Memories of a Martini
A silent toast to the past
By David Dadekian1
This week I had some time to kill on a brisk fall day in the neighborhood where I used to live and work during what some would say are my formative years—23 years-old to sometime in my thirties. The number one thing that formed many nights of those years was a vodka martini, straight-up with olives. For a while I asked for Ketel One. Then, as I formed, my vodka of choice became Chopin. Because clearly, the choice of vodka in my drink made a difference when a bunch of us met after work at a gathering we would refer to as “Liverama.”
A vodka martini isn’t exactly an inspired drink, especially not now, after the cocktail revival of recent years. I don’t know that it was then either, over 25 years ago. But it was what I enjoyed. I’m not sure enjoyed is the right word. My “Ketel One martini, straight-up with olives,” as I often had to shout-to-be-heard at a bartender, was more of a release drink after long hours working a corporate job in the entertainment industry, where I loved my co-workers more than I loved the job. It was also visually fun to be sipping what will always be iconic to me: the v-shaped glass with some speared green olives leaning against the side of the bowl.
We would Liverama—it’s a verb as well as a noun—at several different bars in the Flatiron District and Gramercy Park neighborhoods, occasionally heading down into the East or West Village. The bars we would all fall into around 6 or 6:30 on a Friday evening weren’t craft cocktail destinations. I’m not talking about going to bars like Death & Co., PDT or Pegu. Those didn’t exist yet. This was the late 90s and early 00s. As Jenkins wrote, “But that was long ago, now you’ve forgotten, I know,” and my memories are certainly spotty seeing as how they were formed around vodka and shots of who knows what. But walking around the city on a clear, blue-sky Monday in October helps to jog the memory.
I walked past Flannery’s on West 14th, not a spot that we spent many Liveramas at, but one that was particularly memorable for farewells. Peter McManus on 7th Ave. was a bar we’d always go to hoping for more. Nothing wrong with it, but I probably should’ve been ordering a beer and a shot, if I enjoyed that kind of thing. Heading toward the old News Corp. office on West 18th was a little surreal, but not as surreal as seeing Academy Records still open. I must have spent thousands of dollars there over the years, amassing a CD collection that is now sadly defunct.
Walking east I passed where Revival used to be on East 15th St. That place may have made my favorite martini, as if there was a ton of variation in a whisper of dry vermouth, a touch of olive brine and a couple-plus healthy ounces of vodka. But while Flannery’s and Peter McManus are still open, Revival is a thing of the past. And then I come to Third Ave. and the unofficial home of Liverama, Paddy Maguire’s. It’s still there, still open, still somehow looks the same.
I didn’t need to walk inside. I remember every inch of the place. From the jukebox on the wall where Mike would sometimes torment the crowd by playing the same tune 20 times, to the spot at the bar where Lynn and Rich met, to the wall where Jack and Rip would lean while Jack spoke like a Beat poet and Rip would slowly become inebriated to the point where he’d fall asleep on the PATH train home, ending up several stops past where he should’ve gotten off. Sometimes Laura was there, and I still see what she’s up to on Instagram. Sometimes Scott would join us, though he never drank. Shawn, Tony, Billy, Ingrid, Andrae, Mark, Christine, Stu, Larry, John, so many more wonderful souls—eventually, there was a listserv and we just loaded everyone’s email into it as we splintered around the industry.
As I’ve aged into my forties and now fifties, and live in a different place and pace, I’m very much a wine drinker. When I do have a martini (don’t let me kid you, it’s still almost weekly) it’s a gin martini, but I still drink it straight up with olives, in that iconic v-shaped glass.
And the first sip is always a silent toast to Liverama, to all those that I still chat with occasionally, those that have slipped out of touch and sadly a few that have passed away. Taste and smell can bring you right back, even more vividly than a walk around some old stomping grounds. Taste and smell may be the most evocative senses of all.
Name drops: Paddy Maguire’s Ale House, Flannery’s Bar, Peter McManus Cafe
A special thank you to this week’s illustrator, Spencer Alexander2. See more of his work here.
David Dadekian is president and primary writer/editor of Eat Drink RI ( eatdrinkri.com ); "RI’s unofficial Food Laureate"—Philip Eil, Providence Phoenix; PR Director for Blackbird Farm ( blackbirdfarmri.com ); Past Chair of the Rhode Island Food Policy Council ( rifoodcouncil.org ); RI Foundation 2014 Innovation Fellow; writer/photographer; husband and father of two girls; Dadekian also dislikes writing in the third person.
Spencer Alexander is based in Brooklyn and enjoys drawing, listening to records, reading comics, playing bass in his rock & roll band, painting landscapes, and long walks with his pup named Bea. He is the proud author and illustrator of the comic "Rumble" the story of the unsung Rock & Roll hero Link Wray.