Martini — A Small Glass for Six Years

Six years since I started this blog. I looked at the first entry on Monday — March 28, 2016, a single paragraph about a green bean casserole I had made alone in a Capitol Hill condo a few months after moving in. I had been twenty-two. I had been miserable, I can see now, though I had not used that word in the post. I had written something like, "It was edible and I felt proud." The post was 118 words. It was barely a post. It was a foothold. It was enough.

The woman who wrote that paragraph did not know she would have this life. She did not know she would find her birth mother. She did not know she would get engaged. She did not know her mother would have Parkinson's. She did not know she would learn to make kimchi from scratch and have a name (Dahee) held for her by a woman in Busan and have a brother named Jihoon and a sister named Eunji and a fiancé named James who makes Taiwanese beef noodle soup and a home that is all of them at once.

I am not the best writer. I am not the most technical. I am not the most accomplished cook. What I am, I am realizing at six years in, is durable. I have kept going. The blog has been the record of keeping going. I wanted to mark this. I did not want to celebrate it in a way that felt inflationary. I bought myself a very good bottle of Korean rice wine on Saturday and drank a small glass. I wrote in my notebook: "Six years. Still here. Thank you."

The week was quiet. Cherry blossoms on the Quad again. I did not go this year — I did not need to. I had other places to put my attention. I made kimchi (batch thirteen of the year, Jisoo's recipe, now very good). I walked to Volunteer Park twice. I read a novel at lunch on Friday. Karen had a neutral week — no falls, no flares, no celebrations. David called on Thursday and said, "We're coasting." I said, "Coasting is good." He said, "Coasting is a gift." He is right.

Dr. Yoon: we talked about the anniversary. She asked me what I felt. I said, "I feel proud in a quiet way. Not proud of the blog. Proud of being alive for six years in a way that added up to this." She said, "That is the right kind of pride." I liked that framing. The right kind of pride. The one that does not need applause.

Work: a slower week. I had four meetings on Tuesday and then nothing Wednesday through Friday. I coded on Wednesday for three hours and fixed a bug I had been nursing for weeks. I sent James a celebratory text. He wrote back: "The old Steph is in there." I wrote: "She never left. She just works in a very loud office." He wrote: "The office will not always be this loud." He is foreshadowing something we have not said out loud. I noticed. I did not respond to it.

The recipe this week is kimchi. Of course it is. The thirteenth batch of the year. Jisoo's recipe, as learned through the letter, now refined. Two heads of cabbage salted four hours. Paste of rice flour, garlic, ginger, fish sauce, apple, onion, gochugaru, sugar. Daikon radish julienne. Scallions cut a specific way. Massaged into every leaf. Packed into the onggi. Set on the counter. Patience. Six years of kimchi. Six years of writing about kimchi. Six years of learning that the point of kimchi is not the kimchi. The point is the patience. The patience is the point.

The Korean rice wine I bought on Saturday was excellent — cold, slightly sweet, gone in one small glass. I did not want more than that. I wanted exactly that: a single, deliberate pour for a single, deliberate milestone. A martini is not so different. It is precise by nature, minimal by design, and honest in a way that showy drinks are not. Six years felt like a martini kind of night: two or three ingredients, no garnish you strictly need, nothing to prove. You make it carefully. You drink it slowly. That is the whole ceremony.

Martini

Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 5 min | Servings: 1

Ingredients

• 2 1/2 oz gin (or vodka, if preferred)
• 1/2 oz dry vermouth
• 1 cup ice cubes (for mixing)
• 1 lemon twist or 1–2 green olives, for garnish

Instructions

1. Chill the glass. Place a martini glass in the freezer for at least 5 minutes before serving, or fill it with ice water and let it sit while you prepare the drink. A cold glass keeps the martini cold longer.
2. Combine the spirits. Fill a mixing glass or small pitcher with ice. Pour in the gin (or vodka) and dry vermouth.
3. Stir. Using a long bar spoon, stir steadily for about 30 seconds. You want the drink thoroughly chilled and slightly diluted — stirring (rather than shaking) keeps it clear and silky.
4. Prepare the glass. If you filled the martini glass with ice water to chill it, discard the water now and dry the glass briefly.
5. Strain and pour. Hold a cocktail strainer over the mixing glass and pour the martini into the chilled glass in a slow, steady stream.
6. Garnish. Express a lemon twist over the surface (hold it skin-side down and give it a firm pinch so the oils mist over the drink), then rest it on the rim. Alternatively, drop in one or two brined green olives on a pick.
7. Serve immediately. A martini waits for no one. Drink it while it’s cold, slowly, without distraction.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 175 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 1g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 5mg