I don't care for gin, but I've taken a liking to gimlets lately. There are
several reasons:
1. The gimlet doesn't suffer from gin's juniper bite.
2. It's a sexy drink that not many people know, but its serious old-fashioned
name ensures that everyone's heard of it.
3. Its presumed pedigree fuels the curiosity of onlookers who can't help but
surmise that you, the gimlet-drinker, are sophisticated and mysterious.
4. When done well, the gimlet is a hell of a satisfying beverage.
Hard-boiled crime fans got to know gimlets via Raymond Chandler's archetypal
private eye Philip Marlowe, who learned to like them from his troublesome acquaintance
Terry Lennox in The Long Goodbye.
"What they call a gimlet is just some lime or lemon juice and gin with a dash
of sugar and bitters," Lennox says while ensconced in a Los Angeles bar. "A
real gimlet is half gin and half Rose's Lime Juice and nothing else. It beats
martinis hollow."
Whether gimlets top martinis is, of course, a matter of opinion, and the recipe
is open to interpretation. You'll see sugared rims or rims swabbed with lime;
the drink may be mixed with Rose's or fresh-squeezed lime; other primary spirits
such as vodka, tequila or rum may be substituted. But the basic formula is as
Lennox stated: equal parts gin and lime juice or, preferably, dispensed in a
2-to-1 pour.
Like so many unfortunate immigrant babies, the gimlet was born at sea. Sailors
had been self-medicating with sultry rum since 1687, but by the end of the 19th
century gin was in. Gin had evolved from a poorly distilled sweet elixir of
the scurrilous poor to a dry white liquor manufactured by members of the British
upper class, such as Charles Tanqueray and Alexander Gordon. The naval officer
class adopted gin for practical reasons: It was an ideal vehicle for Angostura
bitters, which they drank to prevent indigestion, and lime juice was an antidote
to scurvy. Hence the gimlet.
A sampling of gimlets around town reveals that this is not a drink to order
at a middling bar. As writer Dave Broom observes in his excellent Connoisseur's
Book of Spirits & Cocktails, any naked cocktail is tricky to master.
"The gimlet is about hitting the right balance, allowing the gin to shine but
using just enough lime to take the edge off its neat flavor and transform it
altogether," he writes. Though the affable 'tenders at the Low Brow Lounge will
use either fresh lime juice or Rose's according to customer preference, their
gimlet misses the mark. On the other hand, I had perfectly even, piquant gimlets
at the stately Benson and swanky XV. Both include fresh-squeezed limes and a
little sugar.
Many young bar-goers consume gin only in the form of martinis (so intense)
or gin and tonics (so summery), but I suggest drinkers of all ages embrace the
stylish gimlet. You won't be alone.
