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It was July in Miami, and the early evening air was an unpleasant combination of muggy and breezy, like someone was holding a hair dryer switched to HOT just a few feet from your face. We plopped down at an outdoor bar at the Mandarin Oriental, looking to take the edge off after a long day of sitting around the pool.
I don’t know why on such a warm evening my mother-in-law ordered a Grey Goose dirty martini—perhaps she was worried about maintaining her sodium levels, what with the heat? Whatever it was, I followed her lead, and to ensure maximum coolness, I requested mine on the rocks.
Some of history’s most important inventions were accidental: penicillin; the microwave oven; the Golden State Warriors’ Death Lineup. And on this humid day in South Florida, gazing out across Biscayne Bay as the sun dunked into the horizon behind us, I stumbled onto what has become my signature drink. Of all the things my mother-in-law taught me in the time she was with us, nothing has had as enduring an impression upon me—well, okay, other than her daughter—as learning to appreciate a great dirty martini.
But after years of tinkering and experimenting, I believe I have found this drink’s perfect form. Allow me to humbly introduce you to what I call the Dirty South Martini. This is not a drink that celebrates subtlety, at least not at first. As you first start in on it—the exact time you want your drink to be at its most powerful—there is a sustained saline note, underscored by the bracing hit of viscous, frigid vodka. After a few minutes, as the ice melts and the booze begins to thaw and unseize, the drink goes from being a bit sharp to a little flat. The Dirt South Martini is bracingly salty, while appropriately alcoholic. It is too assertive to be paired with a meal, and not something to be enjoyed in volume. I sip and savor, nursing one over the course of about an hour.
I guess this barely qualifies as a martini, since the martini, a drink invented by a vermouth company, usually includes some amount of vermouth. When I’m at a random bar and in the mood for this, I usually order, “Tito’s, dirty, on the rocks,” and the bartender will make something close to what I want. And why the word “South” in the name? Well, I’m from Atlanta. And I discovered this in Miami. And my mother-in-law was from Cuba. And I use Goya olives.
There’s a time and a place for a martini that’s been shaken-not-stirred then deftly strained into a long-stemmed cocktail glass, but I feel a refined drink like that belongs in a fine dining setting, not on my couch on a Tuesday night. For me, this drink is all about comfort. Because at the end of most days, when the lights are low and the house goes quiet and the chance to unwind presents itself, this right here is my escape.
The Dirty South Martini
Vodka (kept in the freezer)
Goya anchovy-stuffed olives
Ice cubes
An Old Fashioned glass or whisky tumbler
1. Let’s start with the vodka. The brand you use should not make much difference, since vodka is flavorless. I prefer Tito’s, because it is affordable and has a suitably rich texture. (Also, it is delicious.) What is most important in this case is that you keep your vodka in the freezer. When you’re ready to mix your drink, pull out the bottle and give it a shake or two.
2. I have a glass. This is my glass. Everyone knows not to use Daddy’s glass. It is heavy and feels like the type of tumbler that Jack Donaghy would use to stock his office bar cart. This is not a classic martini glass, I know, one of those fragile upside-down cones. For my drink, you need a glass with some heft. [Ed: we used our favorite all-purpose glasses from CB2]
3. Put three ice cubes in the glass. I have experimented with using chipped ice, but it melts too quickly. When you finish this drink, after about an hour, the ice cubes should be just about completely melted. So I use three ice cubes out of a silicon tray like this one. [Ed: we used one big honkin’ cube, and hope that Lang will excuse us for our digression]
4. Pour in 3 ounces of vodka. Or, you know, as much as you want.
5. Now, the secret weapon: a can of Goya olives which have been stuffed with minced anchovies. These are widely available at most supermarkets—as my sister once noted, the “International” aisle at the grocery store often just means “Olives.” You can use plain olives, I suppose, but these make this drink singular.
6. Also, we should talk for a second about anchovies. Yes, they are a fish, but they don’t taste distinctly fishy, especially in this application, when they’ve been chopped and screwed and hidden inside olives. In this drink, these anchovy-stuffed olives bring a lot of umami to the party, as well as in some unspoken way connecting me back to that ocean view in Miami.
7. Pour a splash (maybe a teaspoon) of the olive brine into the glass and swirl to mix. Add more/less to taste. Plop in three olives. Four if it’s the weekend. Drink!
