The Astor Martini, or How I Failed to Broaden My Horizons

Going out of your comfort zone now and again is healthy, or so they say. Try something new for a change, you may surprise yourself. It'll broaden your horizons. My friend Clive, who knows a thing or two about beverages, recently shared a recipe for what he calls the Astor Martini: graprefruit juice, Campari and - here's the clincher - vodka. Ketel One vodka, specifically. Well, it is definitely grapefruit season, and Campari has been a staple in my home bar ever since Clive introduced me to the Negroni all those years ago. The problem is vodka. I do not drink it as a rule, and I tend to avoid cocktails based on it. The sole exception is the Bloody Mary, but even that is a rare treat these days. This despite, or maybe because, my origins lie in a place that invented the damn thing. So Ketel One was out of the question.

When I inquired about the possibility of using another brand, Clive equivocated, relaxing his dictum a bit but insisting on a certain minimum level of quality. Well, no doubt to his great disappointment, vodka quality is a foreign concept to me, and I am not likely to change the situation any time soon, due more to a lack of available liver capacity than interest. So I reached for the only thing I had ready to hand - a bottle of U.K.-made Three Olives that I bought a long time ago for a party.

Clive's photos show an unmistakably ruby-red grapefruit, but I had a yellow one on hand (really a pale pink once you cut into it). After a minute of squeezing, measuring, pouring and shaking, I had my cocktail. The original is apparently served without a garnish, but to me there is something incomplete about an ungarnished martini-style cocktail, the minimalist appeal notwithstanding, so seeing as I've already sacrificed a grapefruit, I gave the glass a generous swath of its rind. Then I strained and looked. Clive's photos show a decidedly red, almost blood-hued concoction, but mine came out unapologetically pink. I am talking blatant, 1980s nylon windbreaker pink. Girly pink, if I may use the term. Good thing no one is watching, I thought.

I sniffed - not much. A little pleasant citrus scent. I sipped. I must admit the flavor was appealing. Nice balance of sweet and sour, with just enough of the trademark Campari bitterness coming through to make it interesting. A little coriander, I thought - probably an ingredient in the famously secret Campari brought to the fore by the grapefruit. And then... nothing. The drink was a pleasant fruity bauble. Not nearly sweet enough to fall into the liquid-candy category - the grapefruit's tannic character saw to that - but it didn't exactly pack a punch, either. Perhaps it's the comfort zone thing, but I expect most drinks served in a martini glass to be potent, occasionally even overwhelming. After you take a sip of a properly made martini, you shouldn't want another one for a good long time - this is the reason why they should not be made too large and must be served as cold as possible. Same with the Manhattan - the best ones are made with a high-proof spirit like Rittenhouse Rye and a rich, viscous vermouth like Punt e Mes. The Astor, by comparison, was a breezy, whimsical thing, smooth to a fault, best served over ice at brunch. To be fair, the drink did originate at a Miami Beach hotel, and Clive recommended using it to "evok[e] holidays in balmy, exotic climates." My mind must be so far removed from such delights that even a cocktail can't bring it back.

Or did I do something wrong? Could it be that the vodka really does make a difference? Would the legendary (and expensive) Ketel One have added a whole new dimension to the drink, a level of depth and complexity that my semi-swill-grade flavorless alcohol vehicle just could not match? Maybe. In fact, I hope so. I am definitely looking forward to tasting a properly made specimen made by someone who know what he is doing. Until then, seeing as my days of plying unsuspecting female guests with deceptively smooth fruity cocktails are long since over, I am unlikely to attempt another one.