In an old New Yorker article Roger Angell wrote a long and exhaustive bit of sophistry about the Martini and its place in American culture. In between name-dropping his stepfather, writer E.B. White, Angell went about tracing the cocktail's iconic stature from its early dominance in the 1950's, to its evolution into the preferred after-work drink of the newly minted suburbanite, to its re-emergence as the drink of the social elite in the 1980's. Angell's article is thought provoking, if not a little ham-fisted in its evocation of cultural stereotypes. The problem is that he never takes the time to ask exactly why this cocktail above all others has such a reputation.
The Martini is one of the oldest cocktails in the world. As such, its exact origin is clouded in as much apocrypha as fact. Like so many drinks it has a variety of tall tales associated with its creation, all involving one remarkable individual, a traveler, or an unassuming saloon. The truth is that the Martini is such a simple creation that it's more than likely a development of many parallel circumstances. The only thing that each origin story has in common is the idea of the modern Martini evolving from a much more complicated drink. That part, I'm willing to accept. Early cocktails had a tendency to be full of extra ingredients. Take, for instance, the drink old enough to be called the Classic Cocktail. It's a mish-mash of mulled fruit, sugar, herbs, bitters mix and more gin than any one human ought to drink. It's no wonder it fell out of popularity in the post-Prohibition days.
In fact, the Prohibition is the reason many cocktails exist at all. Badly-made spirits have an awful flavor, especially when they aren't distilled or filtered properly. In neutral drinks like gin and vodka (the potential bases of the Martini) this can be especially disastrous. Those earliest versions of the Martini had larger quantities of both sweet and dry vermouth, orange bitters, and sometimes even Maraschino. It was all likely to cover up the unpleasant taste of gin before sophisticated, modern filtration techniques.
By the middle of the 20th century, the Martini had its current form: Gin or vodka flavored with just a hint of dry vermouth and a solitary olive. That kind of nuance and restraint doesn't come in the experimental stages of any culinary endeavor. These perfect proportions allow the Martini to showcase everything that's good about its ingredients without overpowering the drinker with any one of them. It is customizable for those who like more or less of any individual part and it also lends itself to substitution. On a hot summer day, I'm personally more likely to drink a Martini with a lemon twist than an olive garnish. My father has been known to mark a special occasion with a vodka Martini on the rocks with an anchovy-stuffed olive.
As for why the Martini became the drink of the elite, I imagine it has more to do with the fussy construction and the impressive presentation than the cocktail itself. To this day patrons of bars and restaurants are essentially paying for the fancy glass, not what goes into it. The clarity and crispness of the Martini evokes cleanliness, crystal and diamonds, and more pointedly the extensive kit of bar tools one can use to construct the drink (most of which are entirely optional).
In the 21st century the Martini has been somewhat democratized, if not needlessly dumbed-down. There are as many variations as there are bars that serve it. Any combination of vodka and various liqueurs and garnish have been called Martinis. They come and go like all fads. This doesn't mean the real deal is languishing. The past decade has seen the spirits market flooded with new brands of vodka, leading to an emerging aficionado trend and a renewed interest in how to make that iconic drink.
My belief is that the Martini survives the tide of cultural development because it's a respectable, honest drink. It retains its bite, it's easy to enjoy whether or not one occupies the elite class associated with it, and it appeals to the perfectionist in all of us. Roger Angell's supposition that the Martini reflects and even influences American values may be a bit of an overstatement, but that doesn't mean it's still not an important cocktail in its own right.
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