It is Masters final-round Sunday, 1980-something. I am still a young(ish) man who’s lived his entire life in Central or Western New York State, where winter’s cold jaws can take a bite out of life right through the end of April and into early May. (Raise your hand if you’re from around here and you remember a Mother’s Day with snow on the ground.)

At this stage of my life, I watch golf on television even though I don’t play, because by about February in this part of the world, watching several hours of men and women spoiling walks on green grass under warm sunshine gives a person hope.

With my small sons in tow (one, two, or three, depending which 1980-something we’re talking about), their mother and I are at her parents’ house for dinner, and my late ex-father-in-law Arthur is in His Chair watching the final round with a cigar in one hand and what he called a poor man’s Martini in the other—jug gin on the rocks, with a splash of dry vermouth if he cared to spend the time to pour it. I help myself to a poor man’s Martini and join him to watch the tournament’s conclusion.

Arthur introduced me to at least four things of which I knew little before I married his daughter: poker, cigars, golf, and gin. Well, liquor in general, actually—I’m the son of teetotaling Methodists—but especially gin. Cigars didn’t last long. Poker and golf lasted longer, but they’re long-fading skills by now, although I have come to appreciate the great traditions of professional golf.

But gin. Gin is still with me. I am forever grateful to Arthur for all of the worldly delights to which he introduced me, and for all of that but especially the gin. It is still my preferred liquor.

Of course, I’ve moved on from Burnett’s and Gordon’s and … Crystal Palace, or whatever swill was cheapest by the case of jugs at the time. Eventually I landed on the Bombays, Dry for day-to-day and Sapphire for weekends, and that’s where I stayed for years. Yes, it was a gin-filled rut, but at least it was great gin. Later on I discovered other spirits and pursued a certification that put me on this cocktail journey I never imagined I’d travel.

So last week, with the Masters approaching, those gorgeous blue Bombay Sapphire bottles started calling to me from the shelves at Pinnacle—something about old times’ sake—and one of them followed me home, so I kept it. This afternoon, it’s a Sapphire Martini for the sake of tradition.

Cheers, Arthur, and thanks for the memories.

Also, the golf is pretty damned good today.

THE MARTINI I DRANK FOR YEARS
3 oz Bombay gin (Dry or Sapphire—you choose)
½ oz Vya Extra Dry Vermouth
1 dash Fee Brothers Gin Barrel Aged Orange Bitters

No stirring or shaking. Keep the gin in the freezer and the vermouth in the fridge. Measure the ingredients into a small glass, then pour the mix into a chilled Martini glass. Garnish with a Gorgonzola-stuffed olive.