Stirred, not shaken

... a martini, that is. Because you're not supposed to have 'shaken' and 'babies' in the same post :-)

Pynchon has made me a martini tonight. He is actually more of a girl-drink kind of guy--you know, sugary things, with umbrellas in them. And anything with a cherry in it, really. Or beer. Sometimes, but only with steak, a vodka martini. Anyhoo, this is about my drinking, not his. The point is that Pynchon doesn't drink martinis, but he does make them for me. It is just one more of his fine qualities that has me wondering what I ever did to deserve such a husband.

Our first year here after moving cross-country for my new-prof job, he often made it home from the office before me. And one evening, after I had had a particularly hellish day, and was staring down the barrel of a pile of poorly-written business writing assignments, I came home to discover the whole apartment aglow with candles, a martini carefully made, covered with Saran Wrap, and chilling in the freezer, and a romantic and peaceful dinner of Kraft Dinner with red pepper keeping warm on the stove. There was some sort of soothing jazz on the stereo. You can imagine that I just melted on the spot.

Again, last week, in the middle of his very first week of full-time, stay-at-home Dada-ness, he surprised me with just such a kindness. I came home from the office to the sparkle of the outdoor Christmas lights as I walked up the street, a quiet house filled with candles, and a note pointing me to the freezer. In which I found my martini. Pynchon was putting Miss Baby down for nap #4, and he wanted me to relax. It was just so very kind and thoughtful.

The martini has become my signature drink in the half-decade or so that I have been drinking them. I adopted the drink in a bid to be cool and sophisticated. Worldly. Jaded. Maybe I was feeling brittle. The martini is spare, no-fuss, cold. It is a serious, uncompromising, straight-up, astringent cocktail. It is James Bond's drink. But every time I drink one now, all I can imagine is how much my husband loves me. How very kind and generous he is. And how he's willing to stand at the kitchen sink and shake the brine off wee little olives just to make me happy. You might as well plunk four or five cherries, an umbrella, and maybe one of those little pirate swords in it, for all the street cred this gives me now ...

(I know, I know. Now you're all reaching for the tequila, to cut the saccharine of this post. I'm not maudlin from the booze! I haven't sipped it yet!)

Dry Martini:
* 1.5 or 2 oz. Bombay Sapphire gin, right out of the freezer
* tiny dribble of dry vermouth
* 2 President's Choice Mammoth stuffed olives

Combine gin and vermouth in a cocktail glass. Spear olives on a tooth pick, after shaking all the brine off them. Plunk olives into cocktail glass. Sniff. Sigh. Drink.