Boozehound - Jason Wilson [50]
Vermouth is 75 percent wine, and all the wine for Martini vermouth—even the rosso—is a basic white, such as Trebbiano. The wine provides only the structure and body. “To make a great vermouth, the wine must be neutral,” said Alberto Oricco, an oenologist and quality-control supervisor at the plant. “It’s important not to use a wine with a big flavor, because the flavor comes from the herbs.”
The aromatic herbs that give Martini vermouth its flavor are mixed secretly in a lab in Geneva. While Boero knows which herbs are used, and did admit to some ingredients, even he doesn’t know the exact recipe. Besides the wine and botanicals, there is also alcohol, sugar, and, in vermouth rosso, caramel added for color.
Because we sampled at room temperature, I could much more easily pick out aromas and flavors. As we tasted the pale yellow extra-dry, there was a scent of iris, lemon peels, and raspberry, and a hint of sweet wine in the taste. “We use a little Marsala wine in this blend,” Boero said.
We moved on to the rosso, which is actually brown, and what we commonly call sweet vermouth. “Why is it called red? I don’t know why,” Boero said with a chuckle. Besides the interesting note of coriander, one of the most important ingredients is cinchona, a tree whose bark gives sweet vermouth a bitter kick. “We never use spicy herbs,” Boero said, “only mountain herbs.”
The ten minutes I spent tasting Martini Rosso was easily the most time I’d ever spent thinking about sweet vermouth. Even more impressive, for me, was the bianco—different from the dry—which has always been available in the United States but little known. The scent of thyme and oregano and the tastes of cloves and vanilla create a wonderful balance of sweet and savory. I could drink bianco vermouth on the rocks, with a twist of lemon, all afternoon. To me, it is no wonder that bianco is the most popular vermouth in Italy, accounting for half of Martini’s production.
It’s likely surprising to many, but vermouths did not appear on this earth simply as a mixer for martinis and Manhattans. Vermouths were not originally created for being mixed at all, but rather to drink alone. “I don’t think Luigi Rossi ever thought to create Martini Rosso so that it could be mixed with other liquors,” said Cristiana Fanciotto, Martini’s spokesperson, as we sipped Americanos in the corporate bar. “He’d already created the perfect mix. There was no need to mix it with anything else.”
That night, I went to happy hour at Eataly, which was built with the support of Slow Food, the international movement that started in the Piedmont region. Besides the very best Slow Food–approved artisan foodstuffs on offer, there are nine casual dining spots, each focusing on a specific type of food, such as pasta, seafood, meats and cheeses, vegetables, or pizza. The entire bottom floor is given over to wine, beer, and spirits (in the wine section, you can fill up your own liter jug with respectable table wine for two euros).
After I gorged myself during happy hour, I ended up in Eataly’s wine bar. There, I saw the woman behind the bar pouring something called Giulio Cocchi Barolo Chinato. I’d only tasted Barolo Chinato once before at a dinner party in California and had never seen it since. I asked her to pour me a glass, and this time I concentrated fully on this smooth, spicy drink with just a kiss of quinine on the tongue. It was a revelation—bitter, lush, complex, like nothing else I’d tasted. The bartender suggested I go upstairs and buy a hunk of dark chocolate and come back to finish my glass. Which I did. It confirmed my sudden belief that Barolo Chinato is one of the finest after-dinner quaffs imaginable, and a better match for desserts than even port. The problem now, of course, was that I would need to track this down outside of Italy.
The bartender told me a little more about the drink. China in Italian means cinchona (or quinine bark). So Barolo