Antedating the Martini

[Splificator]

Until a few weeks ago, the earliest known mention of the Martini was the “Martinez Cocktail” found in the Modern Bartenders’ Guide by O. H. Byron, whoever he was, published by the Excelsior Publishing House of New York in September, 1884. Unless, that is, you accept the pair of newspaper mentions from Cleveland and Chicago in 1883 discussing the Manhattan cocktail which define it as gin-based (you can find more about them here:
[The Coming of the Martini: An Annotated Timeline])

In May, however, I stumbled across an article in the Boston Weekly Globe from August 24, 1881 (page 7) titled simply “Mixed Drinks.” It’s a pretty standard “what the swells are drinking” article, with some reflections on the bartender and his craft. In the second paragraph, however, in a discussion of how drinks get named, we find the following lines:

Blockquote Thus it happens that there is always a goodly number of pet names to be called for at the bar, and that these in turn—save only the old staples—are not the same at different times but vary greatly in the course of years. Nobody knows who names them, but he must be an ingenious gentleman of an exceedingly original turn of mind. They have an article now masquerading under the startlingly facetious name of “Corpse reviver, J.W.P.”—the letters being the initials, undoubtedly, of the corpse which was originally revive by its administration. By far more gentle and soothing in its source is the appellation of another—“Sunday calm.” “Brandy smash” or “whiskey smash” have no reference to railway collisions, nor is there supposed to be any decoction of rooster’s feathers in a “martina cocktail.”

This is interesting for several reasons. One, it shows that, if parts of the country were still trying to figure out what to call this drink, the name it would eventually bear was already in circulation in 1881. Second, based on when they appear in print, it has always been assumed that the Manhattan, in print from August, 1882, was senior to the Martini (or Martinez, Martigny, Martena, Martine or, now, Martina–the spelling of the name was in flux for several years). Clearly that needs to be reexamined. Third, this is further evidence against the theory that the drink came from Martinez, California. But–fourth–it’s also evidence against the theory that the Martini was originally a New York drink. Boston was always considered a bastion of Martini drinking, and there may be more reason for that than we had assumed.

More proof that these matters are never really settled, and that there’s yet more gold in the archives waiting to be found.

[martin]

My “Occam’s razor” thought lines run thusly, ready to be riddled with holes sharply-poked:

Vermouth—a mysterious ethnic specialty that seems to inhabit a previously vacant space between wine, liqueur, and spirit but about which nothing is really known—somehow draws the attention of some American bartenders. (How exactly this happened remains a significant mystery.) For whatever reasons, c. 1868, someone decides to use it as a cocktail base. So, Whiskey Cocktail, Gin Cocktail, Brandy Cocktail, … and now Vermouth Cocktail.

As you’ve pointed out before, the Vermouth Cocktail is interesting, but a bit wimpy, a better fit for the Sorosis Club than for saloon patrons. As the 1870s passed, so did experiments in fortifying the Vermouth Cocktail. The obvious way to go about this was to split the difference with the better known Cocktails of stouter spine: the Whisky Cocktail, the Gin Cocktail, the Brandy Cocktail, etc. Virtually every possible combination was attempted. These same experiments were quite possibly undertaken simultaneously and independently by different professionals in different joints, in no particular order. Two of these avenues of exploration not only did not suck, but were very interesting.

People like to name things—it’s useful. Ordering a Gin Cocktail tells the man behind the bar you want a Cocktail made with gin. One day circa 1880, you have the opportunity to try something called a Martini Cocktail… a cocktail featuring some (most likely) unfamiliar stuff from a bottle prominently labeled “Martini”. The cocktail is very interesting. Word spreads—99.99% by word of mouth. Somehow it becomes generally clear to the professionals that the drink is a Cocktail that’s half gin and half of this vermouth stuff, but as usual, the “telephone game” works its magic† through bartenders and patrons and pretty soon you’ve got “the Martinez, Martigny, Martena, Martine or, now, Martina”. Plus some other names that are quite different because maybe there were some other brands of vermouth around or some other flight of fancy inspired a different name. Whatever works, but they’re all drinking Martinis.

