The Tregea
My current cocktail of choice is a drink called the Tregea.
Tregea is my middle name. It is also my father’s middle name. This is not a coincidence. It is also my father’s mother’s maiden name. There may be some relatives left with the last name of Tregea, but most of the ones I knew of are women, and so it’s not their last name anymore. Up until recently, I had thought it pretty unique. No one I ever met had ever heard it before, and I don’t go around using it very often, except in reference to this drink.
I thought it was unique until I Googled it, and the first hit was the Tregea hotel in Cornwall. I think I’ll have to stay there. Maybe if I tell them it’s my middle name, they’ll give me a free room. Or at least a free mint.
Interestingly enough, the second hit on Google is G. Tregea’s website, whose tagline is “5 minutes of art a day”, and is filled with crappy line drawings and animated GIFs posing as “Modern Art”, but in reality is just a headache in HTML. Kind of looks like something I’d draw, given 5 minutes a day, and access to MS Paint. I wonder if we’re related. Curiously, this site no longer shows up on Google. In fact, I can't find it at all. Guess that five minutes of art a day didn't add up to holding on to that domain name.
The Drink
Quite simply, the Tregea is a vodka martini, straight up, with a cherry. Traditionally, the preferred vodka is Grey Goose, but I have recently discovered Hangar One, which may usurp the Goose – time will tell.
What’s with the Cherry?
The cherry is the heart and soul of the whole cocktail. It’s what makes a Tregea a Tregea. Without the cherry, it’s just a vodka martini. Why should a mere garnish ennoble a drink so? I’ll tell you why. Because it’s so unexpected. That’s why I never actually named the drink until recently. When I first started ordering it, over a decade ago, I never thought it deserved its own name – it was just a vodka martini with a different garnish. But then I started to get The Reaction.
To experience The Reaction for yourself, merely go into your local bar and order a Tregea. Of course you can’t just order a Tregea – they have no idea what that is. You’ll have to explain it to them. You’ll have to order a vodka martini (preferably Grey Goose, or Hangar One) straight up, with a cherry. Make sure to enunciate that last part, or they won’t hear it. But once they do, you get to see The Reaction.
The Reaction is different in every bar and every town. In most places, they just kind of look at you funny, but write down your order and go on their way. Some bartenders will blink and ask you again, to make sure you said what they think they heard you say. On the extreme end, they refuse to do it. I’ve had this happen to me: At Jekyll & Hyde’s in Greenwich Village the bartender refused to put the cherry in the drink. He handed me a vodka martini in one hand, and a cherry in the other, but refused to merge the two together. As much as I admire his principles, I still didn’t tip the bastard. The customer is always right. Ironically enough, that was the one bar I’ve been to where my martinis were cheaper than the beer my friends were drinking. Must be some seriously classy beer. Of course, Grey Goose wasn’t around yet, either, and I was most likely getting cheap well vodka in my martini.
Over the years, as I kept ordering the drink and kept getting The Reaction, I realized that this was no simple vodka martini. It was a new drink in and of itself, with its own personality and deserving of its own name.
The Name
The name needed to be indicative of the drink. On one hand, it’s basically a vodka martini, which is one of the most popular cocktails of our time. But on the other hand, there’s this cherry sitting in the bottom of the glass, just taunting all those traditionalists, with their olives, and their lemon twists, and — in the case of the Gimlet — their pickled onions. This drink was unique to me (and my friend Eric, who is the only other person I know who has had more than one) and the name should reflect that. Hence, “The Tregea”. Other than my middle name sitting there daring anyone to pronounce it, my name is, at last check, the fifth most popular name in the English language. So it fits the drink rather well.
The History
But back to the cherry. How did a cherry ever begin to enter the sacred vodka martini? First, you have to understand the fact that I hate beer. This may seem tangential, but it actually plays a very big part in my alcoholic development (or is that my development as an alcoholic?). My history with the vodka martini all started with my first co-op job, and the fact that I hate beer.
I went to school at Drexel University in Philly, and one of the great things about Drexel is the co-op system. Everyone who goes there must do three co-ops. My first co-op was in the IT department at a big name engineering contracting corporation in Philadelphia (name withheld because even though it's a big name contracting corporation, you still haven't heard of it).
