The weather may be wet, but my Martini's still dry

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

We've just passed the halfway mark of 2006, and I'm just ahead of schedule on my project: I have now had a drink this year at exactly three quarters of the bars in central Wellington. It's a bit of a moving target, since some bars closed before I could get to them, while others have closed and reopened since I visited, meaning that I'll have to go back! It's a hard life.

But seriously, some bars are definitely hard work, such as the current mystery bar. Some of the guesses are getting pretty close, but none of them indicate that the guesser has actually been inside the place in question: if you've been there, you'll recognise it (presuming you didn't partake of too much Jack Daniels while you were there).

Along the way, I've been able to pop into some much more salubrious establishments, and whenever it was feasible (and sometimes when it wasn't) I have ordered a Martini. I've realised that I'm long overdue to publish a Martini review, so building on from my first four instalments, here is the latest batch of fresh, (mostly) delicious, gin-based goodness.

Copita: 8.5
Classic ingredients (Tanqueray, Noilly Prat, three olives) were always going to give a classy drink, and the results didn't disappoint. Strong herb and citrus aromas led on to an icy-cold drink with a rich oily mouthfeel, though let down a tad by a somewhat fierce finish.

Coyote: 6.5
I didn't see the making of this Martini, but I don't think the ingredients were the best. The faint aroma was gin-dominated, and while the drink was admirably cold and clear with a peppery bite, it quickly degenerated into a thin junipery body and a hot, unpleasantly bitter finish. The garnish consisted of two olives pierced lengthwise by two short sticks.

Eclipse: 5.5
The bartender placed ice in the Martini glass, stirred Bombay Sapphire and Martini brand vermouth in a shaker with more ice ... then went off to serve another customer, leaving it to dilute. The result looked clear and cold, but had ice chips floating on the surface. The aroma and taste were both slightly sweet and citrusy, and the finish was watery and stale-tasting. The use of two cheap black olives in place of the canonical green didn't help either.

Establishment: 9
An admirably old-fashioned approach, using Tanqueray and Noilly, with enough of the latter to allow the complexity of the French vermouth through. The drink was poured right to the brim of a small glass, the way that it would have been in the Forties, and garnished with two large, fresh, delicious olives. Wonderfully balanced and easy to drink. (Note: this was at the back bar, not in the main bar(n), and I specifically asked for Matthew to make it. Your mileage will definitely vary.)

One Red Dog (Kumutoto): 8
Despite the barman's nervousness, he was happy to take directions, which at least meant that I got it made exactly the way I like it. Tanqueray, Noilly (no, don't chuck it all out!), stirred (gently! gently! you'll bruise the gin!), olives (three please). It was all looking good, with a crystal-clear body and a gentle haze of condensation outside the glass, and I was licking my lips and thanking the barman as he brought out some water for my companions when ... SMASH! He brought one of the water glasses down on the side of the Martini glass, shattering one side of it into a thousand gin-soaked fragments. Profusely apologetic, he offered to bring a fresh one to the table, and when he did, the results were very, very good. However, a Martini is all about quiet confidence and delicate poise, all of which is incompatible with having a glass smashed in front of you, so I had to take off at least half a point.

Gibbon's Bar: 2
I've reviewed this at length before, but I think it's worth a recap. The staff were earnest and pleasant, but had clearly not only never made a Dry Martini before, but had only vaguely ever heard of one. They knew enough not to just serve up a glass of Italian vermouth, but the result was little better. After carefully specifying gin and asking for a 5-to-1 ratio (best not to attempt anything too dry in such a place), I then had to carefully explain to the incredulous bartender that no, I didn't mean 5 parts vermouth to one of gin, but the other way around.

This seemed to evoke severe cognitive dissonance in the poor bartender, and I eventually managed to end up with something neither shaken nor stirred, but that at least had slightly more gin than vermouth. Well, I presume it was gin, but I couldn't tell, and didn't want to know, what brand of gin was involved: it was poured from an invisible dispenser above the bar. To top it off, three large ice cubes were plonked into the Martini glass, resulting in something that bore as little resemblance to a Dry Martini as the membership of Waterfront Watch does to the clientele of Havana. I managed to force down a couple of sips before giving up, and I'm being very generous to give this 2 out of 10. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you: the worst Martini in Wellington.

Harem: 5
I didn't see the ingredients, but I did hear the shaking, so I knew what to expect: watery and topped with ice chips. What I didn't expect was a straw! There was a strong gin aroma, but not much flavour. Hardly suprising, since one wouldn't expect subtlety and grace from a place full of neon palm trees and papier-mache stalactites, and I'd recommend sticking to the "Sultan's Passion". Good company, though.

Lido: 7.5
This has always been a cafe rather than a bar, but the presence of a cocktail list nudges it barwards. Unlike some similar places, they can back up their promises with some very creditable cocktail making. My Martini was crisp & cold, with a distinct herbal aroma, smooth rich flavour and two large olives.

Paradiso: 7
They had no Tanqueray, so I went with South gin and Noilly Prat. The result was generally all present and correct, with the standard three olives and a restrained aroma and flavour, but something was definitely wrong with the presentation: it was served in a metal "glass"! I'm all in favour of innovation, but visual clarity is an important part of the Martini experience, so serving it in an opaque vessel is like encasing a diamond in lead. It also interferes with the tactile experience of sipping, and at least gives the illusion of affecting the taste and smell. The glass was branded "Absolut", which explains everything.

Pod: 8.5
The barman was keen to do everything to my specification, asking me for my preferred make of gin (Tanqueray), level of dryness (7-to-1) and even the number of olives (two). The process was quite elaborate: he stirred the gin with ice and the olives; added ice to the glass; discarded the ice; poured vermouth into the glass; discarded most of that; then finally strained the chilled gin into the glass and added the olives. The result was cold and clear, with a pleasant yet undemonstrative nose and a smooth, oily palette The flavours were distinctly savoury (perhaps a result of adding the olives while stirring?) with herbal and liquorice overtones. Overall, it was sleek, uncomplicated and satisfying.

Red Square: 8.5
They used Tanqueray, which was good, and Martini, which is less so. There were the usual three olives, and the result was served in a pleasantly traditional small glass. It had strong pepper and citrus aromas, and a smooth, cold body, and a slightly unusual, almost salty finish. Perhaps they were using brinier olives than usual, but whatever it was, I quite liked the savoury edge it brought to the drink.

Whitby's Piano Bar: 6.5
Shaken and bland, with ice chips floating on the top, a watery body and a lack of flavour. Not good enough for a supposedly swish hotel bar.

Ponderosa: 8
An all-round solid effort, with Tanqueray and Noilly, and the only non-standard touch was the use of a bamboo skewer for the three olives. Tasty and refreshing, but not spectacular.

Capitol: 9
When a cocktail menu specifically lists four versions of the classic Martini, with increasingly premium varieties of gin, you should expect them to know what they're doing. And they do. I chose the Tanqueray Ten Martini for $17, and it was a bargain. The appearance was impeccable. The aromas were intoxicating and fascinatingly complex, with clearly separable notes from many different botanicals, including liquorice and grapefruit as well as the usual juniper berries. The body was rich and sumptuous, with deep and moreish flavours. While unapologetically alcoholic, it was deceptively easy to drink, and I had to restrain myself so as to savour it with the leisurely attention that it deserved.

So why only 9 out of 10? They didn't so much garnish it as cram it with olives: six olives on two separate sticks! This cluttered and detracted from what should have been a near-perfect drink, since the olive is supposed to be a grace note, not a dominating ingredient. It was a Sunday afternoon, so perhaps they felt that by law, I had to have a meal. Such a pity. Everything else was perfect: the clarity, the aroma, the taste, the company of a beautiful woman, the violet light of a late afternoon in winter. Next time, I'll specify the number of olives, and may aim even higher by trying a Miller's gin Martini. I've never experienced the perfect Martini experience, and maybe the very concept is illusory ... ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a Martini for?

