It hasn’t been The Four Seasons since 2016, and the crowd has shifted from Swan-style socialites to corporate suits on expense accounts. However, this swanky Midtown space within the Seagram Building has retained many of its status-drenched details. That includes the sleek, squared-off bar, where drinks are served in elegant Christofle glasses etched with similarly angular lines. The Grill was one of the first bars to perfect high-end pre-batched Martinis, blending Plymouth and Tanqueray gins, a house vermouth blend and spring water, stashed in crystal decanters in freezer drawers. Several excellent Martini variations are also available, including the Tuxedo, Turf Club and vodka-based Kangaroo. 

This newer Lower East Side cocktail lounge from William Elliott and the team behind Brooklyn’s Maison Premiere channels an atmosphere befitting a worldly connoisseur in the 1970s or early ’80s. It’s not hard to imagine that this louche individual, juxtaposed against the animal-print cushions, both drinks and smokes. Enter the Cigarette Martini, made with Empirical Spirits Charlene McGee, a juniper-infused spirit with smoky tones, mixed with Truman vodka from Austrian producer Hans Reisetbauer and floral-bitter Cap Corse quinquina. If smoke’s not your thing, Tigre offers a robust list of frozen gin and vodka Martinis, ranging from a wet 4:1 ratio to an überdry 1:nothing (i.e., no vermouth at all).

Named for Ludwig Bemelmans, author of the children’s book Madeline, the bar is still lined with murals by the artist today, a comforting accent to an otherwise formal space with a gilded ceiling and live music from the baby grand. A Gen Z crowd has rediscovered the venerable Upper East Side destination within The Carlyle—and they’re drinking dirty Martinis; the drink is so popular that brine from the olive jars no longer suffices, and the red-jacketed bar team goes through jugs of Filthy Premium Olive Brine nightly.

Look, you can have any type of Martini you like at this elegant bar within the storied, recently renovated Hotel Chelsea. But most likely you’re here for the Dukes Martini, a potent classic imported from London’s Dukes Hotel. It’s made with gin (or vodka) stored in the freezer, and just a splash of vermouth. A sidecar of bright green olives and a lemon twist means you can garnish as you like. It’s a big, strong drink—no stirring or shaking means no dilution whatsoever—so guests are rightfully restricted to no more than two per visit.

Built in 1936 as part of the Hotel Elysée, these days the Monkey Bar is better known for the historic room and steakhouse staples than cutting-edge cocktails. But so few original spaces remain standing in novelty-obsessed New York, so this rates a spot on our list. Snag a seat at the bar or sink into a plush banquette. Admire the mural of Jazz Age celebrities wrapping around the walls, or count the monkeys that adorn the room, illuminated by flattering lamplight. It’s best enhanced by a classic Gibson, made with Plymouth gin and Dolin dry vermouth, garnished with the requisite cocktail onion. 

From the clay churchwarden pipes lining the ceiling to the oil painting of a gracefully reclined nude surveying the hard-drinking regulars and tourists at the main bar, Keens, a respite near Herald Square, still shows glimpses of its 19th-century origins. At the rare landmark, think classic. Expect a big V-shaped glass, just a small amount of vermouth, and—if requested—a blue cheese–stuffed olive. The drinks play second fiddle to the space; take the excuse to channel your inner robber baron and linger in one of the last Gilded Age barrooms left in the city.

Think a cleaned-up, French-ified take on the dirty Martini, at an airy Art Deco–inspired space tucked within the base of Rockefeller Center. For the Au Poivre, vodka is infused with Manzanilla olives and pickled green peppercorns for savory depth, and mixed with a blend of dry vermouth and vin jaune (a dry “yellow wine” from France’s Jura region, noted for oxidized notes that some liken to sherry). The drink arrives pre-chilled and pre-diluted, with a sidecar to top up, and a generous Manzanilla olive garnish. The dry overproof gin–based Super Sec Martini, on the other hand, will suit Martini purists, while the L’Alaska has a fresh, herbal complexity.

When the team behind Attaboy revived Temple Bar, a ’90s-era NoHo haunt, they included a robust Martini list as a nod to the ’tini craze the venue saw in decades past. The Olive Oil Martini is a standout in the dark-paneled, shadowy den, made with gin and olive oil–washed dry and blanc vermouths, for a weighty, slightly slick texture. With a 2:1 ratio of gin to vermouth, it’s strong, but still leaves room for another round. A single drop of olive oil dots the top of the drink, while a fat Castelvetrano olive sits in the curve of the coupe glass. Another take on the dirty Martini, the Salt & Pepper Martini, leans on Espelette pepper liqueur. For extra-savory extravagance, a caviar bump add-on is available to gild any Martini. 

The Sakura Martini, a gentle, floral take on the sake-tini, mixes sake, gin and a quarter-ounce of maraschino liqueur. The finishing touch: a pale pink salted cherry blossom nestled at the bottom of the coupe glass, which adds a hint of salinity along with a pleasing visual. It’s the kind of thoughtful, welcoming presentation that distinguishes proprietor Kenta Goto’s warm, wood-paneled Lower East Side space, as well as its Brooklyn sibling Goto Niban. Whereas most Martinis are bracing and brisk, the Sakura is soft and relatively easy-drinking. It’s improved only by pairing with an order of miso wings or kombu celery.

It’s hard to compete with the glittering skyline, 64 stories above the Financial District, but the drinks at Overstory still manage to grab attention. Bar director Harrison Ginsberg specializes in complex drinks that only appear restrained. An Alaska riff known as the Last Frontier illustrates the point: Manzanilla sherry, Cocchi Americano and verjus add brightness to the gin base, which is split between a beeswax-infused London dry gin and a satsuma-based Japanese gin. Presented in a shallow coupe with an impossibly long, thin stem, the cocktail gets a startling jolt of color from an orange peel coin, like a miniature sun floating atop the drink. We’re fond of Overstory’s well-honed Martinez, too.