This was one of those recipes.
The instructions couldn’t have been simpler. Dice up a pile of ripe heirloom tomatoes. Spread them onto a sheet pan. Freeze them solid. Then dump the frozen cubes into a strainer set over a bowl and let everything thaw naturally.
That’s it.
My first reaction?
“Who in the world would go through all that?”
Apparently, quite a few people.
The theory is that freezing and thawing ruptures the tomato’s cell walls, releasing an incredibly flavorful liquid while leaving most of the solids behind. Some people even describe the resulting liquid as a naturally savory tomato “brine,” thanks to the abundance of glutamates that make tomatoes one of nature’s great sources of umami.
Well…I had to know.
Hours later, I had a bowl filled with the clearest, most beautiful pale-gold liquid you can imagine.
It barely looked like tomato juice at all. One taste, however, completely changed my opinion of the recipe.
It was rich.
It was intensely savory.
It had just enough tomato flavor to remind you where it came from without tasting anything like tomato juice.
I whisked in nothing more than a small pinch of kosher salt.
Perfection.
Now, most people would probably use something like this in a vinaigrette, a chilled soup, or some fancy chef’s sauce.
Not me.
If you’ve been following these blog posts, you already know I have another obsession besides barbecue.
Dirty martinis.
And yes, before anyone points it out, I know.
I shake mine.
James Bond made it famous, and countless cocktail experts have spent decades explaining why it’s wrong. Shaking breaks up the ice, introduces tiny chips into the drink, and slightly dilutes the vodka.
I don’t care.
Deal with it.
That’s how I like them.
I’m also admittedly a bit of a martini snob.
When it comes to vodka, Grey Goose has always been one of my favorites. More often than not, though, I’ll happily use Costco’s French vodka, which has earned a reputation for being remarkably similar at a fraction of the price.
The olive brine matters just as much.
Around Chicago, Binny’s (a regional liquor chain) private-label olive brine has become my favorite. It’s clean, balanced, and doesn’t overpower the drink.
That last part is important.
Some people—and I won’t mention any names, although my brother and sister-in-law know exactly who they are—prefer their martinis to taste more like olive juice than vodka.
I love them dearly.
I completely disagree with them.
Whenever they visit, I happily make theirs exactly the way they like them, while quietly wondering whether I should have just handed them the olive jar.
For me?
Just a couple of drops.
I want the whisper of olive, not a shout.
So there I stood, staring at this bowl of incredible tomato brine.
I wasn’t thinking about salad dressing.
I wasn’t thinking about soup.
I wasn’t thinking about pasta.
I was thinking…
“What happens if I replace the olive brine with this?”
Into the shaker went the vodka.
Into the shaker went a splash of tomato brine.
Ice.
Shake.
Pour.
First sip.
Oh.
My.
God.
It was everything I love about a dirty martini, but somehow cleaner, brighter, and even more savory. The tomato didn’t announce itself. It simply added another layer of umami that made the vodka taste richer rather than masking it.
It may very well be the best martini I’ve ever had.
Needless to say, this wasn’t the end of the experiment.
It’s the beginning.
There are still questions to answer. Different tomato varieties. Different salt levels. Gin versus vodka. Garnishes. Ratios. Maybe a touch of olive brine alongside the tomato. Maybe not.
That’s the fun part.
But one thing is already certain.
As of today, this cocktail has officially earned a place on the development list for G&C BBQ Company.
Sometimes the greatest discoveries aren’t the ones you’re looking for.
They’re the ones that begin with a recipe so ridiculous that you simply have to find out whether it actually works.
Tell us what you think.
The conversation is open. Pick the place you already use.