Martini meditations

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

The barrage of recent events in Wellington has taken up valuable drinking time and made it hard for me to maintain the initially blistering pace of my quest. At the time of my previous Martini review post at the end of January I'd already checked off 50 bars at a rate of 1.7 per day: since then this has dropped off to an unimpressive 0.7 per day. Not that this necessarily implies a drop in alcohol intake, since I'm now having to make repeat visits to regular haunts rather than always seeking fresh pastures. I've still managed to make it to 62 of Wellington's 157 bars, which is not doing too badly, but I've had a spanner thrown into the statistical works by the demise of Bouquet Garni before I had a chance to get to it this year. Hopefully I'll get a chance to make up for lost time this weekend, as the ongoing Festival of Duncan (don't ask) should provide a congenial excuse for a bar safari.

I'll post some more Martini reviews at the end of this post, but first a few meditations on the nature of the Martini itself. I'm flexible enough to allow vodka as a variation, but never as a default. Interesting variations can be had by using another clear dry spirit in place of gin (Akvavit could be interesting) or substituting for vermouth a kindred aromatic aperitif (Lillet of course, probably Dubonnet, and a good case could be made for a hint of Chartreuse or asbsinthe).

The soul of a Martini, in its broader sense, seems to lie in a complex blend of botanical elements, baptised in the pale fire of alcohol, then salved by the gentle embrace of pure ice. Thus Matterhorn's Convent Martini, for example, offers a radical yet essentially sympathetic addition to the Martini canon by taking gin, adding Italian fennel liqueur, then stirring and garnishing with a sprig of rosemary. The earthy aromas of the herbs engage in a powerful dialectic with the ethereal spirituality of gin to conceive a subtle sermon on mediaeval theology in vitro. And no, I'm not drinking one now: why do you ask?

But what do we find now ennobled by the rubric "Martini"? A ragtag and increasingly debased rabble of frivolous, malformed and venomous chimerae worthy of a bibulous Bosch. A case can be made for the Cosmopolitan as a cocktail of some distinction, but it is not, as some claim, a "Martini": the closest that a Martini should get to fruit juice is a twist of lemon. The term "Chocolate Martini" insults two of humanity's greatest discoveries, and the "Candy-cane Martini" just proves that candy is not always dandy. Mixological vulgarity reaches its apotheosis with attempts to claim "The world's most expensive Martini": Tantra's US$25 version not only wastes some damn fine Inniskillin ice wine, but looks laughable beside The Algonquin's $10,000 Martini, which should at least taste like the real thing if you don't choke on the diamond.

It's also possible to oversimplify. Even the usually reliable Keith Stewart wrote in The Listener recently: "Gin, chilled, never-mind-the-vermouth, twist of lemon zest, maybe an olive for the hungry." Never mind the vermouth? As The Sifter so rightly points out, "That's not a Martini. That's a glass of spirit waiting to be mixed with something else." It's true that there has evolved a "cult of dryness" that aims to add the most infinitesimal quantum of vermouth to the gin, and such Martini luminaries as Hemingway ("let a ray of sun pass through the vermouth and hit the gin") and Churchill ("turn towards France and nod in respect for the missing ingredient") are claimed to be adherents of this creed. These can be read as Zen koans, Zenoesque paradoxes of the asymptotic approach to nothingness, meditations on the ineffability of perfection; but not as recipes.

In any case, even with the right ingredients, it's possible to produce travesties, mediocrities and disasters. But just occasionally, it all comes together in a tantalising glimpse of genius. Here, then, is another chapter in a pilgrim's diary:

Good Luck: 8
South Gin & Noilly Prat delivered a distinctly citrusy aroma, a smooth but not oily mouthfeel, and a well balanced palate with mellow, integrated botanicals. Reasonably cold, and set off by 3 olives on a long bamboo stick.

Dockside: 6.5
With Bombay Sapphire & Martini, it was never going to be brilliant, and indeed it was smooth but bland. Barely cold, and as if that weren't bad enough, it featured a single, greyish, floating olive, like a bloated corpse bobbing to the surface of the East River. The horror!

Jet: 7.5
I asked for Tanqueray because I couldn't face a house pour of Bombay. I got Tanqueray stirred with ice and poured into an unchilled Noilly-rinsed glass, with four olives on a complicated two-stick arrangement. The pour was generous to a fault (verging on the ridiculous). Perhaps not quite cold enough, otherwise very pleasant.

Hummingbird: 9.5
Exquisite. Icy cold, crystal clear, delicate herbal & citrus notes set off with a peppery bite. They had no Tanqueray, but used Tanqueray Ten for a mere dollar extra! Impeccable decisions continued with the use of Noilly Prat and three olives with no mucking about. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a Martini.

Monsoon Poon: 7
The trainee barman was under instructions from his manager, but still went for vodka by default: not a good sign. He poured Noilly into a chilled glass, stirred Plymouth (fairly roughly) with ice, dispensed with the excess vermouth, then strained in the gin and added three olives. The result: nice herbal aromas, good robust flavours to start with, nice and cold with an oily mouthfeel, but a rough, unbalanced, "hot" finish. Not a bad effort for a beginner, but with this chain getting a right bollocking from some quarters, it needs to do better then this.

Lumiere: 5
This was perhaps not a fair test, since they had no barman on duty and the chef had a go instead. Worryingly, he started by asking whether I wanted soda. Oh dear. I directed him towards the Tanqueray & vermouth, and asked for it stirred ("Really? I thought the whole James Bond idea was to shake?"). He stirred the mixture with ice in a tumbler, using the only implement he could find (a straw), and added a single olive. Surprisingly, it actually resembled a Martini to some degree, despite the use of sweet vermouth. It suffered from insufficient chilling, and got a bit sickly by the end, but I've had worse. And yes, this was Mystery Bar #21.

Rouge: 6
The barman started with cold glass, then rinsed it with Noilly Prat (at room temperature) and poured in South Gin (also at room temperature). A pleasant citrusy aroma, and a passable oily texture with hints of botanical flavours, were let down by a crude raw alcohol finish. Three olives on clear plastic stick with a blue knob & Absolut branding, which seemed a little tacky. Worse, the olives tasted rancid. At least no-one will have to suffer poor cocktails or service here again.

Seam: 7
South Gin & Noilly Prat. The bartender seemed far from confident, and this showed in the result. It was almost cold, but with fragments of ice floating on the top, and two loose olives. Too bland, and with a short pour that looked a bit mean in a large glass.

Hope Bros: 7
Pleasantly cold, with a smooth mouthfeel, and the flavours were nicely balanced to start with. However, they'd chosen a giant garlic-stuffed olive instead of the usual pimento, and the garlic flavour left a bitter taste at the end.

Tupelo: 8
Smooth, well balanced and reasonably cold: quaffable but far from transcendent, to coin a phrase. One of the three olives had escaped from the stick. It may sound picky to criticise this, but in a drink that is all about attention to detail, a small flaw like this detracts from the aura of perfection.

Martini marathon

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

It's time for some long-overdue Martini reviews (my last one was way back in July). Adding things up, I realise that after today I've now reviewed 56 Martinis this year. That may sound like a lot, but it's only about one every four and a half days, which is nothing. For some people that would be a month's worth of lunches. So, on with the reviews.

Boulcott St Bistro: 7.5
Somewhat disappointingly, this otherwise fine establishment goes the Bombay way. The result was generally okay (clear, cold and smooth), but lacking in depth of flavour.

