The Martini Flight

Various ABV

One 75ml serving of The Martini Flight contains 190 calories

Six Martinis. A hundred and twenty five years of history.

The Martini Flight is a journey through that history in six drinks, from the Tuxedo of the 1890s to the Sakura of 2015. Each one pre-batched and ready to pour. No measuring, no fuss. Just cold glass, cold cocktail, good company.

Available as a Taster of six 50ml bottles or a Flight of six 250ml. Comes with an illustrated brochure that tells the history drink by drink.

A flight of Martinis is several things at once. An event, an education, an excuse to linger. Every drink in it has a story worth telling.

We begin with the Tuxedo, which came out of the Tuxedo Club in upstate New York in the 1890s and was first written down in Harry Johnson's Bartender's Manual in 1900. Old Tom gin, sweeter and softer than the London Dry that followed it, with dry vermouth and fino sherry. This is the Martini in its earliest recognisable form.

The Gibson comes from the same moment, when gin and vermouth were quietly rearranging how people drank. Its distinction is small and deliberate: a pickled onion instead of an olive. Ours goes further. We soak the onions into the gin and vermouth in the freezer and filter them out, so the savoury note runs through the whole bottle rather than sitting on a stick at the top of it.

The 1950s gave us the Vesper, the only classic Martini that cuts gin with vodka and the only one invented in a novel. Whether anyone at Dukes actually built it before Ian Fleming wrote it down hardly matters now. Bond made it immortal.

The 1990s brought gin's golden age, and with it the Martini at its most austere: ice cold gin barely acquainted with vermouth. Audrey Saunders pushed back at Pegu Club in New York with her Fitty Fitty, half gin and half vermouth, and we think she was right. Our Lychee Martini belongs to the same era, rebuilt on a gin base so the fruit is a perfume rather than a syrup.

The Pisco Martini is a nod to Ivy Mix's En Cuarto, which took Saunders' idea and split it again, the vermouth into sweet and dry and the gin into gin and pisco. South American brandy in the most British of forms. It should not work. It does.

And we end in 2015, in New York, with Kenta Goto's Sakura. Sake takes the vermouth's job entirely, which turns the whole drink inside out, and a salted cherry blossom does something to it that nothing else in the box does. If you have poured your way through the other five, it is the one that will surprise you.

Various ABV

One 75ml serving of The Martini Flight contains 190 calories

Six Martinis. A hundred and twenty five years of history.

The Martini Flight is a journey through that history in six drinks, from the Tuxedo of the 1890s to the Sakura of 2015. Each one pre-batched and ready to pour. No measuring, no fuss. Just cold glass, cold cocktail, good company.

Available as a Taster of six 50ml bottles or a Flight of six 250ml. Comes with an illustrated brochure that tells the history drink by drink.

A flight of Martinis is several things at once. An event, an education, an excuse to linger. Every drink in it has a story worth telling.

We begin with the Tuxedo, which came out of the Tuxedo Club in upstate New York in the 1890s and was first written down in Harry Johnson's Bartender's Manual in 1900. Old Tom gin, sweeter and softer than the London Dry that followed it, with dry vermouth and fino sherry. This is the Martini in its earliest recognisable form.

The Gibson comes from the same moment, when gin and vermouth were quietly rearranging how people drank. Its distinction is small and deliberate: a pickled onion instead of an olive. Ours goes further. We soak the onions into the gin and vermouth in the freezer and filter them out, so the savoury note runs through the whole bottle rather than sitting on a stick at the top of it.

The 1950s gave us the Vesper, the only classic Martini that cuts gin with vodka and the only one invented in a novel. Whether anyone at Dukes actually built it before Ian Fleming wrote it down hardly matters now. Bond made it immortal.

The 1990s brought gin's golden age, and with it the Martini at its most austere: ice cold gin barely acquainted with vermouth. Audrey Saunders pushed back at Pegu Club in New York with her Fitty Fitty, half gin and half vermouth, and we think she was right. Our Lychee Martini belongs to the same era, rebuilt on a gin base so the fruit is a perfume rather than a syrup.

The Pisco Martini is a nod to Ivy Mix's En Cuarto, which took Saunders' idea and split it again, the vermouth into sweet and dry and the gin into gin and pisco. South American brandy in the most British of forms. It should not work. It does.

And we end in 2015, in New York, with Kenta Goto's Sakura. Sake takes the vermouth's job entirely, which turns the whole drink inside out, and a salted cherry blossom does something to it that nothing else in the box does. If you have poured your way through the other five, it is the one that will surprise you.

Various ABV

One 75ml serving of The Martini Flight contains 190 calories

Six Martinis. A hundred and twenty five years of history.

The Martini Flight is a journey through that history in six drinks, from the Tuxedo of the 1890s to the Sakura of 2015. Each one pre-batched and ready to pour. No measuring, no fuss. Just cold glass, cold cocktail, good company.

Available as a Taster of six 50ml bottles or a Flight of six 250ml. Comes with an illustrated brochure that tells the history drink by drink.

A flight of Martinis is several things at once. An event, an education, an excuse to linger. Every drink in it has a story worth telling.

We begin with the Tuxedo, which came out of the Tuxedo Club in upstate New York in the 1890s and was first written down in Harry Johnson's Bartender's Manual in 1900. Old Tom gin, sweeter and softer than the London Dry that followed it, with dry vermouth and fino sherry. This is the Martini in its earliest recognisable form.

The Gibson comes from the same moment, when gin and vermouth were quietly rearranging how people drank. Its distinction is small and deliberate: a pickled onion instead of an olive. Ours goes further. We soak the onions into the gin and vermouth in the freezer and filter them out, so the savoury note runs through the whole bottle rather than sitting on a stick at the top of it.

