Spirit of Aloha | Features | September/October 2007

The Martini, Hawai‘i-Style
By Bill Harby

Photography by JIMMY FORREST

Would James Bond drink one with pineapple and mango, fresh pomegranate juice and macadamia nuts?

Even in Hawai‘i, there is life beyond umbrella drinks. Some­times we wax philosophical, ruminating on Life’s Big Ques­tions such as: What exactly is a martini?

As with so many things today, the answer was once simple. The classic martini is composed of 3 parts very cold gin, 1 part dry white vermouth and an olive, shaken or stirred depending on your school of thought (see below). Combined in these proportions, these three ingredients are as perfectly balanced as an equilateral triangle—and if you can still say “equilateral triangle” after two martinis, you are allowed to have another.

When and where this classic cocktail first poured forth unto the world is still debated among mixology historians. A popular theory is that the proto-martini sprang to life in the mid-19th century in Martinez, Calif., the formulation of a bar­keep with a regular morning client looking to take the chill off after a ferry ride.

But James Bond put the martini on the tongues of the world. In Ian Flem­ing’s first Bond novel, Casino Royale (1953), he orders a martini with 3 measures of gin, 1 measure of vodka and 1/2 mea­sure of French aperitif Lillet, shaken and served with a thin slice of lemon. A year later, in the next book, Live and Let Die, 007 is drinking vodka martinis with a 6-1 ratio of vodka to vermouth. Sean Connery ordered the same onscreen in Dr. No, in 1962.

Bond’s preference for “shaken, not stirred” puts him at odds with the traditional method favored by those who don’t want to “bruise” the gin. The stirring school also prefers the clearer drink, less diluted by shaken-up melting ice. Shakers say their method aerates the martini, providing a rounder flavor.

The other great question in the martini universe asks: How much vermouth? The word vermouth comes from the Ger­man wermut, or “wormwood,” which was used in absinthe for flavoring until it was found to be—oops—poisonous. After Prohibition’s bathtub gin gave way to the real deal, fashionable martini drinkers took to saying the less vermouth the better—not surprising since most of the world other than the Ital­ians and French considers ver­mouth to be merely bad wine fortified with added al­cohol and mysterious herbs and spices (presumably nonpoisonous). How little vermouth is just enough? Some say you only want to pass the vermouth bottle—cap on, please—near the glass. Legend has it that Winston Churchill merely bowed in the direction of France. Ho­no­lulu nightclub owner Jack Law offers a different form of obeisance: “I’ve heard all one has to do is whisper the word vermouth over a bottle of vodka, and you are good to go for the whole bottle.”

Yes, he said “vodka,” not gin. The first martini revolution came when someone—probably a Russki who didn’t like the British—asked for vodka instead of gin. The vodkatini party soon spread across the land. Order a martini here in Hawai‘i and most bartenders will ask which of the clear elixirs you want.

The next significant martini mutation was the widely applauded “appletini.” Its exact moment of spontaneous generation is lost in the mists of time, but it seems reasonable to guess that it happened during the Disco Era. The appletini is made with vodka and apple bran­dy or apply schnapps, plus usually ap­ple juice or cider and, for the luxury model, apple puree. Vermouth and olives are down the drain.

The colorful, sweet appletini seems harmless enough. But now, even with admittedly bleary hindsight, we can see that this was the beginning of a transmogrification that would change the world. Since the invention of the appletini, the martini has become evermore cosmopolitan. So much so that, in her book, 101 Martinis, “liquid chef” Kim Haasarud lists at No. 12 the classic cosmopolitan cocktail. It contains vodka, cranberry juice, cointreau and lime juice with an orange-twist garnish.

Mouthwatering to be sure, but is this a martini? It has not one ingredient of the original martini, and instead a sweet fruit juice and syrupy liqueur. OK, yes, the recipe does include vodka, the an­chor ingredient in the second-generation martini, and Haasarud stipulates that the drink should be poured into a “chilled martini glass.”

Some of the other recipes in her “martini” book are even more innovative. For example, No. 101, the Men’s Yang Mar­tini, consists of Scotch, Grand Marnier, apple juice, orange juice, yerba maté tea, maca, apricot, Bing cherries and a red-apple-slice garnish.

Miki Lee, a server and manager at The Dragon Upstairs, a cool, retro-hip bar in Honolulu’s Chinatown, rolls her eyes at all the “martinis” that have no connection to tradition. “Some of the flavored ones, which might technically be a Cosmo, are too much for me,” says Lee. “They can come with everything in­cluding a marching band, it seems.”

But Haasarud makes no apologies. “The definition of a martini has gone through some dramatic changes,” she says on the phone from Los Angeles, which is headquarters for her consulting company, Liquid Architecture. “Even the word ‘cock­tail’ has changed,” she ex­plains. “A cocktail, pre-Prohi­bition, was a spirit with bitters. If it didn’t have bitters in it, it wasn’t a cocktail.” Now­adays, of course, the word “cocktail” is generic for any mixed drink with alcohol.

Time marches on, says Haasarud, whose job description necessarily makes her more concerned with liquids than linguistics. But if a word can mean anything, it means nothing, right? So what is a 21st-century martini? “Now the glass­ware really defines the martini,” says Haasarud.

That conical glass, of course, has be­come an icon over the years, blinking in neon outline from countless bar signs. The martini glass, sexy and easy to spill, is the perfect symbol for this dangerously drinkable tonic. You have to wonder if the idea for Madonna’s cone bustiers came to her in a revelation one night while sipping an appletini. After all, the traditional, saucer-shaped champagne glass is said to have been modeled on Marie Antoinette’s breasts. Maybe Hawai‘i hula dancers sporting coconut-shell bras will inspire their own C-cup cocktail.

But we digress.

It’s Haasarud’s job to be innovative. For the Four Seasons Maui she has cre­ated eight original martinis featuring ingredients like fresh pineapple and man­go, fresh pomegranate juice, haba­nero pepper, macadamia nuts, Gran Centenario Re­po­sado tequila, 10 Cane Rum and Navan vanilla cognac (none con­tain gin or ver­mouth). Careful scientific analysis shows that each cocktail is ex­tremely yummy, potent and colorful in its frosted polka-dot martini glass.

Each costs $16, except the super-luxe Bird of Paradis, which costs $30, but is worth every penny because it is made with 130-year-old Hennessy Paradis Extra cognac and served by an honor guard of two handsome French Foreign Legionnaires singing a medley of Dean Martin favorites.

Cocktails come and go. Some are so trendy and toxic that they have the half-life of Lindsey Lohan’s last roadside breath­alizer test. But it’s impossible to imagine a world where the martini is finis. Whether it’s a drink or an idea, the martini continues to adapt and evolve , and according to the latest computer models, this cocktail will continue to help us make everything OK for generations to come.

Cheers to that.

BILL HARBY is a longtime Hawai‘i-based writer, editor and photographer. After 23 years in Honolulu, he now lives in the rain forest outside Volcano Village, on the Big Island.

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