Boss: 6.5
When I asked for a Dry Martini, the barman nodded knowledgeably, then reached for Bacardi. Thankfully, the bar manager reacted in horror and took over before an unspeakable chimera was born. He stirred South Gin and Noilly with ice and strained it into a chilled glass with three olives. The result had a muted herbal aroma, and a pleasantly strong taste of juniper, citrus and liquorice, but was let down by a hot, unbalanced "rocket fuel" finish.

Caucus: 4.5
This didn't start well, with Bombay and Martini being shaken rather vigorously, and got worse when it arrived without olives. When I enquired, the waitress said that they were out of olives, so I asked for a twist instead. After a couple of minutes, what I got was a side dish with four olives (rustled up from the kitchen), no cocktail stick, and half a slice of lemon. Oh dear. At least the drink was clear and cold, though with a distracting raft of ice chips. There was only a faint gin aroma and a watery gin taste, with just a vague hint of vermouth on the finish.

Electric Avenue: 8
This was a complex process. First, the bartender put ice into a glass for a while before discarding the ice. Then a dash of Martini vermouth was placed into a shaker with ice, briefly stirred, then strained out. More vermouth went into the chilled glass before being swirled and discarded. The bartender then added Tanqueray to the shaker, stirred it slowly with the vestigial vermouth, and strained it into the glass with three olives speared lengthwise. The result was nicely cold and viscous, with good legs. The aroma was pleasantly herbaceous, the body intensely dry with distinct citrus and peppery notes, followed by a long clean finish.

Hawthorn Lounge: 9.5
For a change, the premium gin was not Tanqueray but Crown Jewel, which combined with Noilly Prat to give an exquisite Martini. Served ice-cold in a small glass filled almost to the brim, this was a classic and old fashioned drink, as befits the surroundings. The aromas and flavours were intense, with elements of herbs, spices, black olives, juniper and liquorice. The mouthfeel and finish were both weighty and impeccable, and as reviews have suggested, the rare and powerfully alcoholic gin may have been what made the difference.

Imbibe: 9
Again, it's good to see some alternatives to the major brands of gin. The proprietors suggested that I tried Junípero, a "boutique" gin from San Francisco, and I'm glad I took their advice. The result was flavoursome and fiercely strong, and while I personally would have preferred a little more Noilly Prat, it was delicious. As you would expect from the name, juniper was the dominant flavour, with a hint of lemon and perhaps something a little like aromatic pine. The body was a little lighter than some of the other premium gins, but not at all bland as the previous review found it.

Lone Star: 7.5
Tanqueray and Martini were stirred with ice in a shaker, then strained into a small chilled glass with three olives (lengthwise - is this a trend?). The nose was a little bland and the drink not quite cold enough, but it made up for this with strong botanical flavours: juniper, liquorice and perhaps tarragon. The finish was a bit hot, but nice and rich.

Lone Star Lounge: 7.5
This bar used the same ingredients as its downstairs stablemate, with similar results. Overall, a fairly standard and straightforward Martini, but none the less satisfying for that.

Milk: 5
This is a bar with pretensions to cocktail style but an RTD clientele, and the Martini was predictably disappointing. Perhaps I'm getting fussy now, and sneer at anything less than Tanq Ten, but Gordon's?!? In the name of all things holy, no! The result was bland and plasticky, with the only detectable flavour being a hint of bitterness from the single black olive.

MVP: 7
I didn't see this being made, but from the results I'd guess it was made from fairly standard ingredients. It was clear but slightly tepid, served in a small glass with a single olive. The aroma was mellow but balanced and it was tasty if undistinguished. A touch of saltiness from the olive helped to bring it together at the end.

Rain: 3
The barman initially went to shake it, but I stopped him just in time. I needn't have bothered, as the result was never going to resemble a Martini. I was taken aback by the presence of dozens of pale particles floating in the drink, which a sip revealed to be lime juice. As I've said before, that's not a Martini but a variation on a gimlet. In any case, it was sweet and bland, topped off with the ridiculous spectacle of a huge unpitted green olive, balanced on the side of the glass with a rickety arrangement of toothpicks. I should have expected no better from a place that looks, sounds and smells like an eighties nightclub.

Sojourn: 4
I'd expect rack spirits from a cheesy Courtenay Place bar, but not from what passes for a decent hotel. What I got was a mixture of Beefeater gin and Martini vermouth, with two slightly brownish olives on a tiny stick that disappeared beneath the surface. It was cloudy and covered in ice chips, and the barman wondered aloud what had gone wrong (simple - he shook it!). There was virtually no aroma, the mouthfeel was dull and watery with a vaguely gin-like finish, and the flavour of the olives themselves was dominated by pimento. Combine this with the presence of a toothless, moustachioed pianist systematically murdering the works of Antônio Carlos Jobim, and it's hard to avoid the conclusion that Wellington desparately needs some good hotel bars.

G&T roundup

File under: drink, Wellington

The weather and my busy schedule have both made it hard for me to enjoy as many gin and tonics (gins and tonic?) as I intended during September. Of those I did have, most were adequate, though none were really excellent. It's nice to be asked (as I was at Mighty Mighty) which gin I preferred, and more places ought to ask whether the customer wants it short or long. A couple of places (Hope Bros springs to mind) ruined theirs with postmix tonic, and I was reminded that I don't really like gin and tonic when it's poorly made.

Maybe a G&T is a drink that is best enjoyed when you've made it yourself, preferably in the sun, rather than in a bar situation. Even places that seem to make an effort with other drinks will chuck together a slapdash gin & tonic: perhaps it's considered a common mixer rather than a cocktail, and thus not given the time and attention that it deserves. Perhaps the rather poor quality of the limes available at the moment had something to do with as well. It's a pity that my travels last month didn't take me near to Matterhorn, Motel or Hawthorn Lounge, all of which (from memory) take the time to do it properly.

The one interesting variation that I tried was at Boulôt. While their Gemini cocktail (gin, sloe gin, San Pellegrino pompelmo and juniper berries) is quite a long way from a G&T, the essential ingredients of gin, fizzy water and a touch of bitterness are all present. It makes a very pleasant alternative, though I should add a warning: it's pink, bubbly and served in a stemmed glass with straws, so anyone who feels uncomfortable being seen drinking a less-than-masculine cocktail should think twice before ordering.

Anyway, here's hoping that this month brings more than just equinoctial gales, since my choice of drink for October is one I very much associate with the onset of spring.

Drink of the month: Gin & Tonic

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

For September I thought I'd choose something simple and classic; something that looks forward to the sunshine without being overtly tropical; something refreshing but unfussy: the gin and tonic. Now, you may think that the G&T is a bit naff, redolent as it is of 1970's Anglophilia, yacht clubs and estate agents, propriety and middle-class social climbing. There's a wonderful line from Notes on a Scandal when Judi Dench's character says of Cate Blanchett's: "Her fetish for the boy was simply her snobbery manifested. 'He's working class and he likes art'. As if he were a monkey who'd just strolled out of the rain forest and asked for a gin and tonic." Doesn't that say all you need to know about the G&T as social signifier?

But really, we should look beyond such vagaries of fashion, and the more open-minded among us realise that it's a classic for a reason. Unlike some long drinks, the tonic provides a bracing bitterness that imbues it with a complexity that mere citrus cannot replicate. It's very adaptable, with long and short versions, lemon and lime options and the addition of bitters to adjust it to suit the weather and mood. And being so simple, it's impossible to get wrong.

Or is it? You'd think that of all places, a bar called "Juniper" would know what to do with gin, but as my good friend Che discovered, they're no better with that than they are with a Rob Roy:

I was a bit shocked when the barkeep looked at me sideways when I asked for a gin and tonic.

"What's in that?" he asked.

