Martin Miller, Agatha Christie and Roger Moore walked into a bar...

The Ladies of the Lane left their usual East End haunts and headed 'up West' on Wednesday to make their debut appearance into the wonderful world of Martin Miller's Gin, at the breathtaking Miller's Residence.  Martinis were of course the order of the day at this masterclass led by the charming and insanely knowledgeable Craig Harper, and we proceeded to enjoy a taster menu of Martinis through the ages.  Martin Miller himself popped in to welcome us, and explain a little about the 10-year story of his very own gin.

It felt a lot like the start of a house party in an Agatha Christie, and the cast included a classic English gent in tweed, The 'Reverend' Rum, a Roger Moore (Bond years!) look-a-like and some impossibly pretty French girls.  We took our seats at the huge dining table and were immediately presented with Martini number one - a 'Martini De Lux' - which demonstrated the somewhat divine ratio of seven parts Martin Miller's gin to one part Noilly Prat dry vermouth.

Craig was assisted in his cocktail making by members of the party, and one of the Ladies, though slightly flustered, was delighted to be taught how to make a 'Harry's Dry Martini' (Martin Miller's, Noilly Prat dry, Peychaud bitters, Curacao), although her 'dash' technique left little to be desired.

Now, after Mr Wynd offered his penis up for perusal earlier this week, we had hoped to avoid any further impropriety.  However, the Ladies seem to attract this sort of naughtiness and sure enough a gentleman to our right took advantage of a silence and asked poor Mr Harper what his views were on 'rimming'.  Of course he meant running a lime around the top of the glass, but the ladies could not quite look him in the eye for the rest of the evening.  Our desire to remain composed was not aided at this point by impending squiffiness and a growing propensity toward uncontrolled giggling. 

We ended the evening with a 'Super Dry Martini Doble'.  Alas, this heady, double-measure gin and absinthe mixture proved, ultimately, to be the murder weapon.

(Pst.. Book yourself on to one of these masterclasses AT ONCE!  Visit Martin's website for more info...)

Handbags and Hayman's

Hayman's London Dry Gin
http://www.haymansgin.com/

I often find myself at the bar with my good friend Tallulah Von Tramp - one time Paris showgirl, with the face of an angel and the mouth of a sailor. She’s been on my case since discovering I’m involved somewhat with the ladies of Gin Lane. I’ve explained many a time that this kind of scientific approach to the study of gin in its many guises requires patience, poise and restraint. Tallulah told me to ‘fuck off’, threw her cocktail at her face, complained loudly that there wasn’t enough Vodka in it, and ordered a pint of house white.

We were in a confusingly named bar in Islington. Upstairs was dark wood, low leather sofas, and felt a little like you might be in Barcelona provided you were running a temperature and squinted your eyes. Downstairs was a cavernous, semi-club affair, which involved loud electro and no people. As it was a Wednesday I opted for the only sensible choice – a Martini – featuring Hayman’s London Dry Gin in the starring role, with lead support from Noilly Prat vermouth and three green olives.

Whilst not necessarily a household name, the Hayman family is a stalwart of the gin world. The Hayman Distillers was founded in the nineteenth century by none other than James Burrough; the creator of the world famous Beefeater Gin and great Grandfather of Christopher Hayman, the current Chairman of Hayman’s. The family name has continued distilling fine gin to the present day under this name, while Beefeater Gin and James Burrough Limited were sold to Whitbread in 1987.

Hayman’s is a fine example of a London Dry Gin, and held up well against the oakiness of what many consider the Rolls Royce of vermouths. True to description, Hayman’s was light and pleasantly citrusy; a good, reliable choice for a mid-week Martini, and it would have leant itself well to tonic water and a hunk of lime. I would have obliged this urge had I not noticed my companion had inhaled her Eastern European Chardonnay and was now busily giving another girl’s shoes the evils…