This last weekend I headed over to dBar, a newish gay bar in Dorchester. I’d recommend it to those who haven’t gone – it has a nice neighborhood restaurant meets city lounge kind of feel. It’s nice to see owners putting thought into the design of a bar (even if that means leaving the woodwork from the former steakhouse), and hosts actually being friendly.

Drinks are big city prices, a pint five dollars and my not-terribly-high-shelf cocktail nine dollars. I can’t say I’m overly wowed with the bartending. Inexplicably the wheat beer had an orange wheel instead of a lemon wedge in it. And after having a frosty cold martini at DeLux,, my gimlet at dBar seemed downright tepid and uninspiring.

The thing worth noting is that like many these days, they squeezed fresh lime juice into my gimlet. I can’t say this is categorically wrong, but I’m convinced that the people who do it aren’t big gimlet fans. There’s something magical about the mutual bracing qualities of gin and Rose’s lime, and the real lime breaks the spell.

For what it’s worth, here’s one definitive statement, from Terry Malloy in Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye:

“They don’t know how to make them here,” he said. “What they call a gimlet is just some lime or lemon juice and gin with a dash of sugar and bitters. A real gimlet is half gin and half Rose’s Lime Juice and nothing else. It beats martinis hollow.” (19)

I’m not a full traditionalist, and I find that a 4:1 ratio is much more suited to modern tastes than a 1:1 ratio. (You see a similar rebalancing in the stalwart martini.) Here’s how I make them:

Gimlet

2 jiggers dry gin
1/2 jigger Rose’s lime juice

Shake well in a cocktail shaker. If serving straight up, strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with thin sliver of lime floating on to. If serving on the rocks, strain into a rocks glass with ice and garnish with lime wedge on rim.

Like martinis, gimlets really are best very cold. Can they be made with vodka? Sure, but I’m not clear what the point would be.