The gleam of glassware; the clatter of ice in shaker; the careful placement of pristine, starched napkin squares and taut-skinned olives: there is an exquisite theatre that surrounds a perfectly executed, perfectly presented cocktail. And no drink better represents the genre’s credentials than a crisp, clean, classic Martini.

The Martini is a real cocktail; a finely tuned, sleek, lean, F1 race-car of a concoction – as far from sticky, saccharine, flamingo-and-umbrella-topped good-time drinks as it is possible to be. In its basic form, a Martini is a beguilingly simple combination of gin (sorry, Mr Bond, vodka really doesn’t cut it), vermouth and a garnish such as a sliver of lemon zest. Some argue the case for a dash of bitters. Many argue over the presence of brine, an olive or twist. Even more argue about the precise quantity of vermouth required or the method by which ice is combined into the liquid. But the essential fact of the drink is a requirement for very cold, virtually unadulterated hard liquor.

Martinis are unashamedly potent. Pour one into a diminutive, V-shaped glass – amidst the smoke and mirrors of a smart cocktail bar – and it appears civilised, lent an air of sophistication by its pedigree, its famous fans and its place in popular culture. The reality, though, is a roaring jolt of a drink, best consumed “quickly, while it is still laughing at you” (or so advised The Savoy Bar’s legendary bartender Harry Craddock).

That such a drink – one that can sink any person foolish enough to consume it in triplicate – should be so mythologised is a curiosity, but part of its allure lies in its mysterious origins. To date, even the most determined cocktail historians (why yes, such an occupation does exist) have failed to successfully uncover and credit the Martini’s inventor.

One of the most popular theories is that the cocktail is a descendant of the Martinez, a short drink which was based on Dutch Genever combined with Maraschino liqueur and bitters, purportedly created by bartending impresario Jerry Thomas in the late 19^th century. Other historians have speculated that the Martini was first shaken up by barman Martini di Arma di Taggia in New York City’s Knickerbocker Hotel.

A more probable (though less evocative) notion is that its name came from the prevalence of Italian vermouth producer Martini & Rossi, which introduced its Extra Dry formulation on 1st January 1900 to cater to the increasing demand for dry drinks. Its adverts used the strapline, “It’s not a Martini unless you use Martini”.

Of one thing we are certain: by the end of the 19^th century, the first recipe for the drink had been committed to print (it appeared in Harry Johnson’s Bartender Manual of 1888); its place in the classic cocktail canon was assured – and its timing couldn’t have been better.

The fin de siècle heralded a new beginning: the dawn of the golden age of the cocktail, a craze which only accelerated in the UK following the First World War. The new fashion for American-style “mixed drinks” raced across Europe, accompanied by a soundtrack of Jazz. American Bars began to open in London’s large and fashionable hotels – respectable enough for society ladies to be seen in alongside their male counterparts – and were considered to be the most stylish place to begin or end an evening.

As this tide of enthusiasm rose in London, Prohibition was being enacted in the United States; the day after its enforcement, bartender Harry Craddock packed up his shaker and headed for London, bringing with him a penchant for self-publicity and, it is said, the recipe for the Dry Martini. In 1930, he recorded his preferred formulation in The Savoy Cocktail Book, which has been a touchstone of British bartending ever since.

Today, the ability to mix a good Martini in your own home, or to order one with confidence –knowing your preference for its constituent parts – is one of those life-enhancing skills; a barometer of taste. Purists will doubtless lean towards the method of Martini maestro Alessandro Palazzi, who presides over the world-famous Dukes Bar. Palazzi advocates swirling just a few drops of vermouth in the glass before adding gin which has come straight from the freezer; this gives the drink a silky, almost viscous mouth-feel (for details of his method, see below).

Those with less robust constitutions may prefer a modicum of dilution; this is achieved by shaking or stirring the liquor with high-quality ice. Alternatively, should you have an eye on the latest cocktail trends, then experiment with drink-of-the-moment vermouth, which calls for a wetter ratio and has the advantage of more complex flavours.

Though the nuances of how to make a Martini may change, its status as the pre-eminent cocktail remains constant. Wet, dry, shaken or stirred: a Martini is truly more than the sum of its parts.