Martinis in Paradise: A Guide to Moving Beyond “Shaken, not Stirred”
by Ann Hopper and Teal Pennebaker on March 17, 2008 in Culture
Look, we don’t mean to brag, but we know our martinis. Our friendship sparked over a shared taste for loan-unfriendly, high-proof liquor, and we’ve managed to squeeze in an impressive amount of recreational substance abuse (a.k.a. networking) into our careers as MPPs. We feel it is our duty to impart our years - oh yes, years - of research to the HKS community.
Lists are very in vogue these days, and since we’re hopeless trend-lemmings anyway, below are our battle-hardened, tried-and-true approaches to ‘tini ordering, imbibing and enjoying in Cambridge (and beyond).
9. Appending the suffix “tini” to a word does not a martini make. If you can’t handle the savor and kick of a drink that consists of at least 80 percent pure liquor, then take your schnapps, fruit juices and miscellaneous flora and fauna and get off my barstool. Carrie Bradshaw, I’m talking to you.
Pennebaker (left) and Hopper hit the town. Credit: Naseem Khuri
8. Your martini should reflect your mood. Feeling disdainful, acerbic and full of ennui? Gin, dry, twist. Unwashed hair, smudged eyeliner and serious gossiping, on the other hand? Cry out for dirty-vodka-with-extra-olive-juice-on-the-side. The cucumbery purity of Hendrick’s gin is uniquely refreshing on a summer’s eve; while nothing goes with bling like Belvedere. Armed with this knowledge, you can confidently go forth and…
7. …Name your game. Yes, even seasoned pros such as ourselves have fallen victim to the “house vodka is fine” answer, but don’t be fooled. You do yourself and your stature a disservice by not specifying your poison of choice. Plus, you can achieve the same cheap, “so over the high brow” status by saying “Gordon’s with a twist, up” or better yet, “Svedka, natch.”
6. Know your limits. Though our livers will attest to many nights (and, er, afternoons) of immoderate drinking, martinis are potent potables that must be handled with care. Swilling your bevvie as if it’s a beer may result in leaving all your possessions at Felipe’s, forgetting the way home and falling in a bush and bloodying your lip on Mass Ave. Not that that’s ever really happened.
5. Tread lightly with the garnish fetishes, but be prepared for failure. Bleu cheese olives might be a mild throwback to ranch dressing on salads, but no one will deny the tastiness of this calcium-rich addition. Buyer be warned, though - we’re operating in a very narrow market. Cantabridgians are only starting to dabble in the eccentric fusions so act thee not shocked when your request for a jalapeno-stuffed olive is met with a blank stare or mild contempt.
4. Line your stomach - with style! Though the New York Times lamented “drunkorexia” as the latest in-disease among our Manhattan sisters-in-swilling, we require fare slightly more robust than lemon peels to sustain us through the frigid Bostonian winter. Luckily, our favorite watering holes are more than able to sate our tastes for something other than nachos a la Grendels. Nothing brings out the saline tang of oysters quite like a ‘tini, and there’s nary a night when we won’t sidle up to an antipasto platter or some calamari. Strapped for cash? Bat your eyelashes at the bartender and request a refill on that bread basket…again.
3. Appearances matter. You’re drinking a snobby drink, so act the part. Put on that lipstick, grease that hair back, and gents, take a cue from HBS and make an attempt at a collared shirt. And most importantly, make sure your crowd is up to snuff. Leave your friend with the non-ironic velcro sneaker addiction at Chili’s, and persuade your Wellbridge-loving roomie to ditch the velour apres-workout tracksuit. Your drink is dressed to impress; you and yours must be too.
2. Drunkenness rewards the curious. Those who dare to look beyond the sludge known as “chowdah” at Legal Sea Foods or the Bambi-and-Barbie-on-crack decor of Upstairs on the Square will find two of the worthiest bars in greater Cambridge. Venture beyond - gasp! - Harvard Square and you’ll be rewarded with an evening at West Side Lounge or Cuchi Cuchi, where the blue cheese olives roam free and the vodka is infused with jalepenos. While we don’t suggest you be so daring as taking the next Orange Line to Dorchester to see if Paddy O’Sullivan’s stocks the Grey Goose Reserve you so crave, we heartily endorse branching out — and we demand a report.
1. And once in a while, mingle with the proletariat. As partial as we are to the finer things in life, there come times when you want to trade in polished zinc for sticky wood; when “draft beer” rolls off the tongue far more readily than “dirty vodka up with a twist”; when nothing, but nothing, will taste as good as chili cheese beer fries. Peer through the greasy panes of Whitney’s, Charlie’s or Shays one afternoon, and you just might find us nursing some cold ones. It’s just too droll to sup amongst the plebes, isn’t it, dahling?
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