This was my first taste of the real world. The Rat Race. The 9 to 5. To tell you the truth, it was a heck of a lot easier than college. No homework, no all-nighters, no finals. Man, I definitely prefer work to school. Don’t get me wrong – I like learning. But organized learning stresses the hell out of me. Plus you’re poor all the time. No, I’ll take work over school any day.
It was not long before I started getting invited to happy hour and other extra-curricular events with the people in the office (it was my first time experiencing the Three Martini Lunch, for instance). Being a highly illegal 19 years old, I of course joined them at every opportunity. There’s no better fake ID than wearing a shirt and tie and being surrounded by people in similar dress. I never got carded that whole summer – at least not when I was out with them.
So, of course I need to figure out what to order at a bar. This was a new thing for me. The easiest thing to order would be beer, but, as I said before, I don’t like beer. I used to drink it, my freshman year, but that’s another story (watch for future articles under the title “When I was in Schuylkill Haven”). I hadn’t developed a taste for wine yet, at least not enough to know what to order at a bar without looking like the underage dolt that I was (“Do you have any shabliss?”). So that left mixed drinks.
Even though I was working, I was still a college student, and had a limited bankroll, so I wanted to make sure I maximized the enjoyment I got out of every bar dollar spent. This may come as a shock to some of you, but many mixed drinks you get at a bar are watered down. It’s true! And even those that aren’t are mostly juice or some other non-buzz-inducing chemical. I quickly found out that the only things from which I could be sure of getting my money’s worth were the straight-up cocktails, like martinis. And since I hate gin, I gravitated to vodka.
The next hurdle was the garnish. As it turns out, I also find olives to be repulsive (do you see a trend here?) so I had to find another garnish. The drunken masses (i.e. my co-workers) suggested a twist of lemon. I tried that. It’s OK. But it doesn’t really do much for the drink, does it? Vodka’s already pretty tasteless, and the vermouth takes the edge off of the vodka (or it should, if done right). So you add a bit of lemon rind and … so what? You get a slightly pleasant lemon taste. Good, but not great. And you can’t eat the lemon rind at the end of the drink, unless you’re severely masochistic.
Same for the pickled onion. First of all, it’s just weird putting an onion in a drink – onions belong on hamburgers, salads and ice cream – but hey, why not? Actually, it’s not that bad. But then I tried a cherry.
I cannot recall the first time I tried a cherry in a martini. I can only assume it was one of the many nights (heck, afternoons) Eric and I were experimenting with cocktail concoctions. Or perhaps our home bar stock of drink garnishes was depleted, and the only thing left was a cherry. Regardless, the end result was the beginning of a legend.
Even the best vodka is still at least 40% alcohol, and you can taste that. Sure, Grey Goose and some of the other super-premium vodkas are distilled and filtered within a micrometer of their proof, but straight vodka sure isn’t Kool-Aid. This is why a martini is a sipping drink. It should take you half an hour or more to finish one (of any decent size). And then you are left with the prize at the bottom of the glass. If you are fortunate enough to have ordered a Tregea then there, in the inverted peak of the conical martini glass, sits a candy-red globe of sugar known as a maraschino cherry.
Let’s be clear here: I know all about the manufacturing process of maraschino cherries and the fact that they bear as much resemblance to an actual cherry as Honeycomb cereal does to an actual honey comb, but there’s something about that luscious red sphere of food coloring, sucrose, and bleach that makes everything seem OK. Maybe it all started because my parents used to give us those Del Monte Fruit Cocktail things as dessert. They consisted of, as far as I can recall, thirteen peach slices, seven pear slices, three or four grape halves and a single half of a maraschino cherry, all soaking in sugar syrup. My sister and I would have contests about who could hold off eating their cherry half the longest. It was most definitely The Prize.
It’s even better when it’s been soaking in vodka for half an hour or so. Even if you slog through the worst martini (made with Absolut, for instance – something I would advise against), you will find, after eating the cherry, that you want another (martini, that is). In fact, this has been my downfall on many a night. Even after drinking my limit, the cherry at the end just cries for another. It’s like the old saying: One martini is just right, two is too many, three is nowhere near enough.
And so the cherry achieved a permanent place of honor in my martinis. I care not what waiters, waitresses or bartenders think of me when I order a vodka martini with a cherry. I’m secure in my masculinity. At least I’m not ordering a Zima.
How to make a Tregea
Ingredients:
6 shots of Grey Goose (or Hangar One) Vodka (or however much will fill your martini glass).
