Martini isn’t just a drink… it’s an era in a glass.
Elegance, confidence, and a touch of mystery in every sip. Its origins are somewhat unclear: some say it was born in mid-1800s California, when a gold miner ordered a cocktail called the “Martinez,” which later evolved into the martini. Others claim it was named after the famous vermouth producer Martini & Rossi. Whatever the truth, the martini quickly became the symbol of refined drinking.
The classic recipe is simple: gin and dry vermouth, stirred with ice, not shaken, at least before the James Bond era. In the 1920s and ’30s, it was the star of the jazz age and the speakeasy bars; the martini glass became forever immortalized in the hands of film noir heroes. Later came the variations: the vodka martini, the dirty martini with olive brine, and even modern sweeter twists. Martini is more than a drink: it’s a statement of style. In one glass, you have timeless coolness, refined taste, and that effortless something no other drink can imitate.
I remember my parents loved martinis when I was a kid. They’d take out the lead crystal glasses they’d gotten as a wedding gift, and I swear even their posture changed as they carefully prepared for martini night. They’d invite over Julika and her husband, Feri, from next door. Julika worked in some office, Feri was a simple factory worker.
My parents always made a big deal of it. Dressed up, laid out the lace tablecloth reserved for special occasions, and placed a deck of Hungarian playing cards in the centre. The table was lined with glasses and pastries, and whenever I tried to grab one, my mom would slap my hand away: “Those are for the guests. Eat the ones by the edge of the kitchen!”
We weren’t rich – just living in a small one-and-a-half-room apartment on the eighth floor – but my parents liked to create a bit of Dallas glamour on certain nights.
I loved it when guests came. Julika was always kind, convincing my mom to let me stay at the table to deal the cards. And Feri? He let me taste the martini.
“He’s a big boy now,” he told my disapproving father.
“Let him try it, this sweet crap won’t hurt him,” he said, with the blunt wisdom of a factory man.
And that’s how my martini career began.
Later, of course, I realized it wasn’t my drink at all… but back then, it made me feel elegant and special.
So, when the Marilyn Night Club announced a martini night, I felt a wave of nostalgia. I hadn’t touched that “sweet crap” in years, so I thought, why not? To my surprise, it tasted better than I remembered, maybe because this time, I was surrounded by luxury, beautiful dancers, and actual martini glasses.
The evening started slow, only a few regulars besides me – though I had arrived early. But soon, the place filled up. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one feeling nostalgic, because everyone seemed to order martinis.
Around midnight, the extra show began: two new dancers joined the Marilyn crew, and they were absolutely sensational.
It turned into one of those effortlessly pleasant nights – nothing dramatic happened, people came and went, and I just sat at the bar, soaking in the relaxed elegance of it all.
Maybe that’s the real secret of the martini: you sit down, take your time, and savor the night – one you don’t have to rush through.
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