Liquid Thoughts

Bond with His 'Never Stirred' Martini

 “Shaken, not stirred.”  I always wondered about this directive given every waiter when any James Bond character ordered a martini.  Now that Daniel Craig, this best of Bond actors in my estimation has left us, will this charge continue?  Keeping with Ian Fleming’s Bond character just a moment longer, a slightly modified version of this catchphrase, "shaken and not stirred," first appears in the novel Diamonds Are Forever (1956) spoken in print by evil Dr. Julius No.  Knowing who ‘voiced’ it first could win you a trivia contest.  Hearing Bond say the words verbally did not occur until later.  In the film adaptations of Fleming's novels, the line was first reserved for villainous Dr. No, in the 1962 movie of the same name when he offers the drink to Bond.  Bond, then played by Sean Connery, did not verbally order one himself until Goldfinger (1964).^[1]  In the first of the series novels, Casino Royal, his special modified martini was christened ‘The Vesper.’  It contained both Gin and Vodka, substitutes lemon peel for olives, and contains French Kina Lillet instead of dry vermouth.  After all this is James Bond, it had to be special.^[10]

“Shaken, not stirred,” are today words that have become part of the James Bond franchise and undoubtedly are known and uttered over cocktails worldwide, but what might they mean?  Hard to believe but martini connoisseurs have investigated the difference between a martini shaken and one stirred.  Come to find out, a shaken martini was found to have more antioxidants than a stirred one.  Does that make them healthier?  I doubt that 007 was aware of this but in his profession, downing these favorites of his would certainly have helped reduce the cell damage from a bullet hole!  It was Ian Fleming’s biographer, Andrew Lycett, who added insight as to why shaken was preferred.  He believed that Fleming liked his martinis shaken, not stirred because Fleming thought that stirring a drink “bruised” the liquor and thus diminished its flavor.  Additionally, shaking or stirring a martini with ice serves both to chill and dilute the drink.  While both techniques are equally effective, shaking is much faster (with less dilution), and results in a cloudier appearance.  I guess it is an example of each his own, Double O Seven included.

I’ve never been one who enjoyed a martini, whether shaken or stirred.  Drinking one, made of gin or vodka with or without a string of skewered olives, for me is close to ingesting straight alcohol.  Something about that taste puts me off, making it not my idea of a pleasurable drink.  Mix the alcohol with tonic or just about anything and I’ve no problem whatsoever.  I guess I’m just not the Marlboro cowboy type who supposedly could swagger up to a saloon’s bar and knock off a bottle of straight whiskey, a shot at a time, and never seemed to wobble out.  There is a story that claims that cowboys, low on cash, paid for their whiskey at the local saloon by trading.  While I’m familiar with slogans like “Cars for Kids,” I admit I’ve never heard of “Bullets for Booze.”  In the old west, a .45 cartridge for a six-gun cost about 12 cents.  Coincidentally, so did a glass of whiskey.  Exchanging a cartridge for a drink soon sanctioned calling the drink a 'shot' of whiskey.[2]  The practice may be more part of movie lore but there seemingly are many followers these days who do high test shots.  Talking of “shots” I’m getting off target here just a bit.

Cowboys aside, the admonition “Shaken, not stirred”

Our Granddaughter Harper
with Macario Gazzosa Her

doesn’t apply when enjoying Gazzosa (Got-zoh-sa) which when I first heard it mentioned sounded like a “got soda.”  I wasn’t far off though.  Maybe you’ve not heard of it, but our grandchildren certainly have.  It was something of a discovery they made on their visits to Italy.  It is definitely non-alcoholic and certainly never shaken without consequences.  Turns out, Gazzosa, often confused with Schweppes Limone, is a traditional fizzy Italian beverage on the order of soda, little known outside the borders of Italy.  There are a number of brands.  The few we are now familiar with include Macario, Arnone, and Lurisia.  All the brands of this sparkling lemon drink are best served chilled, but you don't want to dilute it by pouring it over ice.  It’s best to keep them in the fridge until you're ready to enjoy one.  Here is a drink that does away with the overbearing sweetness of commercial sodas.  With a lemony flavor that starts off slightly tart, it gradually becomes sweeter, approaching lemonade as you continue, like a cowboy, to knock back and down the bottle.  If for a moment, you can ignore the approximate 12 million cigarette smokers, Italians are generally very health conscious.  The growth and consumption of natural foods, absent sweeteners, GMOs, preservatives, and the use of pesticides, has grown to be part of their identity and key to the Mediterranean diet.  As opposed to colas packed with sugar, this thirst-quenching retro drink reintroduces the excellence of natural flavors through the infusion of lemon peel.  It is thus a healthy alternative to colas.  Slightly gaseous, it is the right choice for those looking for a low-calorie refreshing drink.

