Days That End in Y

I was recently browsing Amazon deciding how best to waste my $40 gift certificate and came across this posted to the Amazon Daily Blog

Basil Vodka Gimlets

Ingredients:
4 cups packed fresh basil sprigs (top 4 inches; from a 1/2-pound bunch)
4 cups water
2 cups sugar
9 (4- by 1-inch) strips lemon zest
3/4 cup vodka
3/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1 cup ice cubes

For garnish: Fresh basil sprigs; lemon zest strips

Directions:
1. Make the basil-lemon simple syrup: Bring basil, water, sugar, and lemon zest to a boil in a medium saucepan, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Let stand at room temperature, covered, 1 hour, then transfer to an airtight container and chill until cold, about 1 hour. Strain syrup through a sieve into a bowl, pressing hard on it and then discarding solids.
2. In a pitcher, stir together 1 cup of cold basil-lemon simple syrup, the vodka, the lemon juice, and the ice cubes. Strain into 8- to 10-ounce glasses half filled with ice. Garnish with fresh basil sprigs and strips of lemon zest.

Makes 6 drinks.

Via Al Dente

What the hell is a basil vodka gimlet? The name makes me cringe, as it simply tells me absolutely nothing informative about this drink except that it was concocted by someone linguistically challenged.

Generally, a gimlet is defined as gin and lime juice. Many recipes call specifically for Rose’s lime juice. In fact, a handy mnemonic for remembering the recipe is calling it a “gin-let”, silently to yourself of course. This recipe calls for neither gin nor lime juice! Instead, it calls for vodka and lemon juice. As a handy reference for future bartenders: vodka ≠ gin and lemon ≠ lime. For the love of tiki, don’t call it a gimlet! It’s not a gimlet! It’s something else! It’s so far from being a gimlet that I wouldn’t even call it a variation. Yeah, limes and lemons are pretty closely related and vodka is replacing gin in just about everything now, but come on! This is getting out of hand!

This phenomenon is of course not limited to presumably overpaid Amazon blog writers. There’s the ubiquitous martini, for example, that we cocktail lovers harp on about constantly. To beat a dead horse, let’s be clear: a martini is a drink made of gin and dry vermouth. It even says so in the dictionary. I may even forgive you for referring to a martini made of vodka and dry vermouth as simply a “martini” rather than a “vodka martini”, as this transgression has become so common and Bond is still a badass. However, a martini is absolutely not made with chocolate syrup, apple juice, or espresso beans. That’s why traditional variations have their own names, e.g., the Gibson, or specify that they’re not true martinis via the use of modifiers, e.g., the vodka martini or (blech) the tequila martini.

These misnomers aren’t even limited to the cocktail crowd. Take the word “imperial” for example. What does it mean? I’m not sure anyone really knows anymore. “Imperial” used to refer only to the Imperial Russian Stout, which was beer brewed specifically for the Tsar of Russia. Imperial stouts have high alcohol contents, which were originally used to preserve the beer on long trips to places like Russia. These days, “imperial” can refer to pretty much any beer style and has lost some meaning by gaining all sorts of other meanings. In fact, the BJCP’s style guidelines for the Imperial IPA actually state, “The adjective ‘Imperial’ is arbitrary and simply implies a stronger version of an IPA; “double,” “extra,” “extreme,” or any other variety of adjectives would be equally valid.” These days, you can even buy an Imperial Pilsner (that doesn’t even list an ABV) or an Imperial Saison.

While I’m no conservative when it comes to language and realize that language is alive and constantly evolving, I do appreciate it when words remain clear and meaningful. After all, what’s the point of describing something as a “gimlet”, as a “martini”, or as “imperial” if these words don’t actually mean anything? These misnomers simply serve to confuse and detract rather than to clarify and enhance. Just think of all those people who might never discover the wonders of a real martini just because they had some crappy pomegranate martini before. Besides, what were the creators of these concoctions thinking when they created these names? It seems like they were merely trying to siphon some success from already successful drinks rather than attempting to name the newborns properly.

Unfortunately, the future seems dismal for us uptight enunciators, but while we’re sober, we ought to at least try to to delay the inevitable corruption of drinking culture via careful diction. I for one would be ordering a basil vodka cocktail, chocolate fake martini, or double IPA. Well, maybe I wouldn’t order the first two anyway.