May 16, 2025

Soup or Cocktail?

Lamenting the rise of cocktail imposters, like onion-less Gibsons and oil-slick drinks.

Like baggy jeans, platform loafers, Measles, and the color brown, Martinis that are not Martinis are back. I long ago made peace with the resurgence and vitality of Espresso Martinis, invented in London in the 1980s when anything served in a cone-shaped glass was sold as a “Martini” because it sounded sexier than “Pharmaceutical Stimulant” (as I wrote in Signature Cocktails, this is one of the original names workshopped by Dick Bradsell before the drink was officially christened as Espresso Martini). A good Espresso Martini is delicious. Served cold in the right proportions, it’s downright pleasing. 

But seriously, all the other Martini Imposters, especially when served in non-Martini friendly glassware, please find another name for them. Use some in-joke like “Your Sister Says Hi” or “Home Box Office Maximalism Now!” or whatever. If it has fruit in it other than a lemon twist, it’s not a Martini—that cold, dry, bracing, vermouth and gin glass of reckoning, that dependable, rewarding, ritualistic balm. Vodka is forgivable—then just please call it a “Vodka Martini”, it’s no longer a Martini by default if it’s vodka-based.

But that’s a whole other canonical discourse for another time. 

This week, I encountered another cocktail malapropism, a travesty that I fear might also be part of a growing trend—a Gibson that was not a Gibson. It was Gibson-esque soup. It was the start of a good idea that should have been called something else. Since the flavors were essentially sour cream and onion, I would have opted for “Key Party” but that’s just me. 

I want to mention here that I feel kinda guilty complaining about it. I had a not great, but not awful cocktail that needed more R&D before its prime time debut. It happens. The world is a shitty place right now and if one of my worst problems of the week is that I tasted a muddy, greasy cocktail and didn’t immediately want to spit it out then I’m having a good week. 

However, it’s the third time I have been served an onion-less Gibson that becomes an oil slick after only a couple of sips and I can see this happening again because somehow that’s become cool. Which means that during a week when the worst thing that happens goes way beyond the glass, if my drink sucks, well, that makes it an even worse week and I’d like to avoid that scenario at all costs. 

What’s a Gibson?

Gibsons have a classic Martini base of gin and dry vermouth, but instead of a lemon twist or olive, it’s served with a cocktail onion. Remember the drink in the Queens Gambit? That one.

I’ve been served Gibsons where the onion completely takes over the drink—”dirty Gibson” style, or it’s so large you imagine being chased by it like the boulder in the opening of Raiders of the Lost Ark as it rolls into the glass “No time to argue. Throw me the vermouth, I give you the gin!” 

This one was made with gin infused with ramps. (Ramps are wild spring onions that are only around a few weeks a year. In New York City where most of us don’t have our own garden or access to woodsy areas where they thrive, finding them can become like a blood sport.)

The gin already tasted like onions, in a good way (after a couple of iterations, the new formula for Isolation Proof ramp gin is surprisingly elegant and mellow) but then it was fat washed with sour cream, and if that wasn’t already fatty enough, it was garnished with rampy oil instead of an actual ramp. (Incidentally, at this event, the pickled ramp garnish was served with the Negroni. It sounds bizarre but that one was quite a successful execution, though more Gibson-like than the drink called Gibson.)

By the way, people were drinking it. Anyway…

Fat washing?

Fat washing—which is when something fatty, like bacon, or nuts, or avocados, or coconut is infused into a spirit then the solids are filtered out—is tough to pull off, but when used for the greater good, it’s really worth the calories. One of my favorite cocktails in the city is the duck fat-washed whiskey sour at Red Farm and will be featured at the soon-to-be-reopened Decoy in the West Village (the drink is even on their main web page, which is a good sign). It’s successful because there is no fat floating in the drink, only a cute Angostura-sprayed duck stencil in the foam. 

It makes little sense to fat-wash something, use it in a drink, then add more fat to its surface. It’s the cocktail equivalent of serving a cheeseburger with a brioche bun (a passionate distaste I share with Anthony Bourdain).

However, like the bun, I’m seeing quite a bit of this oil slick cocktail trend. On First Avenue in the East Village, people are lining up the block outside Schmuck. (that’s the name of the bar) to sip savory cocktails, many of which contain some sort of oil garnish. At least the house Martini—served with little olive oil drops that metastasize within seconds—is refreshed in a new cold glass halfway through so it doesn’t feel too greasy to sip (though I would still prefer no oil at all). On the other hand, the Larb Gai, a peanut-washed cognac situation is studded with chili oil, and though it tastes truly fantastic for a few minutes, it gets weird as the glass warms up and that’s the only glass you get. So either you chug a spicy high proof cocktail to experience the flavor profile more cleanly or you sip it at a more reasonable pace when it’s congealed in the glass. Either way, it crosses too far over the soup line. (I did, however, thoroughly enjoy the Pinã Colada Pickleback, with coconut-washed spirit vs. pickled pineapple brine. I’d consider lining up just for that, and also most of the bar food.) 

And was the case with the damn cronut, if they’re queuing up for it, that means cocktails with oil slicks will be a thing for a while. 

A good friend recently said, “Please don’t fuck with my Martini… leave me that one little thing I can rely on.” I say the same for Gibsons. Much in the same way no one ever says, “Oooh, you know what I could really go for right now? Mushroom foam.” I will never crave slimy Gibsons that aren’t Gibsons. 

Besides, that oily residue is murder on the lipstick.