The 1950s gave us the Vesper, the only classic Martini that cuts gin with vodka and the only one invented in a novel. Whether anyone at Dukes actually built it before Ian Fleming wrote it down hardly matters now. Bond made it immortal.

The 1990s brought gin's golden age, and with it the Martini at its most austere: ice cold gin barely acquainted with vermouth. Audrey Saunders pushed back at Pegu Club in New York with her Fitty Fitty, half gin and half vermouth, and we think she was right. Our Lychee Martini belongs to the same era, rebuilt on a gin base so the fruit is a perfume rather than a syrup.

The Pisco Martini is a nod to Ivy Mix's En Cuarto, which took Saunders' idea and split it again, the vermouth into sweet and dry and the gin into gin and pisco. South American brandy in the most British of forms. It should not work. It does.

And we end in 2015, in New York, with Kenta Goto's Sakura. Sake takes the vermouth's job entirely, which turns the whole drink inside out, and a salted cherry blossom does something to it that nothing else in the box does. If you have poured your way through the other five, it is the one that will surprise you.

Various ABV

One 75ml serving of The Martini Flight contains 190 calories

Six Martinis. A hundred and twenty five years of history.

The Martini Flight is a journey through that history in six drinks, from the Tuxedo of the 1890s to the Sakura of 2015. Each one pre-batched and ready to pour. No measuring, no fuss. Just cold glass, cold cocktail, good company.

Available as a Taster of six 50ml bottles or a Flight of six 250ml. Comes with an illustrated brochure that tells the history drink by drink.

A flight of Martinis is several things at once. An event, an education, an excuse to linger. Every drink in it has a story worth telling.

We begin with the Tuxedo, which came out of the Tuxedo Club in upstate New York in the 1890s and was first written down in Harry Johnson's Bartender's Manual in 1900. Old Tom gin, sweeter and softer than the London Dry that followed it, with dry vermouth and fino sherry. This is the Martini in its earliest recognisable form.

The Gibson comes from the same moment, when gin and vermouth were quietly rearranging how people drank. Its distinction is small and deliberate: a pickled onion instead of an olive. Ours goes further. We soak the onions into the gin and vermouth in the freezer and filter them out, so the savoury note runs through the whole bottle rather than sitting on a stick at the top of it.

The 1950s gave us the Vesper, the only classic Martini that cuts gin with vodka and the only one invented in a novel. Whether anyone at Dukes actually built it before Ian Fleming wrote it down hardly matters now. Bond made it immortal.

The 1990s brought gin's golden age, and with it the Martini at its most austere: ice cold gin barely acquainted with vermouth. Audrey Saunders pushed back at Pegu Club in New York with her Fitty Fitty, half gin and half vermouth, and we think she was right. Our Lychee Martini belongs to the same era, rebuilt on a gin base so the fruit is a perfume rather than a syrup.

The Pisco Martini is a nod to Ivy Mix's En Cuarto, which took Saunders' idea and split it again, the vermouth into sweet and dry and the gin into gin and pisco. South American brandy in the most British of forms. It should not work. It does.

And we end in 2015, in New York, with Kenta Goto's Sakura. Sake takes the vermouth's job entirely, which turns the whole drink inside out, and a salted cherry blossom does something to it that nothing else in the box does. If you have poured your way through the other five, it is the one that will surprise you.

Various ABV

One 75ml serving of The Martini Flight contains 190 calories

Six Martinis. A hundred and twenty five years of history.

The Martini Flight is a journey through that history in six drinks, from the Tuxedo of the 1890s to the Sakura of 2015. Each one pre-batched and ready to pour. No measuring, no fuss. Just cold glass, cold cocktail, good company.

Available as a Taster of six 50ml bottles or a Flight of six 250ml. Comes with an illustrated brochure that tells the history drink by drink.

A flight of Martinis is several things at once. An event, an education, an excuse to linger. Every drink in it has a story worth telling.

We begin with the Tuxedo, which came out of the Tuxedo Club in upstate New York in the 1890s and was first written down in Harry Johnson's Bartender's Manual in 1900. Old Tom gin, sweeter and softer than the London Dry that followed it, with dry vermouth and fino sherry. This is the Martini in its earliest recognisable form.

The Gibson comes from the same moment, when gin and vermouth were quietly rearranging how people drank. Its distinction is small and deliberate: a pickled onion instead of an olive. Ours goes further. We soak the onions into the gin and vermouth in the freezer and filter them out, so the savoury note runs through the whole bottle rather than sitting on a stick at the top of it.

The 1950s gave us the Vesper, the only classic Martini that cuts gin with vodka and the only one invented in a novel. Whether anyone at Dukes actually built it before Ian Fleming wrote it down hardly matters now. Bond made it immortal.

The 1990s brought gin's golden age, and with it the Martini at its most austere: ice cold gin barely acquainted with vermouth. Audrey Saunders pushed back at Pegu Club in New York with her Fitty Fitty, half gin and half vermouth, and we think she was right. Our Lychee Martini belongs to the same era, rebuilt on a gin base so the fruit is a perfume rather than a syrup.

The Pisco Martini is a nod to Ivy Mix's En Cuarto, which took Saunders' idea and split it again, the vermouth into sweet and dry and the gin into gin and pisco. South American brandy in the most British of forms. It should not work. It does.

And we end in 2015, in New York, with Kenta Goto's Sakura. Sake takes the vermouth's job entirely, which turns the whole drink inside out, and a salted cherry blossom does something to it that nothing else in the box does. If you have poured your way through the other five, it is the one that will surprise you.