I haven’t had a martini in over a decade, but if I were to order one, it’d be a Gibson with Tanqueray Rangpur lime gin, with exactly three onions.
I haven’t had a Martini in a decade either but your Gibson sounds good (I didn’t know about the lime gin).
Because otherwise, it’s hard to put the swizzle stick through it. The olive pit gets in the way.
I’m fine with 2:1 or 3:1, garnished with an pimento-stuffed olive. Garlic-stuffed olives are fine too.
I once was at a place where I asked for a dry martini. The barman asked, “One spritz or two?” Huh? He put ice into the shaker, then using a spray bottle full of vermouth, sprayed one spritz in. “Would you like another spritz, sir?” I said sure, then he gave it a shake or two, then he did the pour. It was drier than I’d prefer, but perfectly acceptable.
What the…?
Why not just fill the bottom of the glass with Cheez Whiz and garnish it with slightly chewed chewing gum, and serve with a back of Bud Lite Lime?
Stranger
I accidentally made martinis with sweet vermouth once (the Mrs. bought the vermouth for some other drink and I just thought it was a different brand). It was awful. Particularly when you’re expecting a dry martini, and you’re shoving in a bunch of olives instead of orange bitters and lemon peel.
I’m not sure I’ve recovered enough to deliberately try a sweet martini.
The “dirty” in a dirty martini is from the addition of olive brine, not anything the olive is stuffed with.
Each to their taste. I actually quite like a small glass of sweet martini (the actual fortified wine) occasionally.
But I would never want to pollute it with gin, which I heartily detest…
This is correct. Although my standard martini (when I was a member of our local martini bar club) was a dirty martini with 3 olives (pimento, almond, and blue cheese). I tipped well, so they didn’t fuss.
Well, if the hole is empty, then…
I’m with you here. I used to continually stir the eggs over high heat, they way my parents taught me, till it was like a yellow version of fried minced beef.
Now I just gently fold it over, repeatedly, til it’s like an omelette that’s been folded multiple times. No water or milk added, just salt and pepper.
I think my scrambled eggs are somewhere in the middle of yours. I get the pan ripping hot, melt some butter, then take it off the heat and pour in the beaten eggs, swirling the corner of my spatula around until it starts to come together into something resembling a bumpy misshapen omelette lump, and plate it while it’s still somewhat glossy since it’ll firm up by the time it gets to the table.
^
Nice.
My older brother used to set his marshmallows on fire over the stove, and that was the only way I knew to do it. At some point I learned just to brown it, and preferred that.
Once in a while, I’ll be craving something crunchy, and this often satisfies it, without toppings.
That’s about how I do it too. I probably go for a tad less cooked before plating but nothing unusual.
I was in Italy last summer and one hotel I stayed at served a continental breakfast (of sorts). They included scrambled eggs. They were quite literally soupy (not egg soup but eggs so undercooked they were soupy…runny…you could actually pour them onto or off a plate). Porridge had more firmness to it by a lot. I was amazed and squicked out by it. I love traveling and I love food and I get different places do things differently (which is fine, even interesting and good) but this…nope. It was disgusting. And, it’s eggs…takes no time to cook. Even a lot of them. About as basic as it gets.
I mentioned Gordon Ramsay’s scrambled eggs upthread and that sounds pretty similar to his. Cooking them on extremely low heat for a very long time seems to be the European way, but the end result seems more like a savory custard than anything I’d describe as scrambled eggs. (Apparently Escoffier’s method involved cooking them in a double boiler for 45 minutes, which feels like way too much effort.)
Comes in handy if you find yourself rear-ended by a flying party…
I will see myself out
But before I leave, I will always make my Fettuccine Alfredo with chicken, despite Canada’s extradition treaty with Italy.
If you want wrong, let me tell you.
My mom liked a very occasional martini. That’s great. but when half done would like to pour some of my beer into it to make it half martini, half beer.
ummm… no I never tried it.
I guess it’s sort of like a gin boiler maker. I donno.
Do you like eggs?” She laughed. She looked at me, so I laughed too. Wolfe scowled. “Confound it, are eggs comical? Do you know how to scramble eggs, Mrs. Valdon?” “Yes, of course.” “To use Mr. Goodwin’s favorite locution, one will get you ten that you don’t. I’ll scramble eggs for your breakfast and we’ll see. Tell me forty minutes before you’re ready.” Her eyes widened. “Forty minutes?” “Yes. I knew you didn’t know.”
I remember laughing and thinking, I bet forty-five minute eggs would be fan-something-tastic, but there’s no way I’d ever put that much work into something so simple.
Escoffier and Ramsay can bite me. So can Joel Rubochon for his mashed potatoes that are half butter and silky smooth. I’d much rather have Denny’s scrambled eggs and my mother’s mashed potatoes, which still had some body to them. If I wanted soup I’d have ordered soup, dammit!