Days to B.E.E.R.: 10
Preparation lists compiled so far: 3
Weight to lose: I don't want to talk about it.
Mental State: Surprisingly strong.
I made my first martini on Saturday. This may come as a surprise, as your Mare has long professed her love of the very cold, very crisp, very clear, very classy gin/vermouth combination. Making it though... that's a whole 'nother situation.
We had guests for dinner on Saturday evening. Some friends of the family who've only seen me once since I was in that should-be-wearing-a-bra-but-terrified-to-put-one-on stage. I clearly had to demonstrate my new sophistication, and not by lifting my shirt and showing off my lingerie.
My mother urged me to make a round of pre-dinner martinis. "Sure," I said. "No problem." Then I smiled graciously, left them chatting on the patio, and commenced a freak-out of immense proportions. Immense, I tell you!
To the bar I ran, and pulled out the martini glasses, the Beefeaters, the vermouth. Oof. The ice. Have to get the ice. Then... oh, God... how much vermouth does one need? And I've got this martini carafe thingy here... and it's got the pretty crystal stir doohickey... but what about the cocktail shaker? That's pretty too... which one do I use? And How Much Damn Vermouth Do I Need? Oh, God. Where's the book? The BOOK? That damn Playboy Home Bartender's Book from the seventies, it's got recipes for drinks appropriate to ski-lodge parties full of be-turtlenecked men with centre parts and hair covering both ears. Also a great source for fruity quenchers to serve with the Jell-O moulds at this week's wife-swapping party... Gawd! It's a giant hardback, full-colour... could be a coffee table book... how the hell do you lose a book that big... Oof! Here it is... martini... martini... ok, back to the index... where the HELL is the martini recipe?! Right, flip flip, flip flip...ok... 4 martinis... 8 ounces of gin... 2 ounces of vermouth... what? That doesn't sound right... I though the true sophisticate was supposed to swirl a drop of vermouth around the glass and then throw it out! Aahh! I don't know! I just drink 'em! I'm starting to sweat, and its air conditioned in here! Ice! Ice! Where did I put that ice? Now... do I stir or shake? If I shake, I may bruise the gin. If I stir, they may not be cold enough. Right, I'll pretend my hospitality-knowledgeable father always told me to forget the Bond movies, and stir the martini. But I'll shake it ever so gently.... ever so... gently... right. In the glasses they go... something's missing! Dammit! Olives! Olives! But I need spears! Finally, a chance to use my silver martini spears... run, run, run get the spears... Ooh, here they are! Brand new! Silver! Never been used... and... What? Tarnished! Curses! Right, polish, polish, aaand... polished... good... stick the cocktail olives in... Oh JAYSUS! The cocktail olives have PITS in them! How am I supposed to spear an olive that has a pit in it? Bargain basement cocktail olives? Argh. Right. The damn martinis are probably warm by now, but at this point, I don't care.
Next time, I'm just going to lift up my shirt and show 'em my bra.
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