Martooni time

Bob walked in the door with a bottle of stoli vodka and a container filled with garlic stuffed olives.

I knew it was going to be a good night.

First up, I grab two silver martini glasses and fill them with cold water and a few ice cubes and set them aside.  Did you know that pure silver has the highest thermal conductivity among metals.  Thermal conductivity is the ability of a property to conduct heat.  So it stands if it conducts heat well, it will conduct cold well too.  I think.  All I know is that in a few minutes these martini glasses will be ready to receive a well chilled vodka martini.

I grab a drink shaker, you know one of those silver metal thingees and I fill it with ice.  I begin by pouring in about a tablespoon of vermouth.  I shake it around so it coats all the ice, I then remove the small cap that covers the strainer portion of the shaker and pour out the remaining vermouth.  

Next up, the vodka.  Lots and lots of vodka.  As I pour, I count – 1, 2, 3, 4 – I think a count of 4 is roughly an ounce.  I lose count around 17.

Now the fun begins.  Like Mr. Bond, we prefer our vodka martini “shaken not stirred.” 

Stirred is for a delicate Sapphire Gin Martini where you want to taste the 10 exotic botanicals and their floral highlights.  Key word is delicate. 

Us vodka martini heathens want our drink shaken, shaken long and hard.  Nothing delicate here.  Our goal in the shaking process is to get some ice melt, infuse some air into the liquid, completely mix the little amount of vermouth with the vodka and ice and most importantly to give the clear liquid a good chill.

When I say chill I mean you want a vodka martini cold.  Ice cold.  Like that beautiful physical therapist of mine.  Bone chilling cold. 

Once the shaker is so cold you can barely  hold it you know the cocktail is ready.

I empty the two martini glasses making sure that I get every alcohol diluting molecule of water out of them.  I then grab two art deco olive spears and stab not one, not two, but three of the large garlic stuffed olives on each spear and place them into the silver martini glasses.

I remove the small cap that covers the strainer on the shaker and slowly cover the olives with this beautifully fluid clear liquid.   After nearly filling both martini glasses I swirl the last remaining nectar of the gods around in the shaker and top off each glass.

Bob, who has been sitting patiently at the kitchen island is looking wide eyed at the drinks –  like that little kid who just came down the stairs and for the first time is seeing the presents under the Christmas tree.

Being that Bob is my miniature, talking, invisible elephant I need to bring him his drink. 

I join him at the kitchen island and I grab the martini glass and propose a toast. 

Bob, wraps his miniature, invisible trunk around the stem of the glass and raises it up and says, “here’s to martooni time, amen.” 

I laugh because that was what my dad always called his martini.  It was never a martini it was always a martooni.

With that I sip the ice cold, clear liquid and think to myself, yep, it’s gonna be a good night.  Cheers

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