Leaving aside rank ignorance of that magnitude, the easiest way to muck up a G&T is with bad tonic. Ideally, it should be well-chilled and fresh from a small glass bottle to ensure that it's crisp and hasn't gone flat. A squirt of the ol' Postmix is a guarantee of disappointment, and really, is there any substitute for Schweppes? It's interesting to read that the distinctive fluorescence shown by tonic water under UV light is actually a sign that the quinine is being degraded into a tasteless and possibly carcinogenic chemical. Thus, you should never store your tonic in direct sunlight, and it's a good excuse when you're drinking in the sun to knock the G&T's back as quickly as possible!

Poor quality limes can also be an issue, and as the photo above illustrates, a lot of the limes we've been getting recently have yellow lemon-like skins and very little lime flavour. Often a quick wipe around the rim of the glass is enough, though a little squeeze won't go amiss. Some would argue that a dash of Angostura bitters is unnecessary given the bitterness of the tonic, but I think it has quite a different flavour profile and can often add a nice earthy depth to the mix.

From the above, it should be possible to work out where one can expect a good rendition: anywhere with decent gin (though super-premium spirits might be overwhelmed by the tonic), competent staff and a commitment to high-quality ingredients should be able to satisfy you. But as always, any nominations for places to seek out or avoid are most welcome, as are any reports of unusual variations on the theme (such as Imbibe's quinine-reduction ice cubes).

Wellingtini

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

Since my last set of Martini reviews back in September, I've tried Martinis at another eleven establishments, taking the total so far to 67. Since I only have six more bars to tick off to complete my Herculean task, and many of those seem distinctly non-Martini-worthy (such as the current mystery bar - there are some new hints among the comments), this will probably be the penultimate Martini review of the year. A handful of new bars are likely to open soon, and perhaps I'll take on some of the bars I've visited but where I've yet to try a 'tini: otherwise I've nearly reached total coverage (not to mention total organ failure). But on with the reviews!

Bisque On Bolton: 8.5
The drink was made out of sight, so I didn't see the ingredients, but I'd speculate that it was the good stuff. Served in a large glass with two giant stuffed olives, it exhibited the classic Martini nose of juniper, herbs and citrus. It had a strong, weighty mouthfeel and tasted of liquorice and citrus, tending gradually saltier as I approached the end of the drink. To round things off, the olives were delicious.

Bohdans: 5
Everything about this place seems like a flashback to somewhere between 1975 and 1985, so the ingredients were predictably old school: Gordons gin and Martini vermouth. These were stirred briefly with ice, then strained into an unchilled glass and garnished with two olives … and two straws! It had a vague gin and lemonade nose, with a sweet, tepid, watery body and a hint of pepperiness on the finish.

Ernesto: 7.5
This was generally a good Martini, though perhaps lacking a little in body (which I'll put down to the use of South gin). The single, giant olive was skewered off-axis, due to the presence of a pit, but the intensity of the olive flavour added an interesting dimension. With a little slick of brine on the surface, this bordered on being a Dirty Martini: it's a variation to which I'm not averse, though not what one expects by default.

The Lanes: 6.5
My order provoked some excitement, bordering upon consternation, among the staff: this was the first Martini to have been ordered there. By the time they'd found someone who knew what one was, I'd given up being too fussy, and even pressed on with my Quixotic request when they revealed that they only had red vermouth. In any case, with the "rinse the glass and discard" approach to vermouth the amount of that ingredient was so small that I wouldn't have suspected the presence of Rosso if I hadn't seen it. In fact, given the bar standards of bowling alleys in the Wellington region, I'd have to say the result far exceeded the norm.

Logan Brown: 8.5
This is an establishment that sets high expectations, and the presence of Junípero gin on the bar shelves confirmed that they are as serious about spirits as they are about food and wine. The enthusiastic barman stirred the gin with ice and a slug of Noilly Prat, then strained the drink into a refrigerated glass with two "free-range" olives. The bouquet was intense, with juniper and liquorice prevailing, and the richly unctuous body was let down only marginally by a slightly hot finish. Perhaps a little more stirring would have integrated the flavours more, but otherwise this met all expectations.

Mercure Willis Hotel: 8
Never trust a hotel bar that, at cocktail hour, has a sign reading "for bar service please contact reception". That's generally a good maxim, but the presence of Tanqueray on the shelves encouraged more optimism than usual. When I asked for a Martini, the barmaid summoned the bar manager, who seemed more than happy to have a patron ask for something other than a lager or a white wine.

Things started to go downhill from there. The Tanqueray bottle was almost empty, and an extensive search of the back rooms revealed that it was the last. Bombay it was, then. And Martini vermouth. In a glass that had a furry underside after weeks gathering dust on the shelf.

But what's this? A crisp clear appearance, pleasantly restrained citrus aromas, a full, smooth body and a satisfyingly tart and balanced finish. In other words, pretty much a textbook Martini. Upon complementing the bar manager, I found that he had previously worked at Hummingbird. It all goes to show that skill and care can triumph over mediocre ingredients and surroundings.

Mighty Mighty: 7.5
These were probably not the best conditions for ordering a Martini, given the crush at the bar as the band started their set, but the seductive promise of Tanqueray and Noilly Prat lounging provocatively on the bar shelves was too much to ignore. Besides, how can one not order a Martini in a place where the waiters sport waistcoats, turbans and muttonchop sideburns?

The bartender freely admitted never having made one before, but gamely pressed on under my instructions. I opted for a straightforward and traditional approach: chill the glass, pour five parts gin to one of vermouth into a mixing glass with ice, stir briefly and strain. It was garnished with a single free-range olive, but I wasn't going to quibble over the absence of a stick. The result was very pleasant and quaffable (though quaffing a Martini is neither decorous nor safe) without being outstanding, and I expect the results here would be better in more relaxed times.

Orchid Lounge: 6.5
The drink was cold and clear, though with an oddly yellow-green tint, and served with two olives on a flat stick. The aroma was sweet and herbal, dominated by lemon and the distinctive smell of vermouth, and while the body was drier than the nose suggested, it finished off with a sweetish edge. As I suspected, it turns out it was made with sweet vermouth rather than dry, so despite being drinkable enough, doesn’t really qualify as a "Dry" Martini. At least they didn't kill it with lime juice as they did in their previous incarnation!

St Johns: 8
Seated at a brand-new dark polished wood bar in a spacious Art Deco building, and spying Tanqueray Ten and Noilly Prat on the shelves, my expectations were understandably high. Opening nights are always a bit dicey, though, and in this case they were all out of olives. I went with a twist of lemon instead, and the result, while made with care and the best alcoholic ingredients, was dominated by the citrus flavour. I used to be a twist man, but now that I'm attuned to the savoury edge that olives bring, I find that a twist sweetens and overpowers the drink. They should be fully stocked with olives by now, so it may be time for a rematch.

Spice Island: 5
As this establishment is decidedly more upmarket than its predecessor Lumiere, I expected staff who knew how to make a Martini. Initial signs were good, as I was asked whether I preferred vodka or gin, shaken or stirred, twist or olives. The results were disappointing, however: a little on the tepid side, with a touch of cloudiness, and overpoweringly sweet. Later investigations revealed that sweet vermouth was again the culprit, and it had obviously been added in far too great a proportion.

The Grill at Duxton: 8
While I didn't see it being made (we were in the restaurant area), I'd guess that good quality ingredients were involved, since the result was canonical. Crisp, clear and cold, with three olives in a large glass, its promising appearance was confirmed by a heady aroma of herbs and citrus and complemented by a rich, mellow body and clean finish. Precise and delicious, without being groundbreaking, it's exactly what one should expect of a hotel Martini.

Mystery bar number 30

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

Right, that's enough serious council-related malarkey for one week. Time for a bar!

I've already mentioned that last week's mystery bar was Scopa, which opened last week on the site of the ill-fated Rouge. The Bresolin boys have pared back the decor and broadened the appeal, serving everything from breakfast to eaux-de-vie. Or eaux-de-vie for breakfast, if you're so inclined. I thought at first that it would be more of a café than a bar, but then at 10pm on Monday night there was a table of people knocking back Sambucca shots, so I guess it counts as a bar.