The Arnone brand of Gazzosa was born in 1907 from the dream and passion of Nicola Arnone, who together with his wife, Rosa, founded a small company in Casoria, a part of Metropolitan Naples.  There, he created an artisanal sugary drink, that irresistible flavor of historic Gazzosa.  In time, 

Early Arnone Company Workers

Nicola and Rosa saw the dream pass to a new generation headed by the Arnone brothers, Giuseppe and Pasquale.  Following WWII, America culture spread globally and began to influence the drinking habits of Italians.  Aware of this influence and sensing a growing change in Italian soft drinking habits, they began to produce new fruity carbonated drinks.  Today, absent sugar, La Gassosa, the original Arnone brand, has an unmistakably refreshing and delicate taste.^[3a]  It was a beverage found to go well with any meal, even when added to mixed drinks.  Add it to cocktails or mix it with Vodka for a simple, satisfying alcoholic drink.  When added to vino, Gazzosa creates a sweet sparkling wine on the order of a spritz.  Now here is a drink that can be stirred.

One of Eight
Femme
Fatale Labels

    While I was drinking sugary Kool-Aid in the 1950s, it was Grandmother Vittoria Macario who first brewed refreshing Macario Gazzosa in her home relying on old, handed-down recipes.  It was intended for the enjoyment of young and old alike, especially on hot summer afternoons.  Her ingredients, absent any reliance on sweeteners or preservatives, were simple, the flavors unforgettable, and the responses of those who tasted it enthusiastic.  It was such a hit, the family decided to create a small artisanal production, so others could also enjoy its invigorating taste.  For years the company prospered only, with the passing of Vittorio’s successor, to eventually go out of business.  It was a grandchild, prompted by memories of Vittoria during their special times together, who along with her original recipes would revive the business and preserve the spirit of those earlier days.^[3b]  Today, enjoying this second chance at life just as Vittoria had done in the 1950s, the Macario brand strives to quench the thirst of my grandchildren.  In 5th Avenue panache, its appeal is further heightened by the inclusion of eight calendar-girl style labels on today’s bottles.  While I was collecting Ovaltine proof-of-purchase labels to mail in for my Captain Midnight “secret decoder” badge in the 50s, today’s collectors shouldn’t miss out on any of these beauties.  Let’s see, millions of bottles multiplied by eight is a staggering number.  Continuing that 5th Avenue appeal, as we were encouraged to do years back, you’d definitely want to “be the first on your block to collect them all.”

No story of Gazzosa is complete without mention of the Lurisia brand from 

The Lurisia Brand
Noticeably Empty

the Piedmont region which has also been an Italian favorite for generations.  It is a standout in the canon of Italian soft drinks because of the intense flavor of the lemons used.  The unique taste of this beverage comes from afar, in both distance and time.  The original Lurisia recipe dates from the ’50s and calls for the use of juicy Sfusati lemons that have been cultivated on terraces of the Amalfi Coast of Italy for more than 300 years.  They are so special that they have attained the important Italian certification as an Indication of Geographic Protection (IGP) product.^[3c]  This designation shows that the quality or reputation of your food is linked to the place or region where it is produced or processed.  These intensely aromatic lemons are famous for their juicy, thick pulp and favor a gentle acidity that dissolves into a semi-sweet taste.  Like the thick, pulpy meat of Italian olives, my guess is that the thickness of these lemon skins serves as insulation from the intense heat of the

My Childhood Sunday
Movie Licorice Candy

southern Italian Amalfi area.  This additional pulp uniquely adds to the fresh lemony taste.

For those looking for something more ambitious, beyond a thirst-quenching soft drink or possibly an enhanced glass of wine, there are many other offerings.  One type, in particular, has somewhat of a polarizing love or hate-it reputation, much like Italian Grappa.  In France, this aperitif is known as Pastis.  In Greece, you order it as Ouzo, while Italians call their potion Sambuca.  What they have in common is an intense licorice flavor that brings back memories of those capsule-shaped Good and Plenty candies I enjoyed in my youth during Sunday afternoon movies at the Cameo Theater.  Here again, there is no need to shake or stir.  

