of your life and the steps you have taken along the way. Life is not easy and we truly deserve simple pleasures.

My perfect Martini was in London, my favorite of all cities. I was there for a business trip and enjoying all the city had to offer. Dinner was scheduled with someone I knew through work and he had named the OXO Tower as our destination (he was a native, so he was to be trusted).

Waiting at the bar for my host and his wife to arrive, I ordered a Sapphire Martini. The bartender, all English reserve and polish, set about his task. He measured out the ingredients slowly and he used Vermouth (none of the silly "just say the word 'Vermouth" and you have enough"). Into the cocktail mixer it went and then he stirred. Yes, stirred. Not too fast, but a steady and rhythmic stir. I was transfixed. Having stirred at least ten times, he then poured it into a chilled glass. Not one of the bathtubs that are called Martini glasses lately, but a reasonable size glass. He poured it over an olive loving impaled on a pick, the symbol of my heart pierced by a drunk Cupid's arrow.

When I had the first sip, with the sun setting and overlooking the Thames, I knew it was perfection. The people around almost dropped their voices to a whisper as I drank in the moment. I felt the liquid rush and then the warmth fill my soul.

No Martini since has delivered that state of bliss. I hope that one never does.