This week's mystery bar didn't exactly impress me as much. It gives the impression of trying to be upmarket, but the decor is stuck in the eighties, and not in a glam way either: there's a lot of pastel and brass. It's comfortable enough, and there was live music when we visited, but all this does is lull you into a false sense of security. The sort of security that makes you think, "This place should be able to make a decent Martini".

And how wrong you would be. The staff were earnest and pleasant, but had clearly not only never made a Dry Martini before, but had only vaguely ever heard of one. They knew enough not to just serve up a glass of Italian vermouth, but the result was little better. After carefully specifying gin and asking for a 5-to-1 ratio (best not to attempt anything too dry in such a place, I then had to carefully explain to the incredulous bartender that no, I didn't mean 5 parts vermouth to one of gin, but the other way around.

This seemed to evoke severe cognitive dissonance in the poor bartender, and I eventually managed to end up with something neither shaken nor stirred, but that at least had slightly more gin than vermouth. Well, I presume it was gin, but I couldn't tell, and didn't want to know, what brand of gin was involved: it was poured from an invisible dispenser above the bar. To top it off, three large ice cubes were plonked into the Martini glass, resulting in something that bore as little resemblance to a Dry Martini as the membership of Waterfront Watch does to the clientele of Havana. I managed to force down a couple of sips before giving up, and when I next get around to updating my Martini reviews, this will receive a very generous 2 out of 10. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you: the worst Martini in Wellington.

In Martini felicitas

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

My bibulous mission continues apace, and while there has been the odd hiccup (an occupational hazard), I've now sampled nearly a third of all bars in Wellington. Carrying on with my Martini-reviewing sub-quest, here are a few more reviews for your edification.

Beaujolais: 8.5
Smooth, elegant and old-fashioned, with lovely rich vermouth flavours. Admirably, the menu states the gin to vermouth ratio (5-1, which explains the vermouth dominance of the flavour), and the ingredients are beyond reproach (Tanqueray and Nolliy Prat) . This would have been a 9 if it had been just slightly colder and the olives hadn't been impaled on a silly metal fork with a plastic orange on the end, thus diminishing the gravitas of an otherwise classic rendition.

Chow: 8.5
Well balanced & delicious; fairly smooth with a slight peppery edge. Two olives, unusually floating free at the bottom rather than on a stick: some purists would frown at this, claiming that a stick is required to "give the drink an axis".

Juniper: 7
I had high expectations from a bar that specialises in gin, but these were not quite met. I took the bar manager's suggestion of Inglewood gin, an organic brand that I haven't seen elsewhere. I should have stuck with good old Tanq: while it was crisp, smooth and almost cold enough, it was just too bland, with not enough botanical character.

Mercury Lounge: 7
Just a hint of spiciness to give a touch of character; otherwise, quite smooth but not quite cold enough.

Ponderosa: 8
The barmaid asked for my gin preference, which always inspires confidence. I went for Tanqueray, and was rewarded with a Martini that was all present & correct, but not spectacular. The (apparently standard) 3 olives were speared on the same style of bamboo cocktail stick favoured by the Southern Cross (available at Moore Wilson Fresh, as I have since discovered).

Vespa Lounge: 4
Unbalanced and "hot" (dominated by an overly alcoholic mouthfeel) with no botanicals in evidence. Even worse, it was pretty much tepid. They've got a cheek calling this a Martini: it's not a Martini, it's warm Bombay Sapphire in a glass. They've got even more cheek charging $16 for such a travesty! Still, what do you expect from a bar that feature Perky Nana-infused vodka?


Expect more reviews as time and health allow. In the meantime, I should give the full text and source of the Latin tag that I used as a title: it's In vino veritas, sed in Martini felicitas, cribbed from Grampy's post to an entertaining Martini-related thread on roadfood.com. Oh, and by the way, Hadyn: now that you're on a mission to review every "big breakfast" in town, how about combining the two and asking for a "Pork Martini"? Warning: following that link is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach.

Barrage

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

Here's a a few bibulous notes that I've gathered together in anticipation of the weekend.

First of all: someone please put in some more guesses as to the identity of Mystery bar number 16. Surely some of you venture beyond the CBD occasionally? I have some brand new mystery bars waiting in the wings, and want to clear the decks first.

I'm not usually one to plug books, but I'm sure many of you will appreciate Frank Moorhouse's Martini: A Memoir. Mixing fiction, reminiscence, anecdotes and musings on the lore and cultural significance of the Martini, it's inspiring, literate and relentlessly quotable. Moorhouse is not quite a true prescriptivist (see the Martini FAQ for those), but he is a traditionalist. It's worth it just for "The 13 Awarenesses", which parallels the ritual of appreciating a Martini to that of the Japanese tea ceremony. I think he's wrong about Dunedin, though.

Over at Dorking Labs, Stephen has been conducting Martini experiments that may not please the prescriptivists, but those of a more adventurous persuasion should be able to appreciate. There's the 1947 Martini, and now the Omega Martini: is this the Martini to end all Martinis?

Continuing with my Martini theme, I've decided that as part of my sacred quest (31 of 157 bars so far - yes, I keep discovering new ones), I will order and review a Dry Martini from any bar that looks like it deserves it. I've tried to ensure consistency by ordering a gin martini (any bartender who defaults to vodka should be shown the door, but it's wise to be specific) with an olive. I don't specify the brand of gin or vermouth, because I'm interested in testing their house Martini. Here are my results so far.

Sandwiches: 8
Pleasant, though not quite cold enough, with an intriguing "biscuity" aroma to start: perhaps due to the Plymouth Gin? A very generous pour: at least 40 sips. Three cocktail olives, giving a more savoury edge to the last few sips.

Dojo: 6
Oddly savoury on the palate, and though not unpleasant, it lacked the clarity of flavour that one expects from a proper Martini. Definite golden tinge, perhaps hinting at an excess of Noilly Prat. Three olives with pits intact, precariously attached to a strange arrangement of two cocktail sticks. Perhaps the olives were marinated, which would explain the unusual flavours. A miserly pour (barely covering the second olive), and though the barman reduced the price because of this and smaller Martinis are more traditional, it looked ridiculous in an oversized glass.

Chameleon: 7
Generally acceptable, if not quite cold enough. The indigenous botanicals in South Gin very only subtly noticeable. Three cocktail olives. The barman was courteous and attentive, perhaps to a fault.

Southern Cross: 8
Well balanced, though could have been colder. Unusual olive treatment: two giant pimento-stuffed olives on a stick that seemed to have fashioned from a strip of bamboo, with a knot at the dry end.

Matterhorn: 9
Exquisitely smooth and perfectly cold. No fussing with the olives: just a single cocktail olive on a stick. The secret? Tanqueray 10 as standard.

Last Supper Club: 8
Quite a spicy, peppery bite. Crisp and cold. The only one that I asked for with a twist, which delivered a very subtle lemony edge.

Mystery bar number 19

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

Well, so much for mystery bar number 18: it didn't take long for Josh to identify it as Trax at the railway station. Do you agree with me that Wellington commuters and visitors deserve something better than a relic from the days of walkshorts and railway pies?

Today's mystery bar should be harder. A lot harder. Stephen once accused me of being "duplicitous" in my mystery bar clues, and while I would dispute that, in this case I could be accused of making it unfairly difficult. But it should become a lot easier from tonight.

This place is a shrine to the sixties, and the Beatles in particular. The walls are covered with album covers, posters and guitars, which combine with brick walls, leather booths and squishy sofas to give (what I imagine to be) the atmosphere of a club from the 1960s. The image is enhanced by the low, arched ceiling and dim lighting, for an effect that is either claustrophobic or cosy, depending upon your point of view.