    Our first encounter with each of these ‘spirits’ remains a pleasant memory on the order of a visit by Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Past.  Each is now part of our history yet new enough to be remembered.  It was while aboard a longboat early on a summer evening as we languidly floated past the remains of the medieval Pont d'Avignon extending into the Rhône from Avignon that we first experienced Pastis.  Often referred to as the “National Drink of France,” it has been around since the early 20th Century.  The name "pastis" is thought to have derived from a 

What Remains of Le Pont d'Avignon

French word peculiar to Provence, "pastis," meaning a mash-up or blend.  There is also some merit that its source lies in the French word "pastiche” which speaks to “a stylistic imitation of something”.  In this case, it just may infer that it is an imitation of an earlier outlawed drink called Absinthe, once mistakenly thought to cause brain damage.^[5]  The southern France region of Provence is especially known for its Pastis.  There it is often consumed over ice and is considered smoother and mellower than other anise-based spirits.^[5]  Anethol, an aromatic licorice-flavored extract taken from star anise pods accounts for a major portion of Pastis’ flavor.  The anethole is complemented further by a degree of flavor derived from licorice root.  While there are other 

Chinese Star Anise
Pod

aromatic herbs and spices involved (cinnamon, cardamom, pepper, fennel, and sage) as well as sugar, its dominant flavor is that of licorice.  Pastis is normally diluted with water before drinking.  Much like aristocratic women of ancient Rome had their wine diluted, it is so potent, that a normal serving is one part Pastis to five parts water.^[8]  That night, aboard our river boat on French waters, under French stars, we had no idea of its backstory or potency.  There was no diluting, shaking, or stirring Pastis that evening as we savored its strong black licorice flavor neat.

We quickly became recidivists when again we meet this exotic potion on the island of Crete.  We were portside in Chania where secretive alleyways meld into a crescent-shaped waterfront dotted with restaurants.  As stars began to gather, we sipped our cloudy drafts of Ouzo looking off across a 14th-century Venetian harbor at its 16th-century lighthouse.  As Pastis is to France, Ouzo is popular throughout Greece, though I’d estimate Ouzo has far more followers worldwide.  It begins as a by-product of grapes first pressed to make wine similar to the process Italians use to make Grappa.  Ouzo is a product of distillation.  After it is distilled, spices and herbs are added to create its unique flavor. Its primary additive is anise seed, giving the clear liquid its pungent licorice flavor.  Other common flavorings include fennel, coriander, clove, cinnamon, and star anise.  While anise seed and star anise are similarly named and flavored, they are actually different.  Anise is a plant whose seed is popular in European on through Middle Eastern cuisine while star anise is the fruit of an evergreen shrub native to China.  The most common way to enjoy the drink is over ice.  When water or ice is added, Ouzo turns from 

Corfu's Romantic
Mesogeios Restaurant

clear to a milky color.  This is because anethole, the principal oil of both anise seed and anise star, while completely soluble in alcohol becomes visible when diluted, a phenomenon called the “Ouzo Effect.”  Adding a single cube of ice to the spirit will trigger this effect causing it to separate into an emulsion whose fine droplets become visible.  We were shown this Ouzo magic by our Crete waiter, who from experience had gathered we were new to this.  Watching the process, it was as though it was snowing beneath the cube of ice as it melted.  We have never seen this chemistry happen faster than with that particular Ouzo, that night.  Evidently, it was ‘the right stuff.’ 

   Ouzo’s pedigree has many fathers.  It is thought that the drink was the pet product of a group of monks living in a monastery on holy Mount Athos in 14th Century Greece.  

Iced Milky Ouzo

Where its name came from is murkier.  It may have come either from the ancient Greek word ozo which means smell or the Turkish word uzum which means grape.^[6]  There is even a story involving an Ottoman physician.  We heard a version of this tale one evening from our waiter, a Greek surprisingly named Anthony, while at the Mesogeios Restaurant in Corfu.  It is a story not too farfetched which I was able to corroborate.  It was originally related by Alexander Philadelpheus, a distinguished Greek archaeologist and historian when he provided his thoughts on the origins of the word ouzo.  According to the professor, tsipouro gradually morphed into ouzo following the visit of the Ottoman Greek consulate physician, Anastas Bey, to the Thessaly region of Greece.  At the time, Thessaly exported fine silk cocoons to Marseille.  In order to distinguish the product, outgoing crates were stamped "uso 

Molinari, That Caffe Staple
Sambuca

Marsiglia"—Italian for "To be used in Marseille".  One day, while there, Dr. Bey was asked to sample the local tsipouro.  Upon tasting it, he immediately exclaimed: "This is uso Marsiglia, my friends” in reference to Thessaly’s high-quality cocoons.  The term subsequently spread by word of mouth, until tsipouro gradually became known as Ouzo.^[6]  In 2006, Ouzo received the title “Protected Designation of Origin” from the EU, meaning it can only be Ouzo if it’s made in Greece, where it’s been produced since 1856.^[5]