3-4 spritzes of dry vermouth (what do you mean you don’t have a vermouth spritzer?)
1 maraschino cherry
First, chill a martini glass in the freezer for at least ten minutes (If you don’t have that much time – and I can understand that – fill the martini glass with ice and cold water). While that is chilling, get the rest of your ingredients and tools together. Pour the vodka into the shaker, with ice. For the record, I never measure out my martinis. I just pour vodka into the shaker until it gets above the level of the ice. Spritz with vermouth (I tend to add more vermouth the lower grade of vodka I’m using). Shake well. Remove the martini glass from the freezer (or dump out the ice water) and adorn it with a cherry. Shake the shaker some more, for good measure, and strain it into the glass.Much has been said about the addition of vermouth to a vodka martini. Yes, it’s all very funny to “whisper the word vermouth over the martini glass”, but honestly, it does make a difference — even just a trace amount. Some bartenders make one by pouring vermouth into the glass first, then dumping it out, leaving only the legs, and then pouring the shaken vodka over that. That can work, but in my home lab, the results turn out better when I shake the vermouth with the vodka over ice.
Note: Be sure to store your vodka at room temperature, not in the freezer. While frozen vodka may be good for other drinks, you need martini vodka to be at room temperature. This way, it melts just enough ice in the shaker to smooth out the cocktail. And when the drink is pretty much straight vodka, a subtle amount of water makes all the difference.
How to order a Tregea
First, you need to find a bar that serves Grey Goose or Hangar One. In a pinch, you could go with Ketel One, or (if you’ve had several drinks already) Skyy, or something similar. For heaven’s sake don’t ever order anything with Absolut in it. I’ve got nothing against Sweden, but this is some of the worst vodka ever made. The last time I had some was at a party at my friend Super Dave’s, approximately ten years ago. Even cut with a cup full of OJ, I could still taste the foulness of it. No, let us never speak of Absolut again.
On the subject of Belvedere and other non-Grey Goose super-premium vodkas, try them if you want, but many of them don’t make as good a martini to me. I think they’re quite good straight. But they’ve been designed to have more of a spicy finish versus the smoothness of the Goose, and that style of vodka doesn’t make a very good martini. But feel free to experiment.
Once you have found an appropriate bar – and it doesn’t have to be a high-class, yuppie place; some of the best Tregea’s I’ve found have been in real dives – you have two choices. You can go the easy way or the fun way.
The easy way is to ask for a Grey Goose Martini, straight up, extra dry, with a cherry. Vodka martinis should always be served dry and up. You would think professional bartenders would be aware of this, but every once in a while you catch one pouring an entire shot of vermouth into it and straining it into a tumbler full of ice. These people should have their ears zested. Suffice to say, unless you know the bar and/or the bartender, it’s important to specify the dryness ("dry") and delivery ("straight up", or just "up"). Speak clearly, and be prepared for The Reaction (see above).
The fun way is just to order a Tregea. Of course, the server in question will look at you as if you had sprouted paisley flamingoes from your nostrils and politely ask you what, specifically, is a Tregea. This is where you get to have your fun.
Adopt a tone of courteous condescension and act shocked — shocked! — that they are not familiar with the drink in question. You are now free to ad lib about the popularity, importance and history of the Tregea. Tell them that it’s the latest trendy drink from the East Coast/West Coast/Europe. Tell them it was the first cocktail used to celebrate the end of the Crimean War, I don’t care. Just make them feel dumb for not knowing it. Then tell them how to make it, in excruciating detail.
Now here’s the crucial part: You have to keep going back to this bar and ordering Tregeas, to train the whole staff. One waitress or bartender is not going to spread the word. But when the whole staff starts talking about this new drink that everyone’s ordering, then they’ll start suggesting it to other people, and critical mass will be achieved.
My goal is to be able to walk into any bar in the US and order a Tregea without explaining what it is. The only way this will happen is if you all start doing my bidding and drinking this damn drink. I know we can do it, people. I’ve almost got the staff at several Santa Cruz bars trained. I just wish they had less turnover – Grey Goose is not cheap. You can make it happen in your own town.
And hey, if you’re ever planning to be in the Santa Cruz area, drop me a line and I’ll take you out for a Tregea, or make you one myself. Now where did I put those cherries?