The management are clearly aiming at the over-40 set, and plan to keep the music quiet enough for conversation. Hummingbird is similar in that is also plays music from the same era, but often very loudly: this, and the difference between a large restaurant/bar with fishbowl windows and a small underground bar should ensure that the place has a point of difference.

It's not predominantly a cocktail bar, but they do make cocktails, and various styles of Martini glass are prominently displayed on backlit shelves behind the bar. I asked the bar manager what she'd use to make a Martini, and she answered "Plymouth. We have Bombay Sapphire too, but that's not really gin, just gin-flavoured vodka". Stephen would approve.

There's also a baby grand in the corner and a couple of Rat Pack posters, so those who prefer a loungier style of music may be in luck, too. If the sixties music isn't too dominant, the combination of cocktails and comfy sofas could bring in a wider clientele, especially those of us looking forward to the Lounge revival revival.

Mystery bar number 63

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

Jonny picked the previous mystery bar as Trade Kitchen. It's much more of a restaurant (a very, very good one, as it turns out) than a bar, but it has a casual café area that is quite well suited to a casual glass of wine after work. At the moment, their bar snacks are limited, but they're toying with the idea of adding a tapas-type menu. That would be a very good idea, since while their location is a bit isolated at the moment, it's strategically sited between the core CBD, waterfront and railway station, making it an ideal spot for corporate drinkies.

Today's mystery bar doesn't do much in the way of food, beyond a few counter-top sandwiches and nibbles, and instead it straddles the divide between café and bar. During the day, it's very much oriented towards a quick coffee and slice of cake, augmented by a range of cold soft drinks that go beyond the normal selection. But it also has a more bar-like side to its personality, complete with a short but quite inventive cocktail list (e.g. rosemary Martini, pear and vanilla punch). The shelves are full of premium spirits and other goodies (Ketel One vodka, Hendrick's gin, Peychaud's bitters) that suggest the mind of a connoisseur.

It's cosy and cute, with a couple of flamboyantly decorative touches, but otherwise it's been pared back to the basics. Some of the elements, such as the dark wooden bar, are reminiscent of the now-familiar Mojo look, but they use another brand of coffee so it has nothing to do with that chain. Instead, it seems to be a resolutely individual little place bringing a touch of character to some drab surroundings.

Drink of the month: Daiquiri

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

It's well into November now, of course, but there was the small matter of 11 posts on architecture to get out before the end of today, so here's the belated drink of the month post. After several months of wine, spirits and even non-alcoholic beverages, it's time to get back to cocktails with one of the best-known concoctions from tropical climes: the Daiquiri.

In its classic form, the Daiquiri is almost simple: just rum, lime juice and sugar syrup. But as is so often the case with cocktails, simplicity does not always equate to ease or reliability, and you're likely to run across many mediocre and even undrinkable versions in your quest for perfection. That's partly due to the existence of often confusing variations, but can mostly be put down to a question of balance. It's even more of an issue with a Daiquiri than it is with a Martini, since while the flavours of gin and vermouth are known qualities, lime can vary with the source and season. Locally, we seem to have gone through a bad run with limes, resulting in many tooth-enamel-stripping drinks in places that should know better.

I mentioned confusing variations, and one thing that clouds the issue is the fact that the so-called "Hemingway Daiquiri" is usually some way on a spectrum between two versions: the Papa Doble and the Hemingway Special. The former doubles the rum and omits the sugar; while the latter also adds grapefruit juice and maraschino. Between all these variations, it's very hard to know what you'll receive, so it may be best to specify the exact ingredients and proportions to your taste (if you can do this without feeling patronising).

Regular readers will know that I don't have a sweet tooth, and that I can be a stickler for tradition, so you'll no doubt expect me to either ignore or excoriate the slew of alcoholic slushies known as frozen Daiquiris. But you'll be wrong: some occasions call for one to abandon one's inhibitions and good taste and embrace the tackiness. As the silly season of office parties and barbeques approaches, go ahead and raid the greengrocers for tropical fruit; go mad with blenders and crushers; and even (if you can mention the phrase without sniggering) buy a packet of rimming sugar. If you want to maintain a shred of dignity, though, go easy on the sugar, use fresh ingredients where possible, and remember that you still should be able to taste the rum.

So, where to sample the Daiquiri in all its glory? Any place with a Latin American theme should have quite a range: Flying Burrito Brothers and Havana spring to mind, and I'll have to give Buena Vista Social Club another go to see how they're faring these days. Good Luck and Imbibe have been known to feature interesting variations, and the usual suspects (Matterhorn, Motel, Hawthorn Lounge) should all deliver good classic versions (though I have to admit that my last Hemingway Daiquiri there was a bit tart for my taste). For the flamboyantly cheesy (though hopefully not literally!) fruit Daiquiris, I suspect that the likes of Electric Avenue and Boogie Wonderland would have wide ranges of sticky retro concoctions. If there are any other places out there that are notable for the quality or uniqueness of their Daiquiris, please let us know.

Manhattan roundup

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

My month of Manhattans didn't unearth quite as many highs and lows as my Martini explorations, partly because life's too short to try bad cocktails from every crummy bar in Courtenay Place, and partly because it's harder to get wrong. There are a lot of quite sweet and approachable flavours in American whiskey and red vermouth, unlike the brittle herbal notes of gin and dry vermouth, which can be quite polarising.

Many of my best experiences were in exactly the sort of places that should do a Manhattan well, and they're chronicled over at Texture in the current drink feature. Last week's mystery bar (yes, it was the Lotus Room, the successor to Go Go) also did a very creditable one, despite their obvious preference for creamy and fruity confections. Pod went for a dryer than usual style, which made for a good aperitif, as did the Cavern Club's version. The latter was one of several places that went for a lemon twist in place of a maraschino cherry, either by choice or because they lacked the latter: strictly speaking, that should only be done for a Dry Manhattan, not one that uses sweet red vermouth.

Monsoon Poon was another place that used a twist, and it annoyed me a little since they didn't tell me until the end that they had no cherries (that's like making a Martini when you have no olives and not mentioning it to the customer first). It also ended up lukewarm and bland, since there was far too much vermouth, and it was poured straight into the glass without mixing with ice. The Southern Cross also delivered an unbalanced effort, but in the other direction, and they seem to have gone overboard on the bitters. Plum got the wrong end of the stick entirely: when they told me that they had no sweet vermouth, I asked for a Dry Manhattan instead. What I got was a Dry Martini!

I must say that I couldn't taste any consistent difference between those who used real rye whiskey and those who had Canadian Club (which is not made from 100% rye). Those who made do with bourbon were generally canny enough to compensate with a touch more bitters, emulating the slightly peppery bite of rye compared to the sweetness of bourbon.

Winter should finally be upon us soon, despite the unseasonably warm May, and next month's drink should reflect that. It's also going to be very different from all the drinks of the month so far!

Mystery bar number 46

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

Before we get started, is anyone surprised that this happened at Hummingbird? I always thought that Mini bar was the place that's always full of drunk middle-aged estate agents, but the 'bird attracts a similar demographic.

I doubt that you'd find many of them at last week's mystery bar, expect when things get very late and desperate. Maximus was the first to guess the place, but Deep Red was the first to mention its actual name: Breakers pool hall in Manners St. Confusingly, most of the signs outside still call it The White Room, but the sandwich board in Luke's Lane has the new name, and the licensing documents confirm it. Some people thought it might be a karaoke bar, and while I couldn't see any sign of it in the bar itself, it seems to be owned by the same people who own the Korean karaoke lounge on the 5th floor. All of which sits rather oddly with the obligatory redneck American feel of a pool hall.

