Luis Buñuel’s method for making the perfect martini, from My Last Sigh (1983):

“The day before your guests arrive, put all the ingredients – glasses, gin, and shaker – in the refrigerator. Use a thermometer to make sure the ice is about twenty degrees below zero (centigrade). Don’t take anything out until your friends arrive; then pour a few drops of Noilly Prat and half a demitasse spoon of Angostura bitters over the ice. Shake it, then pour it out, leaving only the ice, which retains a faint taste of both. Then pour straight gin over the ice, shake it again, and serve.”

The main characters in The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie didn’t get to enjoy a meal together without some sort of interruption. But Buñuel did allow them to enjoy a good cocktail. In fact one of the key scenes in the film is really just a lesson in how to make the perfect martini (a sequence curiously echoed by David Lynch in a special bonus feature on his DVD for INLAND EMPIRE, where he prepares quinoa).

For Buñuel, a major component of the perfect cocktail is the necessity of enjoying it slowly. It must be savored so that the drinker’s mind is given time to wander, reflect and dream between sips. That’s exactly why everything must be frozen far in advance; the last thing you want is a lukewarm martini halfway through.

I’ve tried Buñuel’s martini method many times and have more or less adopted it as my own. It’s absolutely trustworthy in exactly the same way that his “rules” for cinema are trustworthy (i.e. a fluid, moving camera style coupled with performances and writing which aim for the utmost realism are the keys to successful cinematic surrealism). I’d like to add that as far as gin goes, my two preferences are Gordon’s and Plymouth.

One thing about Buñuel that changed my life, as a filmgoer and as a writer, is this bit of absolute wisdom he always stuck to: it is necessary to follow the rules in order to break them. Without discipline and structure, you can never lull the audience into suspending its disbelief; if an audience suspends its disbelief, then you can show them the most outrageous things and get away with it. And, yes, it is possible to be completely artificial and yet still have control over the audience. The reason why alternating between two actresses as Conchita in That Obscure Object of Desire works is that it’s an incredibly simple device, done in a completely straightforward manner, that makes the audience doubt what they’re actually seeing.

It’s a humble rule, but if you follow it then you have the freedom to do anything.

In his book Buñuel also includes another cocktail recipe:

“After the dry martini comes one of my own modest inventions, the Buñueloni, best drunk before dinner. It’s really a takeoff on the famous Negroni, but instead of mixing Campari, gin, and sweet Cinzano, I substitute Carpano for the Campari. Here again, the gin – in sufficient quantity to ensure its dominance over the other two ingredients – has excellent effects on the imagination. I’ve no idea how or why; I only know that it works…”

There are currently two versions of Carpano available: Carpano Antica Formula and Punt e Mes. (The former is the older, original preparation; although expensive it’s worth seeking out). Taking Buñuel at his word, my recipe would go something like this:

Buñueloni

2 oz. Plymouth gin
3/4 oz. Carpano
3/4 oz. Cinzano

Stir with ice until very cold, strain into chilled cocktail glass.

It is indeed an excellent aperitif. So mix one up and raise a glass to old Buñuel, whose films will forever feel young.

EDIT:

After further experimentation, I believe the following formulation is an improvement (and also closer to Buñuel’s conception):

Buñueloni

2.5 oz. Plymouth gin
.25 oz. Carpano Antica
.25 oz. Cinzano Rosso

Stir with ice until very cold, strain into chilled cocktail glass.