Whoever put the first olive in a Martini took a leap of faith. Or perhaps, like a fair number of cocktail inventions, it was just a happy accident. Either way, it was quite the departure from the garnishes of the day – up until the late 1800s cocktails were usually topped with cherries, twists of lemon peel or the occasional wizened, textured pickled walnut.
The olive’s arrival on the scene in the 1890s was so seismic it actually made the news. ‘A recent fad is to place an olive, instead of the usual cherry, at the bottom of a cocktail,’ declared Brooklyn Life newspaper in 1896. And that little green dot on a stick has been key to the Martini’s semiotics ever since.
Cheese-filled olives served on top of a one sip Martini
Alice Lascalles
A Martini-with-an-olive is an entirely different drink from a Martini with a lemon twist. It’s more savoury, yes, but also more complex, psychologically (or so olive lovers like to think). A twist delivers its charms upfront: it’s a big starburst of citrussy zest. The olive, on the other hand, is a garnish you can see, but not (immediately) taste – its allure lies in its promise.
And however self-controlled you are, one olive is never enough. So I always put two or three in the drink and a few more on the side. I find the squish of de-stoned olives disappointing. I prefer olives with the stone left in, so I can do a bit of gnawing. A Martini is always at its best when you are still just a little bit hungry.
The king of Martini olives, in my mind, is the Sicilian nocellara – its glossy, bright green flesh is nicely toothsome, with a flavour that’s grassy, fruity and buttery. I stockpile the nocellaras by Odysea, which are less than three quid a jar.
Black olives, while less traditional, have their place in a Martini too. Chewy dried black olives have a concentrated, salted-liquorice flavour that’s brilliant in an Obituary, an absinthe-laced Martini twist from the southern city of New Orleans.
A red pimento-stuffed olive adds pops of colour. But for the most part, I find stuffed olives high-risk. So I tend to avoid unless the blue-cheese/anchovy/garlic-laced specimen is kept at distance from the drink.
Most Dirty Martinis look like pond water because they have the olives muddled in
Sometimes, the olive oversteps its boundaries and the result is a Dirty Martini – a cocktail that requires some thought in the making if it’s not to get horribly messy. Most Dirty Martinis look and taste like pond water because they have the olives muddled in. I mean, who honestly enjoys having all that muck floating around in their drink?
A Dirty Martini is much better if it’s just laced with a little olive brine (taken from a jar that’s not been sitting in the fridge, half-finished, for the last 18 months). A good trick I learned from a bartender in New York is to finish the drink with a spritz of brine from an atomiser, so the saltiness is the first thing that touches your tongue when you take a sip. Think of it as seasoning, much like finishing a dish with salt.
Lately, there’s been a trend for Martinis ‘fat-washed’ with olive oil – which can be great if done well. The green tea and olive oil recipe below is a bit of a faff, but the result is wonderful – the oil gives it fruity/herbal/piquant notes and a subtle silkiness. Don’t consider making this drink, though, unless you’ve got top-class olive oil.
Pickles and olives
Ice-cold martinis
A nice cocktail pick will always give the olive an added air of class. But take heed of the grizzly fate that befell the novelist Sherwood Anderson. Whilst cruising with his wife in 1941, he was taken ill with a case of acute, and fatal, peritonitis. The culprit? A cocktail pick he had inadvertently swallowed whilst drinking a Martini.
Alice Lascelles’ new book, The Martini: The Ultimate Guide to a Cocktail Icon, is published by Quadrille (RRP £18.99)
