Leave Nothing to Chance | Chapter Three

The bartender glared at Chance but didn't stop him as he made his way around the bar and down to the well. This was the first class lounge after all, and a certain amount of flexibility was extended to its guests. As long as you didn't attempt to pre-board the Mile High Club in one of the well-appointed shower suites, guests were granted a little latitude, especially thirsty travelers.

"How long have you been a bartender?" asked Chance, as he stuck two martini glasses in the small freezer behind him.

"This is my second week but I know how to make a martini," said the bartender.

"You made me what you think is a martini, my good man. What you made was actually a Bradford. Trust me, I've been drinking martinis longer than you've been alive," said Chance.

"What is a Bradford? I've never heard of it," said the bartender, slowly warming up to Chance.

By now a small crowd was forming in the middle of the bar as Chance scooped ice into a crystal cocktail mixer.

"A Bradford is the jet-skiing country cousin of the martini. Although they may share similar DNA, their breeding is completely different, yet their respective gin and vermouth parents love them equally. A Bradford is a shaken cocktail that contains gin and vermouth, whereas a martini, although comprised of the same ingredients, is never shaken. The British playwright and author Somerset Maugham famously quipped, 'Martinis should always be stirred, not shaken, so that the molecules lie sensuously on top of one another,'" grinned Chance, drawing in the crowd with his performance.

Chance continued, "Maugham was part of an ambulance brigade in WWI that included Earnest Hemingway. I like to think that their nights included many attempts at perfecting the martini, as have mine. I'm not sure about the science behind the molecules but anything that includes sensuously lying on top of one another calls for further examination, don't you agree? Now, where is the vermouth?"

The bartender grabbed a bottle of Quady Vya Extra Dry vermouth off the shelf and handed it to Chance. "Very nice," Chance said. "Quady Vya vermouth is a fantastic choice for a martini. It tastes of flowers and citrus, which shall marry perfectly with the Sapphire gin, although I'm not sure which molecules are on top. The makers of Vya suggest that their vermouth is mysteriously engaging with a note of coolness, which I think is a description we can all aspire." Chance twirled the bottle in his hands and set it on the bar.

"Why do you even use vermouth? asked a businesswoman sipping a Manhattan, "I've seen plenty of martinis made with just gin or vodka."

"What you've witnessed is a crime covered up with insidious public relations," said Chance. "Somewhere along the way, a martini became whatever was served in the stemware that shares the same name. I assure you that this is incorrect, especially if there is an adjective placed before the word 'martini.' Take, for example, the chocolate martini or lemon drop martini. These are no more martinis than my golfing on the weekend is a precursor to my professional tour on the PGA. A martini consists of four parts gin, one part vermouth, ice for stirring and a garnish of olives, onions or a lemon peel, depending on the style of gin. Technically, if you want onions in your martini, then you're drinking a Gibson. If you're drinking a "martini" without vermouth, you're simply drinking iced gin in a martini glass. And, to the people who mix their martinis with a ratio higher than six to one, you might as well forgo the vermouth, put the bottle of gin in the freezer and take swigs out of the bottle whenever you're thirsty because you're certainly not drinking a martini.

Now, to address the word 'vodka' that you slipped into the conversation, any alcohol that is distilled specifically to be neutral in flavor has no place in my martini. However, I am not against vodka, especially if it's served achingly cold and neat while eating Russian caviar on potato blinis with some chopped egg, red onion, sour cream, and lemon, preferably at a winter dacha in front of a roaring fire."

"What is it that you do that you can speak so passionately about the martini, Mr.? asked the increasingly attentive bartender.

"Call me Chance. And I used to be in advertising, so while I didn’t necessarily attend the prestigious Ecole Hoteliere de Lausanne to become a bartender, let’s just say that I audited enough classes in the form of client dinners to achieve an advanced degree in ensuring the comfort and safety of others. It’s also why I can extol the virtues of a properly made martini, the ingredients of which, when properly applied, can save you from even the most boring of conversations."

At this point, Chance measured eight ounces of gin and two ounces of vermouth, which he poured into the ice-filled cocktail mixer. He began stirring clockwise with a long silver bar spoon to the same tempo as a couple dancing the tango: unhurried, elegant, graceful, firm and athletic. He kept this up for about :30, which was enough time to chill the cocktail without too much dilution from the ice.

Uploaded by Isabel Page Pagola on 2017-12-24.

He then removed the two martini glasses from the freezer and placed them on the bar. They were thoroughly frosted and you could see condensed air starting to rise from the glasses as they adjusted to the difference in temperature between the freezer and bar. Chance skewered two olives on two toothpicks and ran them under water to rinse off the olive brine.

"I know you're wondering why I'm running these olives under water. Yes, you can order a dirty martini that contains olive juice; however, if you're that low on salt in your diet, you're better off opening up a salt shaker and taking a lick. Olive juice in a martini is like a Renaissance mask at a Victorian ball; it simply doesn't belong."

Chance placed an olive-skewered toothpick into each glass, put a lid on the cocktail mixer to block the ice from escaping and apportioned a generous sliver of moonlight into each glass. He slid one over to the bartender and said, "Now, tell me if this isn't the best martini you've ever tasted."

The bartender raised his glass in a toast, took a sip and grinned. "Those are some molecules," the bartender said as applause rang throughout the bar.

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