Gibson

The not-so-evil twin of the dry Martini, the Gibson has been overlooked for years by all but its most loyal imbibers - the truly devout of the Martini. While most drinkers down their mongrel Martini mixes of sugary syrups and watered-down gi n and garnish them with pickled pearl onions.

Of course, we've simplified things a bit. Twins haven't the same soul, and neither do the Gibson and the Martini. The latter, with its unctuous olive, calls up the proud libertine in an imbiber, while the Gibson lets him sit back - gnawing on the drink 's crisp, clean onion - with an eye on everyone else. Made with the notoriously stiff dry Martini base of 2 1/2 ounces gin and a half ounce dry vermouth, the Gibson subtlety brings the salty brine of its garnish to the fore. The bartender's debate on the appropriate number of onions to use matters most to us on days when we crave the salty tang of brine. Most accounts insist the first Gibson was served wit h two pickled onions dropped, not skewered, into the base of the cocktail glass. For us, one onion nearly goes unnoticed till the drink's end, two raises an eyebrow at the first sip, and three makes for a brackish bite that's sure to lead to indigestion.

There's little consensus when it comes the christening of this drink. The most believable tale has Charles Dana Gibson - the man who drew the comely but underfed Gibson Girl - wandering into the Players club in New York City and ordering a Martini from bartender Charl ey Connolly. Some stories suggest Mr. Gibson actually challenged the bartender to improve upon the Martini's recipe. Regardless, Mr. Connolly was out of olives, so he grabbed the onion jar instead. We assume Mr. Connolly was somewhat concerned about the a cceptance of his substitution, and he did what any good bartender would do: Name the drink after the imbiber, knowing that it's difficult for someone to dislike a compliment. In hopes of affirming this story, we called the Players and spoke with the estab lishment's librarian, Raymond Wemmlinger. Although quite familiar with the tale, Mr. Wemmlinger could neither confirm or deny it, though he said Mr. Gibson was indeed a member of the club from 1891 to 1903.

We buy the story, though we're more amused by a few others. There's the one that says a fellow - not surprisingly named Gibson - was in cahoots with an unnamed bar's mixers. Gibson diligently played drinking games as the bartenders served drinks. While the other players sipped drink after drink, slowly losing their focus on the game, Gibson's winnings increased as he sipped from his cocktail glass filled with water - marked for those in the know by a small pearl onion. Next, there's Barnaby Conrad 's intriguing report from his fine treatise, The Martini: "One [story] has an American ambassador named Gibson serving in London during Prohibiti on. He wished to make his English guests welcome with a good cocktail, but personally felt constrained to follow his country's laws even while abroad. So during receptions he would circulate carrying a glass of water with a cocktail onion in it, while the gue sts would be served real gin. When someone asked his aide what the diplomat was drinking the young man answered a 'Gibson.'" We doubted that story the moment we crossed the bit about the imbiber passing on legal liquor during the Noble Experiment. Mr. Con rad's second story comes from Steve Zell, of the Occidental Grill in San Francisco: "You notice that Gibsons are usually served with two skewered onions. I heard that during the '20s in Chicago there were twin sisters named Gibson who loved the Martini but hated the olives. Whenever they'd go out, they'd get the bartenders to use two pickled onions - twins for twins." Again, not a likely s tory.

The pleasant truth about the Gibson is that we can expect to find its ingredients at any bar, though locating a bartender who can actually make the drink isn't quite so simple unless you're at an establishment where the mixers understand the magic of chilled glass. We're still hoping to come across a mixer who can tell us why so many of the venerable great records of drink - The Old Waldorf-Astoria Bar Boo k, The Savoy Cocktail Book, and the Esquire drink books - list the Gibson as garnished with either a citrus twist [1000 Kbytes .mov] or a cherry. Of course, really we're just happy to get the drink we ordered. Six out of ten requests for the Gibson - and we have verified that number with The Alchemist - come back as the Gimlet. It's a long trek from our table to the bar, and inevitably, something is always lost in the journey.

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