Moving on, today's mystery bar might seem more congenial to white middle-class punters of a certain age, though it's unlikely to get quite as full of boozy slappers (and I use the term literally) as Hummingbird. It's much more sedate than that, but it seems like it might have been kicking off a messy evening for a few people, judging by a few conversations that I overheard.

The decor might have reminded them of their youth, as it looks like it hasn't had a makeover since before the fresh-faced staff were conceived. With diagonal honey-toned wooden panelling, faux-Med textured plaster, brown leather bar, cheap fabric tub chairs and even a brass-and-cane ceiling fan, it's straight out of the seventies. Based on New Zealand's traditionally sluggish uptake of architectural trends, though, that probably means it was designed in the mid eighties.

Given that, it was surprising to see a cocktail list featuring contemporary recipes, heavy on the manuka honey 42 Below. The racks of spirits behind the bar looked fairly impressive at first, but the only gin they had was Gordons, with predictably depressing Martini results despite the bartender's best efforts. It doesn't make the most of its location, since it gives up the sun and views to the attached restaurant, which may be excellent for all I know, but the fact that it's mis-spelled as a "restautant" on the expensively embossed menu cover doesn't exactly raise one's expectations.

Super-souse me

File under: drink, nightlife, Wellington

With the weekend nearly upon us, it's time to post something related to alcohol. After all, it is St Patrick's Day, which is hard to miss given the green-clad queues outside the Irish pubs, and the fact that Lambton Quay is crammed with more fiddlers than a Catholic boys' school. But on to the drinks.

First of all, there have been disappointingly few attempts to identify the current mystery bar, and instead, most of the commenters have been content to slag off the previous mystery bar and its owner. How rude! Here's another photo, in case you need more clues.

Secondly, I've reached an important milestone in my project. I've now had a drink in over half of Wellington's bars: 55% to be precise, or 83 out of 150. But wait: weren't there 157 in my earlier list? Yes, but we've had a spate of closures: not just Rouge and Bouquet Garni, but Beau Monde as well, and both Magnum and Stage appear to be moribund. I also made a couple of errors in compiling my original list: I had counted The Bristol twice, and Play should never have been on my list since it closed last year. We've had a couple of new openings, but I could see them coming so I included them on the list before they were open.

That all sounds a bit depressing, and I keep wondering whether this is a sign of the economic downturn, but on the other hand we had a lot of new openings last year so I think we still have more bars open now than a year ago. I imagine that the post-Christmas period is a shaking-out time for the hospitality industry, with marginal businesses finding it hard to recapture their clientele after the break.

Never mind: there are still plenty of places making great Martinis, and a few dodgy ones as well. So, here's the latest in my series of Martini reviews.

Crazy Horse: 8.5
The glass was rinsed with room temperature Noilly Prat, which was then discarded. Tanqueray was stirred with ice and poured in. So far, pretty standard, but it took an interesting turn when the barman added three marinated, unstuffed olives. This gave the drink a strong peppery aroma, mixing grassy & sweet notes. The palate was also sweet and oily. Some would dispprove of the little slick of green olive oil that formed on the surface, and the result was far from canonical, but it certainly was delicious.

East West: 3
They used Bombay, which was not a good start, but worse was to come. They added Martini vermouth, then lime juice(!), shook it with ice and served the result without an olive or twist, but with a straw stuck to the outside of the glass. That's not a Martini, it's a gimlet with vermouth!. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant drink, but it was an insult to the word "Martini". It wasn't a random aberration either: I later checked their cocktail list, and they actually listed lime among the ingredients for a "classic" Martini. Shame.

Flying Burrito Brothers: 8
The barman poured Martini vermouth over ice into the glass & discarded it. He stirred Tanqueray with ice, slowly and with reverence, before adding it to the glass along with two olives on a stick. The result was nicely cold, with restrained juniper and herb aromas. The palate was oily, with hints of lemon and pepper, leading to a hot dry finish. Very pleasant, but a little too gin-dominated for my tastes: the use of Noilly Prat, especially with a slightly higher vermouth ratio, would have elevated this towards excellence.

The Green Room: 8
Plymouth and Noilly Prat were stirred together with ice, then poured into a sensible-sized glass. Three olives were skewered on a long bamboo stick, then rubbed around the rim of the glass before being placed in the drink: a nice touch, I think. The aromas were herbal and slightly savoury; the palate smooth and elegant. A lovely Martini, though it would have benefitted from a chilled glass.

Shed 5: 6
An inexperienced bartender was slowly coached by the bar manager in the art of the Martini, but it wasn't the most illuminating lesson. They poured water and ice into the glass to chill it, and left it for several minutes before emptying. Then vermouth and ice were added and discarded, and Bombay was stirred with ice and strained into the glass. They then put it behind the bar and left it so that they could deal with other customers. By the time I reminded them that I was still waiting for my drink, 15 minutes had elapsed and the Martini had lost all the coldness that they went to such lengths to give it. The eventual result was drinkable but bland, with a single olive skewered lengthwise on a standard stick. A huge amount of effort went to waste due to a basic lapse of service standards, though the ingredients would never have produced the best results.

Zibibbo: 7
Tanqueray and Noilly Prat, stirred together with ice, but the result was still not quite cold enough. The nose had some botanical character, but the palate was not quite as smooth and integrated. It was served with the standard three olives, but skewered lengthwise rather than transversally. This might sounds like a small nit to pick, but it caused some of the pimento to be pushed out, giving a messy and slightly disturbing appearance. "Waiter, something's prolapsed in my drink!"

Monkey Bar: 8
Tanqueray and Martini vermouth gave a smooth and mellow result, with a delightfully crisp bite from assiduous chilling. The now-standard three olives rounded out a pleasantly classical Martini.

Motel: 8.5
Tanqueray and Noilly Prat, stirred with due care and attention, were always going to produce the goods. The result was cold and smooth, with distinct notes of citrus and spice. The two olives were floating free: others might see this as a welcome roguish streak beneath a polished exterior, but to a perfectionist's eye this somehow detracts from the requisite air of structure and balance. Nevertheless: delicious.

Mini Bar: 6.5
Bombay Sapphire and Noilly Prat gave an unexceptional taste, and the use of two olives completed the middle-of-the-road approach. A touch of cloudiness and the tell-tale presence of ice chips revealed that it had been shaken rather than stirred, so that the molecules were unable to lie sensuously one on top of the other as Somerset Maugham would have preferred. This was the Peter Dunne of Martinis: superficially immaculate and bland, but with hidden violent tendencies and an agressive rejection of sensuality.

Dogside

File under: waterfront, drink, Wellington

Most of my recent posts have been on two subjects about which Wellingtonians are known to be passionate: the waterfront, and drinking. So here's one that combines the two.

The space on the north and east sides of the Loaded Hog is finally turning into a branch of One Red Dog. It was always intended to be such, but seemed to have received only a partial fit-out before being left in limbo. It looks as if the owners were waiting for spring to make it a more attractive destination before opening, and in the meantime it's been kept busy as a special events venue (Barmy Army, World of WearableArts etc).

While it's good to see a greater variety of waterfront dining venues, I had hoped for something other than a chain (at least it's not Starbucks!). I also hope that the staff are better-trained than at the Hog or at the Ponsonby One Red Dog. Years ago at the latter venue, I asked for a Martini made with Bombay Sapphire, receiving the reply, "Certainly sir, and would you like some gin in that?"

The Green Room opened some time ago in the old function room of Shed 5. It's going for more of an intimate, boutique bar feeling than Shed 5, and with it's Starck plastic sofas it's the closest the waterfront gets to hipness. On the other hand, the soundtrack tends to be aimed at a Baby Boomer and Generation Jones crowd, and the clientele reflects this. Nevertheless, the outside area is still a pleasant place to be on a still night.