†several decades later, the same thing happened to the Daiquiri, which is fantastically mis-spelled in countless ways across early 20th Century guides

[Splificator]

This is basically in line with my understanding. Both kinds of vermouth were being consistently imported into the US by the late 1850s, albeit in relatively small quantities. There was enough, however, for the mixologically-inclined bartenders to start playing with it. The game now is to attempt to track their experiments.
The earliest traces I have at present are pretty meagre, but they do include that thing from the Sorosis club banquet, discussed in Imbibe, and of the one a certain Fitzgerald was making in Knoxville in 1869:

Both kinds of vermouth were certainly available in Boston, just as in New York, from early on (I’d love to find some more early evidence of how they were being mixed from either place–or anywhere else, for that matter). It would be good, however, to have a better picture of Martini & Sola/Martini & Rossi’s early distribution in America, seeing as probably the most logical and compelling theory for the Martini’s name relies on the availability of that brand.

[EvanD]

Did you track down the address? Someone had better go exhume the dissatisfied customers.

[Splificator]

He does like to keep a well-stocked cellar.

[Camper]

Hello! I’m doing some San Francisco Martini research, specifically the Martinez/Jerry Thomas story. @Splificator mentioned that it came from a 1965 Beefeater ad, and in the process of googling for it I came across this 1967 article in Western Folklore. The article cites the Beefeater ads (that I was able to dig up in the archives) but Also cites the 1948 book This is San Francisco (p143-144) as a source of the misinfo. That publication seems to misinterpret the Herbert Asbury introduction of Jerry Thomas’ 1928 How to Mix Drinks (1929 edition in EUVS collection).

I still need to read the Asbury intro more carefully but perhaps I found an earlier source of the misinformation repeated in the Beefeater ad? (Or rather, the 1967 story author did.)

[Splificator]

The passage in O’Brien’s book goes back to his “Riptides” column in the San Francisco Chronicle, October 18, 1946 (page 10):

This self-admittedly fictional account is the beginning of the whole Martini-was-invented-in-Martinez nonsense. It began to pick up steam as the Martinez city fathers got in on the act in the early 1950s. Details were adjusted–now Jerry Thomas was out, and Julio Richelieu, supposedly a bartender in Martinez, was in, and the action took place in, of course, Martinez. A couple months back I spoke to somebody from the Martinez Museum, who objected strongly to my saying in an interview that the claim didn’t hold water. As I told her, “in this case the details that have been offered are third hand, related supposedly by Julio Richelieu to his wife, Belinda, who told her younger brother John, or ‘Toddy,’ who told Nina McLeod Ritch, a local historian, who told the local newspaper, and there are issues with every step of this chain.” Ritch laid the claim out in great detail to a reporter from the Oakland Tribune in 1965.

He, not as skeptical in such matters as I’ve learned to be, printed it without questions. I tried to nail the facts down, and was unable to find any proof of even one of them, beyond the existence of Belinda and Toddy Briones. She was married twice, to an Italian fisherman with knuckle tattoos and a Swiss waiter; neither was named Richelieu or anything like it, or Julio, Giulio, Jules, or anything like that. Julio Richelieu does not turn up in any records I’ve been able to find either as a saloonkeeper, a resident of Martinez or San Francisco (where he supposedly opened a Richelieu saloon featuring his new drink), or indeed California at all. There were a couple of Richelieu saloons in San Francisco but neither had anyone named Richelieu involved, nor a Julio (etc.).

In other words, as far as I can tell the whole thing is a giant boondoggle, stemming apparently from a claim (no doubt based loosely on O’Brien) that Claude Patrick Greety, the head of the Martinez Chamber of Commerce, made in an after-dinner speech in 1950. The reporter who checked it out at the time could find no evidence for it.

But hey, you never know, and if someone’s going to find some new evidence to support the claim, I would not be the least bit surprised if it were you. Happy huntoing, and if I can send you what meager sources I have let me know.

[Camper]

Thank you! In tracing the history of misinformation it’s helpful to have someone saying “it probably went a little something like this.” I’d come to saying “it’s the story you’d make up about it if you were going to guess.”

[FrankCaiafa]

If I were to open a joint, this would be our motto!