   One of Maria Elena’s best-loved recollections, one that often bursts from her memory, involves a particular early fall evening on the island of Ortigia.  Ortigia, situated on the eastern side of Sicily, is a morsel of an island bathed in the waters of the Ionian Sea.  Falling away into the sea, it is essentially an island of an island connected by bridge to Syracuse.  It was there, extending well past 1 am, as we sat in the expansive Piazza del Duomo sheathed in sheets of marble, that we drank our first cicchet (shot) of Sambuca.  As to its name, its etymology is derived from the Latin word sambucus, meaning “elderberry.” ^[5]  Here, as with  Pastis  

"There's a Fly in My Sambuca"

and Ouzo, this Italian household regular is a sweetened anise-flavored liqueur served neat or with water.  Italians, who love their espresso, go so far as to sometimes serve it with coffee beans to combine the bitterness of the beans with the sweetness of the Sambuca.^[5]  Its preparation, more a ritual, is referred to as “con la mosca,” (click to open link) or “with the fly.”  It is the Sambuca equivalent to caffè corretto (corrected coffee), where a small amount of alcohol is added to coffee.  As to the origin of con la mosca, one anecdotal story, wide open to doubt, relates to entertainment.  It involves the making of Federico Fellini's film La Dolce Vita.  During the making of this motion picture masterpiece, actors Marcello Mastroianni, Anita Ekberg, Walter Chiari and others would take their breaks in a cafe on Rome's Via Veneto.  One day, one of them jokingly dropped a coffee bean into a glass of Sambuca 

La Dolca Vita's Anita Ekberg and 
Marcello Mastroianni in Sunglasses

and began shouting “There’s a Fly.” ^[7]  While this may rank as a fanciful tale, the number of beans used comes from the realm of superstition.  Like avoiding black cats, an Italian superstition holds that anything served in even numbers is unlucky and suggests a less than cordial tone.  This helps explain why using an even number of beans (in Sambuca) or olives (in a martini) would be toying with luck.  Five being too many, that leaves either one or three.^[9]  A proper martini keeps on the safe side and mimics this triple pattern when it comes to olives, and as was shown 

Gazzosa at University with 
Granddaughter Gabriella

in the earlier video, this explains the addition of exactly three coffee beans, no more, no less, when making a con la mosca Sambuca aperitif.  That night in Ortigia, it was either the glimmer of a thunderstorm of stars reflected from the piazza’s marble pavement, the influence of the Sambuca, or both, that gave a special glow to the imposing 7th Century Duomo of Siracusa rising before us.  We’d been lingerers well into morning with few by then wandering about.  Had we remained longer, which Italian hospitality would allow, there was a chance we would have been bathed in the new light of day. Our waiter, who may have thought we awaited the morning’s light, must have been relieved when we asked for il conto, the bill.

Iterations on this theme go on and on wherever and however we enjoy our refreshments.  Whether neat, stirred, dirty with brine, shaken, garnished with salty olives, sweet, dry, with ice, seeded with coffee beans, right out of the frig, you name it, it’s all a matter of preference.  While clearly not overwhelming events, their what, where, and how proved unique to us and helps explain why we travel.  Recounting the innocent excitement of our grandchildren on through the echoes of memories of three special occasions, each with a distinct national beverage, are instances when the pages of my memory have been shaken AND stirred.  Built on experiences gifted one at a time, recalling them has shaken my memory and stirred the recall of bygone days still very much alive.

From that Rogue
Paolo

 

[1]  Shaken, not Stirred, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shaken,_not_stirred

[2]  Why a Shot of Whiskey Is Called a “Shot”, https://www.thrillist.com/culture/shot-of-whiskey-origin

[3a]  Arnone, http://www.arnone.it/en/

[3b]  Macario Retro Drink, https://www.macariocompany.it/en/

[3c]  Larisia, https://ch.coca-colahellenic.com/en/our-24-7-portfolio/sparkling/lurisia

[4]  Pastis Licorice Liquor, https://www.easy-french-food.com/licorice-liquor.html

[5]  All the Anise Spirits That Aren’t Absinthe, Explained, https://vinepair.com/articles/anise-spirits-absinthe-guide/

[6]  Drawn from “The Times of Thessaly,” 1959

[7]  Molinari Con La Mosca, https://www.molinari.it/en/sambuca-coffee-beans

[8]  Pastis, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pastis

[9]  The History of Martini Olives and a Lasting Superstition, https://vinepair.com/articles/history-martini-olives-superstition/

[10] James Bond’s Vesper Martini Cocktail, https://flourchild.com/its-no-mystery-why-james-bonds-vesper-martini-is-delicious/