If you order an olive—an aceituna, if you will—as your garnish for a martini, as I do, you also must specify that you do not want it dirty. The bartender will assume dirtiness and pull out tins for shaking rather than a mixing glass for stirring. I don’t know whether this has always been the case, or whether it’s a symptom of the current popularity of this specific variation. 

Dirty means there’s an addition of olive brine to the cocktail. There are people who think a “filthy” and “icy” (meaning shaken) vodka martini are the pinnacle of the beverage: I don’t agree with them. This is not a categorical imperative; I’m not Kant. I just have some thoughts on how the brine obsession has affected my martinis negatively.

First things first, in case you don’t know, I drink a Beefeater Gin and Dolin Dry Vermouth martini with an olive garnish—ideally manzanilla; I like small and with pit (referred to as hueso in Spanish, bone). My preferred ratio is whatever my husband is stirring me up, and yes, I want it stirred: ice floating atop my martini means something has gone awry or I’m in an airport.

Last week, a charming but overburdened hotel bartender free-poured a martini (a first!) into a chilled glass and never inquired after my garnish so served it with a lemon twist. I was delighted by the insouciance—truly, one reason that I love martinis is that they inspire interesting behaviors all around—but I couldn’t finish it, as it was a lemony glass of well-temperature Tanqueray.

I think even dirty martini lovers will understand where I’m coming from in my assessment of when and why brine is an appropriate addition to a martini. And so here are my very personal notes on the dirty martini, modeled after 2023’s “On Martinis” (not to be confused with the On Eating chapter of the same title—I have a muse and she’s a martini!): 

A dirty martini is only appropriate when the base spirit is vodka. There are no martini conditions that I have ever experienced that make salty water play nicely with the juniper-forward London Dry Gins that are my preference. They do not balance each other, and I want the gin to be at the forefront. If someone has made them balanced, it’s probably because of some mixology at play, meaning it’s not going to be something you can order under any conditions. We are talking about a go-to order here.

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Why do I get an olive as my garnish if I don’t want brine? Because I like the touch of salinity that brings flavors together and do not like the brightness of a twist.

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The olives must be of quality and stored in the fridge. If not stored properly and if not a good quality olive, like a Castelvetrano or other fancy salt fruit, there is no point in adding it: The brine will only bring down the temperature as well as further dilute the beverage; proper chilled temperature and pitch-perfect dilution are two extremely important factors in a martini, whichever base spirit or level of vermouth you enjoy. 

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If you’re a vodka martini person and also want your martini diluted in order to do what I’ve seen called “maintain ballast”—i.e., not get shit-faced—then yes, I can see the purpose in its addition to a shaken vodka martini.

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My opposition to dirty martinis in my personal drinking habits does not preclude me from loving, for instance, a pickleback or a Bloody Mary made with leftover kimchi brine. Time and place! I love brine, and thus I recognize that it is not all created equally.

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I will admit to finding a dirty, and especially a “filthy,” martini to be a bit tacky, ok? The cloudiness of it! The iciness! But I can understand the desire, and you might one day find me dipping my toes into the briny waters intentionally. Most of the time, though, just plop my one tasteful olive into a coupe filled with a crystal-clear, ice cold, perfectly diluted gin martini. Save the dirt for someone else. 

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Don’t get me started on a blue-cheese-stuffed olive.