Drier & Drier

MANNERS & MORALS

The inventor of the dry martini is lost in history's haze. Some romantic gin-and-vermouth scholars say it was St. Martin of Tours, patron of tosspots. Others hold that a tipsy barkeep at San Francisco's Palace Hotel happened on the formula by accident before World War I. The Italian vermouth company, Martini & Rossi, is sometimes credited with first honors, and an 1862 bartender's manual describes a "martinez" which contains the basic ingredient but adds maraschino and bitters. Whatever its origin, there is no doubt that the martini is America's favorite cocktail.

As its cult has developed, the martini has suffered abominations that would have doomed a lesser drink. Johnny Solon, an unlamented mixologist at the old Waldorf bar, diluted the basic gin and vermouth with orange juice and called it a Bronx--a cheerless drink now well on its way to oblivion. Others have polluted the martini with grenadine, mint sprigs, anchovies, crystallized violets, sherry, absinthe, and even Chanel No. 5. They are still at it: last week Washingtonians were drinking something called a "dillytini"--a martini with a two-inch green bean, pickled in dill vinegar--which tastes, according to one experimenter, "like crabgrass."

The purists have steadfastly held that a dry martini consists only of well-chilled gin and vermouth, served in a stemmed glass. Among them, the argument is about the proportion of gin to vermouth. Recipes range from 3 to 1 all the way to a good dry 14 to 1, with the trend strongly in favor of more gin and less vermouth. Riding this trend, the House of Schenley last week was busily promoting the driest martini so far. Called the "Naked Martini," it is simply a straight gin, cut to 80 proof to make it taste a little less fiery than the usual 86-to-94-proof variety.

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