Anthony Bourdain said that any self-respecting member of society must know how to roll a joint as well as make a proper omelette. He’s not wrong. In fact, there are quite a few things which every civilized human ought to know. From a general understanding of Shakespeare to proficiency in algebra or oral sex, we are obliged to wield certain skills by virtue of being citizens. Knowing how to make a proper martini is perhaps paramount of all. 

The martini was probably invented in—you know what, who cares? I don’t, and I know you don’t either.  What matters is that you know how to make it. As a bartender, I’ve made hundreds of them, and I ought not to admit how many were for myself. But I feel no shame because, after all, the martini is the living symbol of class, and it’s not trashy to get trashed off them—it’s cool and sophisticated. 

The first thing you’re gonna need is a martini glass. No surprise there. Do not—I repeat, do not—serve a martini in anything other than its intended vessel. It will instantly communicate that you have no idea what you’re doing. One time at a bar in Ottawa I was served a martini in a wine cup. I took it as a personal insult and left. Rarely, I see martinis served in a coup glass, but I think coup glasses look stupid and unwieldy. So do yourself and your company a favor and get some good martini glasses. They aren’t expensive. 

Anyways, you’re gonna want to start by chilling your glass. Fill it up with ice and water, and set it to the side. This step is not optional. A martini by definition must be freezing cold, and the glass must be the same temperature as the drink to prevent warming. A lukewarm martini is not a martini at all, and whoever hands you such a thing should be tried at the Hague. 

Okay, so your martini glass is chilling. Next you’re gonna wanna grab a mixing glass. Any pint glass will do, but you can also use the bottom half of a Boston shaker. Whatever you use, just make sure it’s glass or food-grade stainless steel. You don’t want to use plastic for this, because it doesn’t conduct the cold as well and it looks dumb. Save those plastic cups for beer pong.

We are now approaching the critical stages. Let’s talk gin. A classic martini is, of course, a gin martini. So that’s what I’ll focus on here. If you want to make yours with vodka, go right ahead. I won’t stop you. But everyone before they die should have a martini the classic way. There are lots of great gins with which to make your martini. My favorite is Beefeater; it’s a London dry which was born to be in a martini. But I also quite like Bombay Sapphire, Tanqueray, and Hendrick’s.

If you’re going through the trouble to make a proper martini, you must use a good gin. It’s a requirement. You cannot use a giant plastic jug with “GIN” written across it. The difference in taste between a martini with bad gin versus a martini with good gin is astounding. And you can buy any of the forenamed brands for around $30 or less, which isn’t that bad considering how many martinis you can make per bottle. If price won’t convince you, consider this: you are never going to get laid offering someone a martini that tastes like gasoline. 

Moving on. Let’s talk vermouth. You’re gonna need a dry vermouth, which is just wine that’s been steeped in herbs and spices. Around here, you can only really get your hands on three brands: Cinzano, Martini, and Dolin. They are all serviceable, but I have placed them in ascending order of how good each one is. I think Dolin is the best, but a lesser quality vermouth won’t make or break the drink to the same degree that gin will, because we are using hardly any vermouth at all. (In a gin and tonic, on the other hand, despite what you’d think, it is actually more important to use a better tonic than gin, for the same reason that there’s more of it in the drink.)

Let’s get back to the point. Pour about an ounce of vermouth in your mixing glass, swirl it around, and dump it out. Yes, you heard me right. Dump it out. If you don’t want to waste it, drink it like a shot. Leave a tiny bit in if you absolutely must, but all you’re trying to do here is odorize your mixing glass with the scent of vermouth. Gin and vermouth are steeped in similar botanicals, so the smells pair nicely together. But vermouth smells way better than it tastes, sort of like a waffle cone, so you don’t actually want it in your martini. Plus, why pollute perfectly good gin with any other liquid?

Okay, so you’ve rinsed your mixing glass with vermouth. Now pour in a healthy 2.5 to 3 ounces of gin. What? You’re supposed to get drunk! Top this with a lot of ice. Don’t put the ice in before the gin, because then it will dilute faster. The bigger the ice cubes, the better, for the same reason that they don’t dilute as fast. Indeed, you don’t want to incorporate extra water. The whole point is to drink alcohol. 

This next step is perhaps the most controversial. You’re going to stir the drink. No, not shake, stir. The day I lost all respect for James Bond was the day he ordered his martini shaken. No respectable bartender would ever shake a martini, and if someone asked me to, I would resign on a matter of principle before following the order. There are two main reasons for this. 

First, shaking a martini—or any drink for that matter—allows much more dilution than stirring. Sometimes this is inescapable, such as in a cosmopolitan which has citrus and so must be shaken to best blend the alcohol and lime juice. But, like I said, you don’t want to add unnecessary water to a martini. The second reason you want to mix this is that shaking drinks creates bubbles and makes them foggy. Again, sometimes this is desirable such as in a whiskey sour, which must be shaken to create a foamy texture and incorporate the citrus. But a martini is supposed to look clear as crystal. You want to be able to see through it like a mirror. That’s what makes it sexy. If you shake a martini, once you pour it in the glass it will look like bathwater, and nobody wants to drink that. 

So mix your martini for a good 10 to 15 seconds, until you can feel the glass get freezing. Make sure your hand is placed around the bottom rim of the glass, so that the heat of your palm doesn’t warm the drink while you mix. Once you’ve finished mixing, dump the ice and water out of your chilled glass, and strain in your martini. For obvious reasons, it is practically and aesthetically best to fill the glass no more than 3/4 of the way full. 

You are now supposed to garnish with an olive or two, but I prefer a twist of lemon. And by twist, I do mean a twist, not a wedge. You don’t want a wedge of anything clumsily dangling off the side of your drink. For god’s sake, this isn’t a margarita. 

I strongly recommend, however, that you at least try a martini how it should be—that is, garnished with an olive. I understand it sounds gross. I myself used to be very prejudiced against the idea of olives in my drink, but then I actually tried it and ended up liking it. Olives add an hint of salinity that compliments the gin surprisingly well. 

Congratulations, you’ve made your martini. All there’s left to do now is drink it. Alas, the puritan soul of our society has deemed it unrespectable to have martinis before dusk, if at all. But I think everyone should experience a three-martini lunch at least once in their life. And there’s nothing wrong with starting Sunday morning off with a bang. What else are you gonna do, go to church? I didn’t think so.