As with any food or beverage of distinction, the martini is shrouded in as much myth and lore as it is fact. There are, for example, numerous speculations on the origin of the infamous cocktail. Some say it was first made at the Knickerbocker Hotel in New York, or possibly a bar in London around the turn of the (last) century, while others declare its name is derived from the famous vermouth, Martini and Rossi (clever marketing ploy, I'm sure). The most abstract theory that I came across was that the martini was actually named after a type of gun, the Martini & Henry rifle, which was used by the British in the late 19th century—like the beverage, the gun, too, was said to have a fierce kick. The theory that is most often considered legitimate though is that it is named after the California City of Martinez. Apparently a bartender who was working in San Francisco created the drink in honor of his hometown, and after a short time, the word martinez was transmuted to martini. The original spelling of its name is not the only thing that was different, the recipe has also changed considerably. In fact, the only thing that the contemporary version has in common with the original is that they both contain gin. The first record of the martini in a bartender's manual came in 1884; O. H. Byron included it in his Modern Bartender's Guide. One account of an early martini recipe called for a wineglass of sweet vermouth and a pony glass of sweet gin poured over crushed ice with bitters, two maraschino cherries and lemon slices; it was also sweetened with sugar syrup. The resulting drink would surely have been sweet and much different than the martini of today, but the sweetness of the drink would have been appropriate for that time—cocktails played a very different role in the aristocratic society during that period. Drinks were often taken in the early part of the day, as an "eye opener," and during lunch and also after dinner as a dessert-like treat.

A contemporary martini recipe, of course, is simply a varying ratio of gin and dry vermouth which is stirred or shaken with ice, then strained and garnished with any number of ingredients, the most common being an olive. The vodka martini—a travesty to the purist—has also become very popular. And simply changing the garnish, or altering the type of alcohol will most definitely change the name of the drink. A vodka martini, for example, is often called a "Vodkatini," and if the olive garnish is replaced with a pickled pearl onion it is referred to as a Gibson. Furthermore, there are countless other, sometimes more eclectic, variations, such as the "Purple Haze" (vodka, Chambord and Cassis), the "Latin Martini (pepper vodka, tequila and fresh lime juice) and the enormously popular Cosmopolitan (vodka, Cointreau, lime and cranberry juice). These are but a few variations; the options are seemingly endless. To a traditionalist though, there is still only one martini: gin and dry vermouth with an olive garnish.

Martini drinkers are often as particular about how their martinis are made, as to what actually goes in them—the fictitious James Bond is often quoted as demanding that his martini be "shaken, not stirred." Thus said, the act of making the martini will often carry as much of an aura of pretension—and sometimes deceit—as the drink itself, it is usually done with much flourish and idiosyncratic behavior. A "martini with a kiss," for example, is a drink in which gin is poured into a glass, along with a garnish, but the vermouth is omitted—the bottle is merely tapped on the glass, which is supposed to signify the kiss. Others simply wave the bottle of vermouth around the glass of gin in a ceremonious fashion, as if the vermouth were to enter the mix through osmosis. And when making reference to a "dry" martini, one is actually referring to the drink's potency, the dryer the martini the less vermouth it contains, thus the stronger the drink. One would suppose that this is a very eloquent and sophisticated method in which to order a glass of straight gin. It's also common for a person to swish the vermouth around the inside of a mixer to coat the sides, only to pour it out before adding the gin or vodka. Hemmingway is said to have enjoyed his martinis at a gin and vermouth ratio of 15 to 1 (the standard ratio is 3 or 4 to 1). And supposedly Sir Winston Churchill's method for making the drink was to pour gin into a pitcher of ice and glance briefly at an unopened bottle of vermouth across the room. Now that's dry.

Just as the drink itself is becoming popular, not surprisingly, so too are martini parties and festivals. And as one would suspect, the City of Martinez holds a martini festival each year where they resurrect old recipes for the beverage as well as the new—food is catered by some of the bay areas most celebrated chefs and restaurateurs. On a more regional note, The Burchfield-Penny Art Center is staging its first martini party on May 18, 1999. The party is being held in celebration of National Museum Day and all proceeds benefit the Center. There you'll be able to sample original martini recipes named after famous artists, such as the Van Gogh, Gauguin and, of course, the Charles Burchfield—food and entertainment is being graciously donated by Tim's Rendezvous and David Kane.

Please drink responsibly, and when you do drink, don't drive.

Serves 12-16 as an appetizer

2-1/2 pounds salmon fillet, skin-on

2 ounces vodka martini

1/2 cup kosher salt

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1 teaspoon ground black pepper

1 bunch fresh dill, minced

1 lemon, sliced very thin

Make a 4-ounce vodka martini and drink two ounces while reading and contemplating this recipe.

Pass you fingers over the surface of the salmon fillet to insure that the fish monger has removed the pin bones, if they have not been removed, do so now with the aid of needle-nose pliers. Cut the fillet crosswise into two equal pieces and lay the pieces, skin side down, in a shallow non-reactive metal, glass or ceramic pan.

Drizzle two ounces of the vodka martini across the fish, and then sprinkle it with the salt, sugar and black pepper; gently rub the seasonings into the fish. Sprinkle the dill equally across the fillets, and then layer the lemon slices on one filet, overlapping them slightly. Carefully invert one piece of the fish, placing one piece of salmon fillet onto the other, sandwiching the seasonings in between. Wrap the fillets together in cheesecloth, or a clean kitchen towel, and place them back into the pan.

Place another pan that is the same size as the first directly on top of the fish. Weight the top pan by filling it with a few canned goods. Place both pans, containing the fish and canned goods in the refrigerator to cure. After 24 hours have elapsed, remove the top pan, turn the fish over and replace the pan as a weight. Repeat this process for two additional days, curing the salmon for a total of 3 days.