Oppenheimer’s famous martini included a twist, and we don’t mean lemon
There are suitcases worth of Big Stuff to unpack in “Oppenheimer,” the Christopher Nolan blockbuster that debuted last week. But small moments in the movie deserve our attention, too - like the Easter egg that is the titular scientist’s famous martini.
That’s “famous” if you consider the drinking preferences of influential physicists interesting, and many of Robert Oppenheimer’s peers and fans certainly did. The father of the atomic bomb was known among colleagues and friends for the strong martinis he made, often with a signature flourish: He dipped the rims of the chilled glasses in a mixture of lime juice and honey. His preference for the drink is chronicled in “American Prometheus,” the Pulitzer Prize-winning book by Kai Bird and Martin Sherwin that was the basis for the movie. And the Los Alamos National Laboratory, which Oppenheimer helped found, features a recipe for the concoction on its website: “four ounces of gin and a dash of vermouth; the rim of the chilled glass was dipped in honey and lime juice.”
Nolan incorporated the drink in a pivotal scene, though it isn’t explicitly referenced or explained. Oppenheimer, played by Cillian Murphy, is in the kitchen during a dinner party with his friend and Berkeley colleague Haakon Chevalier when he prepares several glasses. Their conversation - in which Chevalier suggests a means of passing along information about his work to the Russians - later becomes known as the “Chevalier Incident,” and Oppenheimer’s attempt to obscure his friend’s identity becomes problematic. The conversation in the scene is so gripping viewers might very well miss the action. And if they do notice it, they might wonder why the heck he’s dipping coupe glasses into a little bowl of what looks like dark liquid.
His wife, Kitty, played by Emily Blunt, ends the men’s exchange when she arrives to deliver a line that underscores both her fondness for drinks and indifference to motherhood: “The brat is down,” she says. “Where are the martinis?”
Oppenheimer’s martinis are often described as strong, with one witness to his ministrations claiming he used only a “droplet” of vermouth. If we take the “dash” stipulated in the Los Alamos recipe to be about a quarter of an ounce, the “Oppie” martini has an eye-popping 16-to-1 ratio of gin to vermouth. The Oxford Companion to Spirits and Cocktails notes that by 1910 the usual ratio was 2 to 1, but by World War II, the standard was 3 to 1, “with four and five to one also common.” The reference book notes that President Franklin D. Roosevelt “frequently went as far as seven to one.” Modern versions vary, too. The Washington Post’s cocktail columnist, M. Carrie Allan, notes that drinkers should adjust the split as they like,
but recommends a “classic” 5-to-1 ratio for those just beginning to explore their martini preferences.
Some accounts of Oppenheimer’s drinking habits attribute his fondness for a drier blend to logistics; getting vermouth into Los Alamos was difficult, according to the foreign-affairs website War on the Rocks.
The Oppenheimer martini was also said to be distinctly chilly. The Los Alamos website says the scientist often entertained colleagues during the Manhattan Project era, which is depicted in the movie, and the drinks were a regular at his gatherings. “He served the most delicious and coldest martinis,” one attendee recalled.
It sounded better than what many other workers at Los Alamos regularly consumed during the time working on the bomb. The bachelors among them often hosted parties where the drink was “a concoction of half lab alcohol and half grapefruit juice mixed in a 32-gallon G.I. can and chilled with a chunk of smoking dry ice,” according to “American Prometheus.”
Oppenheimer was on Team Shaker in the shake-versus-stir debate that has long dogged the martini. “Shaken with elaborate ceremony,” was how the book describes his method. And he frequently enjoyed them with his oft-repeated toast: “To the confusion of our enemies.”
In the interest of science, of course, I set out to make the physicist’s second-most-important creation. Coupe glasses went into the refrigerator about a half-hour before cocktail time. (You could probably freeze them as Oppenheimer did, but I was using delicate vintage crystal to get that Atomic Era vibe and worried they might crack.) I tried copying the on-screen version, mixing honey and lime juice in a small bowl, but I discovered a flat dish was easier for rim-dipping. Another discovery? Going heavier on the honey instead of a half-and-half blend helps it adhere to the glass.
I packed my shaker with ice to get the contents (the aforementioned 4 ounces gin and a quarter-ounce of dry vermouth) to the Oppenheimer-prescribed level of chill, shook and poured. I used a clean and classic Beefeater, since for all the documentation of Oppie’s love of martinis, I didn’t see a brand preference. My only dilemma was over garnish. The movie version didn’t show him completing the drink, so I wasn’t sure what the great scientist might do. In other scenes, he and Kitty are shown drinking martinis with olives, but it isn’t clear that these were the Oppie signature blend (historians say he “sometimes” added the lime-and-honey rim). I wasn’t sure if a briny olive would fight with the honey-lime flavors, or if a lemon twist might be better - and so I omitted it altogether.
The rim added a bit of a sweettart flavor, which was welcome, because otherwise, the Oppen-tini is mostly a glass of very cold gin; without bitters or much vermouth or olive brine, it’s a simple quaff. Which you might find delightful if, like Oppenheimer and me, you happen to like very cold gin.
And if you do, one important thing to note about Oppie’s martini is that it is large. Most modern cocktail recipes call for 3 ounces or less total booze. More than one of them, and you might find yourself Oppen-hammered.