- Lifestyle
These are the best martinis you’ve never heard of
Forget the classics — London’s most exciting martinis are the ones rewriting the rules. From beetroot and horseradish to hay-smoked brine, Molly Steemson hunts down the boldest twists on the ultimate strong drink.
- Words By Molly Steemson
A martini is a tacit and efficient agreement between drink and drinker. The martini has a job to do. The best ones do that job extremely well which, for the drinker, is a sensation so satisfying it often requires a repeat performance. But this way lies danger. The first martini says, ‘now we’re drinking’; the second says, ‘now we’re drunk’. This is famously explicit at Duke’s, which does not permit its patrons to order more than two martinis in one evening. They do so for a reason. The Duke’s martini is a purist's fantasy — an undiluted triumph that contains only frozen gin and a whisper of vermouth. It’s too classy a place (and too strong a drink) for a three-martini drunk.
Duke’s has set the standard for the London martini. People have tried to surpass it, but they rarely do. Good classic martinis can be purchased at the Rules bar (in Covent Garden), the Connaught bar (Mayfair), the Bar with Shapes for a Name (Haggerston) and 69 Colebrooke Row (Angel). The martini at Quo Vadis can also be good. I like to accompany mine with a bowl of chips.
None of them, however, can really compete with the one at Duke’s. So when I happen to be elsewhere, I look for something a little different.
I am not really interested in a ‘take’ on a martini. Like many drinkers, my first alternative martini was a pornstar. This is an unequivocally bad drink which gives the other alternative martinis a bad name.
A Pornstar Martini is, annoyingly, a good name. It’s provocative — it gets the people going. But it’s also a lie. The Pornstar martini is not a martini. It’s a long drink in a short glass—a sort of champagne cocktail, that (thanks to the diligent use of vanilla) tastes like a cake. It’s sort of like a martini for kids, but martinis are not for kids. A martini must be strong and short. Not just alcohol forward, but alcohol first.
Here, then, are four and a half of the best alternative martinis that are actually martinis and can actually be found in London. And although they’re not from there, it’s good to keep the Duke’s rule in mind: three is almost always too many.
The Beetroot Martini at Ognisko
Ognisko should be a frontrunner for London’s best martini, full stop. As all good polish restaurants should, it has an astounding array of plain and house-infused vodkas, and I have enjoyed many of them in a martini. One day I enjoyed so many of them that I had to stop enjoying them for a little while. Enter the Beetroot Martini.
The Beetroot Martini is made with a whack of beetroot juice, a small amount of apple juice, and horseradish vodka. It is garnished with black pepper and a dehydrated beetroot slice.
It’s spicy and earthy and a little (although not very) sweet, and tastes like a strong, muddy, bloody mary.
The horseradish kick makes up for the alcohol dilution very nicely. The only downfall of this drink is that I spill and it stains. [NB: I was tricked, by the earthy, savouriness of the Ognisko Beetroot Martini into ordering a Borscht Martini at The Russian Samovar in Manhattan. It was thin and sweet and bad. Learn from my mistake: not all beetroot martinis are created equal.]
An honorable mention should go to the Polish Martini, made with spiced apple juice and a dash of honey liqueur which, to my mind, sounds absolutely awful. It isn’t. It’s not too sweet, it’s delicately spiced, and it still packs a punch. A. bartender made one for my father when he was being annoyingly indecisive, and now it’s his regular order.
The Marsala Martini at Bar Termini
Although Termini is known for its (excellent) negronis, the Marsala Martini is always my drink of choice. A very classic London Gin martini, stirred with a little sweet marsala and served with a pickled almond. It’s a wonderful drink, with all the integrity of a martini, just rounded out.
It’s nutty and elegant, and served in one of the most elegant coupes I’ve ever drunk from.
It is also the drink that introduced me to the wonders of the pickled almond —the perfect gin-soaked snack that awaits you at the bottom of your glass.
The Mountain Martini at Mountain
Martinis aren’t just a drinker’s drink, they’re a smoker’s drink too. But smoking kills, and you can’t do it legally in restaurants anymore. Greg Mathie, of Tomos Parry’s Mountain has created an incomparably elegant solution to these mundane modern problems.
The Mountain Martini is almost a classic dirty martini. Almost.
It’s made of gin, vodka, bitter vermouth and hay-smoked olive brine, served with one of the hay-smoked olives and one big cube of ice.
The ice cube means you can drink it slowly, should you so want (or be able) to — the size stops it becoming too diluted. It’s a serious drink: new and nostalgic, warming and cold.
The Frozen Hudson Martini at Joe Allen
Joe Allen is London’s most important American restaurant, and if there’s one thing we know about America, it’s that everything’s bigger there. Thankfully, the martini is no exception.
The Frozen Hudson Martini is a four-shot martini, made of Sipsmith gin or vodka, it’s up to you (America is also, famously, the land of choice). I do concede that this is actually a classic martini, but it’s huge, and that’s different enough for me. If the point of a martini is to be brave, then the point of the Frozen Hudson Martini is to be stupid.
Something for a celebration, or commiseration; one of those nights when you can do nothing else but throw caution to the wind.
The Gibson on the Rocks at home
I make many martinis at home, but this alternative martini-not-martini is the easiest and, for that reason, one of the most enjoyable.
A classic Gibson is a gin martini with cocktail onions, but the Gibson on the Rocks is something else.
50/50 gin/vermouth, served (no surprises here) on the rocks, with three frozen silverskin onions (delicious) and a dash of angostura bitters. I can sense I might have lost you at the angostura bitters, but trust me on this one. They lift the whole drink, adding a little sweetness and complexity which make the whole thing taste faintly of pickled onion monster munch.
Come on in the Chablis lovely, Your new home of drinks.
Stay up to date with all the latest from House Of Decant.
