Apropos of nothing, I'll take a moment to share my thoughts on the state of mixology in Australia. More specifically, the martini. Before I moved to Melbourne I enjoyed many of them, alone and with friends. Now that I'm here, it doesn't happen anymore. Why? Here's why.
Wine is good here. Beer, too. Cocktails are shitty.
As far as I can tell, Melbourne bartenders don't know ass from elbow. And it doesn't help that most folks (especially the under-40 crowd) seem to like their martinis "dirty," with olive juice tipped into the mix. In my view, "dirty" is hipster branding for a crappy drink. It may sound cool to swill something dirty (as in edgy, sinister and outlawed), but if there's enough olive juice for you to taste, it means the bartender didn't care enough about getting a tip to rinse the nosh before putting it into the glass. But no matter how ardently you plead for a dry martini, they'll spill liberal amounts of vermouth (sweet as often as dry) into the ice and gin. Then they'll make a big show of shaking the damn thing, pour it into a room-temperature glass, and smugly garnish it with an olive (beware-- pit intact) glistening not with brine, but oil. I once was served a martini that was warm to the touch and without a trace of ice, the cocktail glass having come directly from the sanitizer.
If, by some miracle, you manage to get your hands on a martini that's at least drinkable, you're still going to be charged 18 or 19 bucks for the privilege. ["Pardon me, waiter? Go to hell."]
I miss my former neighbourhood bar-- the lounge at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse in Seattle-- where I can go swimming in ice-cold razor blade soup for 4 dollars at happy hour. So unless I'm visiting my family in the U.S., the only time I drink martinis is at home, when I invest in a bottle of Gordon's (which isn't often) or score a bottle of the good stuff from the duty-free shop at Tullamarine Airport.
Cheers.
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| G'day! |
As far as I can tell, Melbourne bartenders don't know ass from elbow. And it doesn't help that most folks (especially the under-40 crowd) seem to like their martinis "dirty," with olive juice tipped into the mix. In my view, "dirty" is hipster branding for a crappy drink. It may sound cool to swill something dirty (as in edgy, sinister and outlawed), but if there's enough olive juice for you to taste, it means the bartender didn't care enough about getting a tip to rinse the nosh before putting it into the glass. But no matter how ardently you plead for a dry martini, they'll spill liberal amounts of vermouth (sweet as often as dry) into the ice and gin. Then they'll make a big show of shaking the damn thing, pour it into a room-temperature glass, and smugly garnish it with an olive (beware-- pit intact) glistening not with brine, but oil. I once was served a martini that was warm to the touch and without a trace of ice, the cocktail glass having come directly from the sanitizer.
If, by some miracle, you manage to get your hands on a martini that's at least drinkable, you're still going to be charged 18 or 19 bucks for the privilege. ["Pardon me, waiter? Go to hell."]
I miss my former neighbourhood bar-- the lounge at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse in Seattle-- where I can go swimming in ice-cold razor blade soup for 4 dollars at happy hour. So unless I'm visiting my family in the U.S., the only time I drink martinis is at home, when I invest in a bottle of Gordon's (which isn't often) or score a bottle of the good stuff from the duty-free shop at Tullamarine Airport.
Cheers.
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