I have been listening to a modern day social satire called Seating Arrangements about a wedding among a certain layer of the upper crust. It's been going on for a bit too long, and I still have a little to go. The author just made a terrible faux pas that says she isn't of this echelon and doesn't entirely understand it. Her main character, hardly a hero, has ordered "a gin martini." Anyone from that social stratum would know that martini is made with gin. A vodka martini is something else entirely. What, I don't know.
Makes me long for my Edith Wharton. She knew exactly what she was talking about she lived it.