Boozehound - Jason Wilson [44]
Yes, I’m one of those irritating Italophiles who long ago acquired the seemingly unacquirable taste for those bitter herbal liqueurs that Italians drink before and after dinner. Over the years, I’ve found that nothing flummoxes the average American drinker more than an aperitivo like Campari or an amaro like Averna or Ramazzotti served as a digestivo.
Some of the unease surely stems from the concept itself. An aperitivo is meant to stimulate the appetite—literally to “open” the stomach before a meal. The higher-proof amaro (bitter) is traditionally consumed as a digestivo, or digestive aid. Let’s be honest: these ideas can seem a little gross. The word digestivo, in particular, is one place the Italian language, generally so poetic and mellifluous when it comes to food and drink, veers sharply into the prosaic and unpretty. Few Americans really want to think about digestion, or to ponder the relationship of our before- or after-dinner beverages with our stomach enzymes.
Italians, on the other hand, are obsessed with the digestive process. For instance, beware of a drink that’s too cold: it will block digestion and cause the dreaded colpo di freddo, which according to many Italians can cause cramps—and possibly even death! In Italy, there are many apocryphal stories of people being rushed to the hospital for taking too cold a drink on a hot summer evening. When I was living in a northern Italian village as a nineteen-year-old exchange student, my host father was always very concerned about my digestion, especially after I’d gorged myself into a food coma on my host mother’s delicious cooking. His surefire cure (of which he partook with me) was a shot of amaro.
Once, after a lavish wedding in a restored fourteenth-century convent, an American friend, finding nothing else to drink, chugged half a bottle of Campari. A little while later, he proceeded to vomit all over one of the convent’s walls, which just happened to be painted with a fresco that dated to the fourteenth century. In the morning, when the owners understandably freaked out, he said, “I think that Campari opened up my stomach.” Ah, they said, of course! Only an American would drink Campari after a wedding feast! He wasn’t quite forgiven for the thousand dollars of damage he’d caused, but at least he’d provided them a reason beyond simply “I am a jackass.”
In fact, there does seem to be some validity to the therapeutic reputation of herbal bitters. A 2001 study published in a Swiss medical journal said they “sensorially stimulate” stomach secretions and digestive glands “at even very small concentrations.” But medicinal value, of course, isn’t our main concern when it comes to spirits.
Too much information about the digestive tract aside, there’s also the issue of amari’s bitter taste, which takes some getting used to. Humans, among other animals, developed a basic aversion to bitter so we didn’t accidentally eat poisonous plants—obviously, there’s a deep reason why it’s so hard to develop a taste for bitters. A bartender in Washington once told me about a cocktail in which he substitutes Fernet-Branca for Campari. “I want to push people outside their comfort zone,” he said with an evil chuckle. I can’t think of anything better than amaro to push someone out of his or her comfort zone. I did this to my own mother not too long ago when I served her Fernet-Branca, after dinner, for the first time. She took one sip, made that bitter face, and said, “Oh my god! It tastes like Vicks VapoRub.”
“Just remember,” I said, “at least your digestive tract is smiling.”
For me, acquiring the taste for bitter spirits happened simply and naturally. I was a nineteen-year-old living and studying in northern Italy, near Milan. Drinks with Campari and Aperol were what the belle ragazze who arrived at the café on their Vespas were drinking. I hoped to be riding on the back of one of those Vespas after happy hour. Taste acquired.
But I believe it’s possible to acquire a taste later in life, too. Because the Negroni and the Americano have slowly become cocktail menu staples,