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.