My parents were martini drinkers. Mom still is, and I'm sure if my father were still here, he'd partake, as well. Early on, I think there were olives involved, but what I remember is the lemons, surgically stripped of their skins and a thousand miles removed from the kiss of the sun.
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| I know it's the "wrong" tool for the job, but I love that knife. |
I knew how to order a proper martini long before I was old enough to legally drink one. Bombay, straight-up, twist, dry and very cold.
I was still mucking about with my go-to spirit (rum) through my dad's final years, and - foolishly - I didn't take the time to learn his art.
But my brother did.
I've learned to love this cocktail - that first ultra-cold, lemon-infused sip is pure magic - and I now possess a great set of instructions for its assembly. I can finally make a superb martini on my own - although not with the consistency of quality that my brother possesses.
Practice makes perfect, though. Right?
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| [Failure to do justice to this masterpiece] |
Prompted once again by my friends at Studio 30 Plus - this time the challenge was to keep it short and include the phrase "kiss of the sun." This prompt comes to us from the gifted author and blogger K.G. Waite and her post Truths Untrue. You know what to do - drop by her bloggy place and say hello!
