There is an old country saying around these parts which goes I like my martini shaven, not furred, an expression much repeated and respected by all who see the earthy wisdom within those few pertinent words.
Your martini is your own business, of course, and whether it's as clean as a whistle or as bristly as a yard broom is purely a matter of personal choice although i myself subscribe to the smoothly immaculate rather than the wild and unruly.
Some of us, i suppose, are born adventurers at heart and prefer the more feral side of life.
The gates of paradise, in my humble opinion, are not something to be concealed or obscured beneath layers of dense foliage which can do nothing except interfere with the gleaming majesty and splendour of their true natural beauty.
Sadly, others might ask why they ought to tend their garden so lovingly when nobody ever comes to admire it anyway.
In summary, i would like to say that when i sit down to dessert, i would much rather it were deliciously creamy and smooth and adorned with neither the tufts nor clumps that might otherwise spoil a truly gourmet feast.