Make It Personal With a Gibson Cocktail
My idea of wisdom is knowing better than judging how someone orders a martini*. This is a deeply personal thing. Among the most classic shaken cocktails, the martini has perhaps the most forgiving dress code . So it hurts me when someone embarrassingly admits they like olives and twist in their martini, or more brine than vermouth, or churning rather than stirring. You don’t have to be shy.
The only situation in which I strongly recommend (but never insist) that a person change his martini is if he prefers his vodka martini but admits he has never had a gin martini. A gin martini in the ratio of two parts gin and one part dry vermouth is a cocktail in its purest and most original form. When done with excellence, it’s truly a perfect and wonderful thing, and well worth a try (especially if you haven’t tried it before).
martini has a sister
Well, he has several siblings, but I’m thinking of one in particular. This one looks like a fraternal twin and her name is Gibson. She’s a cocktail bow martini and she’s great.
I met Gibson at the very end of my martini evolution. For me, the allure of the martini has always been – as I think it has been for many people – the juicy olive that sits so enticingly on the skewer. As a child, I poured brine into a martini glass, threaded a half-dozen mealy olives onto a toothpick, and sat on the first-floor balcony of my mother’s one-room apartment. Depending on the day and how I felt, I pretended to be either Aunt Mame or Stockard Channing in The First Wives Club .
Ever since I can remember having taste buds, I have loved everything salty and sour. My sister and I peeled the lemons like oranges, quartered them and ate them, pouring salt and red vinegar over them. I could spend all day after school heading into town with a bag of limes, cutting each one in half and sprinkling the flesh with Lucas lime salt. I ate them with a grapefruit spoon until a pile of torn carcasses remained.
And although my passion for all the fragrances that ruin my face has somewhat diminished with age (I just can’t celebrate like I used to), my sister still keeps citric acid in her spice box . You know, so she can soak her extra acid warheads in it, obviously. (I think with a shudder about the state of our enamel.)
When I finally stumbled upon the Gibson, I was intrigued and delighted. Of course, I still adore a good martini with olives, but on the brine spectrum, olives lean more towards the salty side, leaving my acid-loving heart to be desired. Gibson, on the other hand, seemed to handle everything with aplomb. Vinegar, salty, a little sweet – and what could be more Balkan than eating onions while sipping on a drink? I was in love.
But I’ve also been in pickle because finding a good cocktail onion is surprisingly difficult. They almost always taste one-dimensional, or too sweet, or too soft, or too overwrought—as in the word ‘artisan’. Or, worst of all, exhausted and limp. It breaks my heart and I just can’t stand most of what’s on the shelves. So I started making my own Gibson bow and ended up with a very happy end product. I even think that my sister would like them, but I’m afraid to send a jar to California. (Is vinegar flammable?)
How to cook a Gibson onion
To say that I pickle my own properly would be a generous statement, as pickling seems to require at least some measure of care and patience. Thus, the process I am about to describe may horrify many of you, but I hope some of you will also be fascinated by it. Anyway, I won’t judge your martini if you don’t judge my Gibson.
Ingredients (all to taste, so trust your taste):
- Pearl bow pack. Not too tiny, but not too big either, between a ball and a golf ball. I use red onions, but sometimes I go crazy and make a mixture of red and yellow onions, but I highly recommend red onions. How much? How much are you willing to clear ? That’s how much.
- Salt. A lot of everything.
- Sugar. A little about it.
- vinegars. Right. Plural. Mix that shit up (But balsamic can be fucked right off the bat. It has nothing to do with it. Apple cider too. Love you, but not now.) In my last batch, I used a bunch of white wine vinegar, some regular white vinegar, and a tablespoon of ultra-resistant white vinegar, bought in Russian grocery store. In general, I used what was at hand. But, as a rule, it is a combination of red and / or white wine vinegar with the addition of a small amount of plain white vinegar.
- Pickling spices. You know: coriander seeds, a couple of cloves, a bay leaf and some black peppercorns. Mustard seeds are great. So are dill seeds. Do not overdo it.
- Water. Because we need to take care of the lining of the esophagus and stomach.
Mix vinegar, salt and sugar together. It’s all done to taste, so start with the lighter part of what you think you’ll need and add as you go. Heat, if necessary, to dissolve the dissolved substances. Once you have reached the balance you like, add some water to reduce the astringency. How much water is your business, not mine, but it should not equal or exceed the amount of vinegar, otherwise what’s the point? Why are we doing this?
Bring a pot of salted water to a boil, add the pearl onions and cook for one minute. (More and we risk mash territory.) Drain the water into a colander and then plunge into ice water. Trim off the end of the root and pull on the top end to release the skin like a sleeve. (You can make cuts in the root before you boil them, this will make them easier to clean.)
Place the pearl onion in an airtight container, pour over the brine mixture and close the lid. Place in refrigerator and wait 24-48 hours.
How to make a Gibson
- 2 oz Gin
- 1 ounce dry vermouth
- Onion pickle if you like it a little dusty
Pour the gin and vermouth into a chilled mixing glass and add crushed ice. Stir about 25-30 seconds, then strain into chilled coupe. (If you’re going to get dusty on your Gibson, rinse your chilled coupe with a tablespoon of brine, or add the brine directly into the mixing glass before stirring.) Garnish with any amount of cocktail onions.
* The only martini I’ve ever tried. Made by my aforementioned sister: