Boozehound - Jason Wilson [45]
I find this endorsement interesting, as it shows how tastes evolve over time—even for an acknowledged expert. More than a decade earlier, Pacult had panned Campari as a two-star “Not Recommended” spirit, saying, “Quite candidly I’m not an avid fan of bitters.” Yet in 2007, he revisited Campari in his newsletter, upgrading it from two to three stars, and writing, “I didn’t fully appreciate bitters when I first reviewed this ubiquitous brand back in 1995. I’ve turned a corner since then and have come to admire their special place in the international spirits symphony.” Why the change of heart, I wanted to know? No one would argue that Campari’s nineteenth-century recipe has changed, so when I met Pacult, I pressed him on this revised opinion. “That was me, my palate, changing,” he admitted. “The first go-round with Campari, I really didn’t understand the bitter subcategory. I’ve learned a lot more since then.”
By now the cocktail geek crowd has embraced amari, experimenting wildly with many different brands (note how many of the variations of Manhattans I described in chapter 2 called for them). Anyone who wants to show off how much of a cocktail person he or she is will probably make you a drink with, say, rye whiskey and at least one amaro. Diners are enjoying more bitter flavors—think radicchio and dandelion greens and extra-dark chocolate. But as for bitter drinks … well, certainly not everyone has got the memo yet. The Italians also haven’t got the memo that certain of us really enjoy these spirits, either, because so much of what they produce never leaves Italy. I’ve tried my damnedest to fix both issues.
On one of my recent trips to Milan, I stopped off at the distiller Illva Saronno, based in the town of Saronno, an otherwise forgettable stop on the forty-five-minute train that connects Milan’s Malpensa Airport with the city center. Illva Saronno’s main product is the superpopular Disaronno brand of amaretto, which is probably the most widely sold Italian liqueur in the United States. Surely, you remember the cheesy “Disaronno on the rocks” ads, wherein the woman licks her ice cube for the bartender? Well, anyway, I wasn’t there for the amaretto, which I usually find too cloyingly sweet. Instead, I was really visiting Saronno to talk about perhaps my favorite Italian aperitivo, Zucca. Specifically, I was there to make a special plea to the Illva Saronno people to start importing it to the United States. Zucca is a rabarbaro, a subset of amaro that is infused predominantly with Chinese rhubarb, among other herbs. I learned to love Zucca at the famous Caffe Zucca in Milan’s Galleria on the Piazza Duomo—which was actually the same café where Gaspare Campari introduced his famed red bitters in the 1860s.
First, I listened to the obligatory pitch on Disaronno (which is distributed by Bacardi). “We are the category,” said Ludovica Reina, whose family has owned the company for generations. She also told me the secret recipe was written by her grandmother by hand and she’s only been allowed a peek. “People think it’s almonds, but it’s not just almonds in the recipe.” (Perhaps apricot pits, I thought? The same thing used to make the local amaretto cookies?) If you’re looking for a romantic story, you can’t beat amaretto’s: In 1525, Leonardo da Vinci’s assistant, Bernardino Luini, was painting a fresco of the Madonna in Saronno’s church and found his inspiration in a young widow who