The Odlins building is pretty much complete, though the ground floor tenancies are yet to be leased. Next door, the former Wellington Brewing Company in Shed 22 has been re-branded as a Mac's Bar. The giant mural celebrating Kiwi booze-barn culture has gone, replaced by a row of booths, and while there are hints of the ersatz miner's cottage look of their rivals Monteiths, as a first impression it looks lighter and more contemporary. As long as they still have Verboden Vice, I'll be happy.

People often talk of establishments "going under", but the F69 bar will be literally going under when the frigate is sunk off Island Bay next month. I'm sure that Te Papa will be glad to get their view back, but it's been great to have a bit of life partway along the long, bleak path in front of Te Papa.

Let's Freak again

File under: nightlife, fashion, Wellington

Some people would be offended if they were called a freak show, but the members of Freak Productions have no such qualms. Fresh from the launch of their fashion creations at Hunters & Collectors, this Saturday night they will present for your delectation, stimulation (and possibly trepidation) Salon Freak!, a "cutting edge cabaret".

Though not evident from the poster, the theme is "Jazz Age", promising "an underground, seedy spectacle" of "Bathtub Gin in back alley Juke Joints, speak-easies, [and] machine gun wielding, Zoot suited gangsters driving large expensive cars". So, definitely not your average night at The Big Kumara, then. Expect a large contingent from Cuba St and other hotbeds of immorality.

As well as fashion shows from Miss Demeanour, Native Sista and Mr Freak himself, the entertainment will include jazz performers, the VauDevil Drag Kings, the Rocky Horror Rockestra, an avant-garde one-woman show from Svetlana Fullonskiva-Kissoff, and cabaret stalwart Princess Hanz (pictured here at Midnight Burlesque).

Doors open at 10pm, there's a $10 cover charge and a costume and mask will be compulsory (time to dust off the fedora and violin case). For those of you who for some strange reason are having trouble reading my low-resolution shot of a grimy poster on Cuba St, check the Freak Productions website for more details.

Liquid links

File under: drink, coffee, Wellington

First of all, thanks to all of the blogorati who have responded to my call for a BlogHooley (or "Working Bloggers' Cocktail and Literary Society" as Hadyn has christened it). Here are the gory details, as worked out through a shining example of collective decision-making:

• Boulôt (15 Blair St)
• Tomorrow night (Friday 9th December)
• From about 6pm (I'll get there by 6 to grab a table, since it looks like there'll be about 10 of us: let me know if you'll be much later).
• The agenda will include, but may not be limited to: eating, drinking, talking about blogging, talking about interesting things, and ogling the bar staff.
• If the mood takes us, we may progress from there to other venues in search of taste sensations and ill-gotten wisdom.
  

It may not have escaped your attention that Wellington bloggers seem obsessed with drinking. That should not come as a surprise, since the wheels of urban life need frequent and copious lubrication. Cocktails seem to be the drink of choice for many (Stephen, Kate, Jo), so it's just as well that in most of Wellington, you're never far from a decent martini. But there are other ways to slake your thirst in this burg, so here's a quick look at some of the options.

Wine

For a while it was looking like the wine bar was an endangered species in Wellington, a relic of the expense-account 80s. Only Beaujolais and Bouquet Garni survived, and as it became the norm for bars to offer a decent selection of wine by the glass, the idea of a special kind of bar devoted to wine seemed quaint.

Not any more. Arbitrageur and Vivo both have a serious (some would say obsessive) approach to wine, and damn good food. Arbitrageur is lighter, more spacious and arguably quieter, and it officially has the best wine list in the country. Vivo is no slouch either, and while Beaujolais has the true London connection (I believe it was once owned by Don Hewitson, whose Cork & Bottle is the one redeeming feature of Leicester Square), Vivo's brick walls and buzzing atmosphere makes it feel like it belongs in a basement somewhere in the Square Mile.

Oh, and am I the only one who really misses CO₂? How can we be a real city without a Champagne bar?

I don't buy wine from retailers very often these days, and if I do it's usually something simple and off-dry to take to a BYO curry house, so I may not be the best authority on that sector (Salient has a good round up). I've raved before about Wineseeker, but Rumbles is a treasure trove and an institution, and Truffle also has a great selection of (mostly) European goodies. Though I'm not as much of a wine snob as I used to be, I still enjoy the rantings of those who are, especially when they are as entertainingly opinionated as the blog Screwcaps.

Beer

Not having drunk beer for long, I can't do much more than point out the obvious here (Leuven, the Brewery Bar and the Malthouse). For a number of reasons, the Brewery Bar is not my favourite place, but it's fantastic to have some distinctive Wellington beers brewed on the premises. It's a step towards the German attitude, where every city has a distinctive style of beer, and even within a city, every brewhouse makes its own version with its own characteristics.

As Barthes would tell you, one's choice of drink is never purely about flavour or nutrition: it is also a semiotic act that, intentionally or otherwise, broadcasts a message about your social status and belonging. Bruce Holloway at realbeer.co.nz has kindly posted a list of beers and those who drink 'em to help us deconstruct these beery signifiers. I'll let you read the original, but suffice to say I'm glad that I don't drink Ranfurly Draught or Flame beer. It's all centred around local beers and mass-market imports, so my poncy lagerphobic tastes don't even get a look in. And what on earth would he make of people who drink this stuff? (thanks to Hadyn for that link)

Spirits

Any bar worth its barflies is going to have a comprehensive collection of spirits these days, but Matterhorn and Motel both stand out for their impressive top shelves. Some bars, however, choose to specialise it particular forms of hard liquor:

• Gin: Juniper
• Whisk(e)y: The Dubliner
• Tequila: Flying Burrito Brothers and Establishment
• Digestifs (not really spirits, but near enough): Capitol

What have I missed? Are there any rum dens or Cognac lounges that the world should know about?

RTDs

So, you're interested in finding the places that specialise in Ready-To-Drink alcopops? Go: leave now, and never darken my blog again!

On the other hand, it may be wise to learn the locations of these dens of iniquity, so that you can be sure to avoid them. Any of the toplefters would be a good start, though I am sure that any bar that fits in the bottom left quadrant would we equally ready to sell you a gaudy bottle of sugar, food colouring and bathtub spirits. But the quickest way to spot them is to remember two words: Courtenay Place. Salient's A-Z kindly helps out by defining the Courtenay Quarter in TLAs: "RTDs, STIs, VIPs, BYOs and SOBs".

Coffee

There are times when sobriety and alertness are vital (such as 9am to midday on weekdays), so at these times, coffee is de rigeur. I'm not planning to start a religious war over who's got the best coffee, partly because I'm a bit of a philistine in that regard (a trim latte with two sugars, thanks). Sure, I refuse to go to Starbucks or Gloria Jean's if at all possible, but that's not due to coffee snobbery or even anti-globalisation convictions: they're just so goddamn boring! I'll leave the arguments about where to get decent coffee to Russell Brown.

I also hardly need to point out the influence of coffee culture upon Wellington's maturity as an urban centre. Karl du Fresne already had a go at that in the Dominion Post a few weeks back, and Ian Athfield points out in today's Wellingtonian that street cafés provide the vital urban function of joining the public and private realms (tell that to Waterfront Watch!). He quotes another architect: "Coffee's done more for cities in the past 25 years than architecture's done in the past 150".

And indeed, much of Wellington's transformation since the late 80s is due to the growth of café culture. Young people today won't believe it, but when I came to Wellington in 1989, City Limits (now Finc) seemd to be the only café open after 5pm (and we lived in a hole in t'middle of t'road). But a previous generation of coffee pioneers did their bit for Wellington's cultural life: Harry Seresin is one notable example, but it's interesting to read The Daily Grind, an account of the Wellington café scene from 1920.


That's enough for now: all this blogging is making me thirsty. Oh, and by the way, has anyone figured out the latest mystery bar yet?