'Tinis

Perth, Australia -- Day 7


Out to dinner with my sister, mum, and my mother's boyfriend. (Picture: my sister and me at Savinis). My sister loves martinis, very dry ones. She wasn't going to order one because according to her Aussies can't make martinis. They only do wine and beer. Then the waiter announced that the bartender was a specialist in cocktails. Very excited, my sister carefully described exactly how she would like her very dry martini, "Vodka with a smidgeon of vermouth to dust the ice. With an olive." While we were waiting in anticipation for this miracle to appear, my sister explained how difficult it was to find a good martini or any bar that would could make cocktails. My head was buzzing with business possibilities.... But considering that aussies drink wine and beer what would be the point!!!


The martini arrived. As the waiter placed the glass on the table I knew we were in trouble. It was a light brownish color. From the smell of it, I could tell that it had been poured directly out of the Martini bottle. Before the waiter had placed the glass on the table the maître d', who had been flirting with me, saw the look of disgust on our faces and intercepted the glass. He explained, "This is not a martini, let me make one for you." We again proceeded to tell him how to make it. In a vain attempt to impress me, he accepted the challenge. Mr Tiny accepted the 'tini mission.


Back he came with his version of a martini. It was now the color of limoncello, a very yellow color with slight fizz. What the hell??? Did he listen to us? Mr Tiny had failed the 'tini mission. My sister's face after the first sip was priceless. We all had to taste off course. It tasted like a Solo soda. He then asked us if it was any good. Little did know who he was dealing with. We told him that it was not a martini. This was now an hour into the dinner and much repartee had been going on. My mother's boyfriend and he were doing calculus puzzles. He was flirting outrageously with me. Considering that the night before I was being pursued by an 80yr old, being pursued by a 40yr old was making me feel better even if I was 4ft taller than he was. My sister looked me straight in the face and said, "Have you ever tried short?" I think I nearly lost my belly ring I laughed so hard.


My challenge was to get my sister her martini, not to get laid. I took Mr Tiny to the bar and proceeded to teach him how to make a martini. I instructed him to place the Vodka in the ice... "Vodka?" he said increduously and then argued, "Since the martini was first introduced it has been gin." I countered that vodka is now being used and is very popular, more so than gin. Grudgingly he poured a couple of vodka shots into the cocktail shaker. I then looked around for the dry, white vermouth. Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him go for the Martini bottle. "What the hell is that?" I asked him. "This is a martini." he said. "No, we are making a martini, it does not come out of a bottle. That is just a brand called Martini, not a martini." Sheesh, this was getting tiresome!!! They didn't stock white vermouth, so I asked him if he had any olives. I assumed they had as it was an Italian restaurant. He said no, so again I said olives, as in Kalamata olives. (I could go on about what smart arse comments I made at this point but suffice to say he lost another foot in height). Now I know they are not the type of olives that are supposed to go into a martini but give me a break here. I was working against all odds. I told him to bring me a little kalamata juice with a kalamata olive. So I made the best dirty martini that I could. Maybe I'll call it a Kalamartini. It had a little oily film on it but when my sister tasted it she was happy. It wasn't perfect but it was a damn sight better than limoncello!!