Aperitivi, Vol. 1: Bitter (Mostly) Reds
A brief and wondrous discussion of the best alcohol-free bottles, plus a special peek at upcoming books from Brette Warshaw and Elva Ramirez
Paying subscribers! Spring is here! And that means aperitivo szn is near. Hooray for spritzes ’n snax.
Aperitivo (Italian), aperitivi (the plural Italian), apéritif (French)—they all stem from the Latin verb "aperire," which means "to open," and they’re meant to be enjoyed just before dinner. In other words, they open the meal. This I learned from Claire Warner, the most loveliest and smartest in all the land and the co-founder of Æcorn alcohol-free apéritifs. (I’m using the Italian and French interchangeably and I HOPE THAT’S OKAY.)
Aperitivo is both a subcategory and has subcategories, which I'll get to below (spoiler alert: it's all very confusing and at one point I'll give up), but these liqueurs generally clock in at 20-30% alcohol by volume (ABV) or slightly under—though some, like Jägermeister, are higher. (See? It's already exhausting.) The focus today will be on bitter red (or orange or mauve-ish) ones (which, duh, don’t contain alcohol).
While I don’t always love discussing alcohol-free beverages in the context of alcohol, in this case we’re talking about nonalcoholic analogs to what are classically alcoholic products. (That sentence proudly accepts the award for Most Annoyingly High Count of the Word “Alcohol.” TY, TY.) So first, a short history lesson...
I met Brette Warshaw when she was an intern at Bon Appétit, after which she went on to work at Food52, Lucky Peach, and Apple News. Now she’s a published book author, and I could just about cry because I’m proud of her and also because it makes me realize that I am an Old.
The book’s background story: What’s the Difference started as a TinyLetter aimed at clarifying the difference between things that often get confused and confusing. (Do you see a trend here?) The drinking games beer pong and Beirut, for example, or a yam versus a sweet potato. “I like to know things and I like being correct,” says Warshaw. (It feels weird to call Brette by her last name, but I started doing things formally in the first newsletter and now I’m locked in. Like Warshaw, I’m a fan of rules, consistency being one of them—even though I ended the previous sentence in a preposition and I wrote “snax” in the introduction and I generally overuse em dashes. How can I explain myself? I cannot.)
Now, What’s the Difference has grown into a book (pre-order here!) and, in this excerpt, Warshaw schools us on three popular aperitivi.
Aperol, Campari, and Cynar are all Italian aperitivi: light alcoholic drinks meant to be sipped before a meal to rev up the appetite. They’re also all amari: liqueurs made bitter with spices, herbs, and roots. Many amari have over thirty of those botanical ingredients, things like gentian and wormwood and angelica root and other spooky-sounding items that sound like they belong in a witches’ brew.
The history of amari dates back to the medieval times, when monks would use local botanicals to make medicinal elixirs. The liqueurs themselves started emerging in the nineteenth century, and by the 1920s, they were considered so Italian that drinking them was “practically an act of patriotism,” writes cookbook author Katie Parla in Punch. Up until the 1980s, amari were distinctly regional; your favorite amaro probably depended on the area you came from. Now they’re big business, so much so that Gruppo Campari actually owns Aperol, Campari, and Cynar, among others.
Aperitivo liqueurs can be divided into two categories: “aperitivo” (yes, confusing) and “bitter.” “Aperitivo” drinks are sweeter than the “bitter” ones and contain around half as much alcohol. Aperol is the most well-known “aperitivo”; you’ve likely had it in an Aperol spritz. It’s a red-orange color and includes sweet and bitter oranges, rhubarb, gentian, and cinchona bark, giving it a distinctly fruity flavor with a bitter, herbal edge. Its ABV (alcohol by volume) is 11 percent, the lowest of the group.
Campari is the most well-known liqueur in the “bitter” category, famous for its role in the classic negroni. Until 2006, its unmissable bright-red hue came from dye made of the dried, pulverized bodies of the cochineal, a small insect. (Now, it contains artificial colors.) Campari is significantly more intense than Aperol, both in bitterness and alcohol content; its ABV ranges from 20.5 to 28 percent, depending on where it’s sold. It’s made with oranges, rhubarb, ginseng, and “herbs”—though the type of herbs is unclear. The only official ingredients that the company will disclose are alcohol and water.
Cynar, pronounced “chee-NAR,” is a dark brown amaro with an ABV of 16.5 percent. It’s infused with artichokes—“Cynar” comes from the vegetable’s Latin name, Cynara scolymus—along with twelve other undisclosed herbs. The result: a bitter, slightly vegetal liqueur, with a caramelly sweetness that makes it surprisingly pleasant to drink. Try swapping it in for Campari in your next negroni, and you may never look back.
From the book WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE by Brette Warshaw. Copyright © 2021 by Brette Warshaw. To be published by Harper Wave, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Reprinted by permission.
I'll add that many people drink Cynar as a digestivo, or after-dinner drink, too. Warshaw’s not wrong—Cynar is pretty light in bitterness and in alcohol content, and can be lengthened with soda and/or wine—but it's dark in color and could easily be enjoyed on the rocks, too.
Warner's general rule of thumb: The dark, herbal amari that are more medicinal in style are digestivi and should be drunk either chilled or over ice. These include Fernet, Averna, Amaro Montenegro, Amaro Nonino, and, yes, Cynar, and they don't need anything else: "When drunk on their own, they're complex and bitter with a mellow honeyed profile, sweet without being cloying and perfect for sipping," says Warner. Anything orange, red, or yellow, on the other hand, is meant to be consumed before a meal. These bitter aperitivo liqueurs (think Aperol, Select, Contratto, Campari) are either lower-alcohol, emphasize citrus flavors and stimulating botanicals, or are served in a way that mellows their intensity, usually in a spritz.
Which! By the way! According to Warner, spritzes need only be bitter and effervescent. Aperol made the Venetian Spritz—the mixture of a bitter, prosecco, and soda water—famous, but there are hundreds of different ways to approach this style of drink.
Including the alcohol-free way.
As Warshaw mentioned, most would consider aperitivi a separate but related class of amari. These pre-dinner drinks then tend to be broken into two main subcategories, according to Warner:
Vermouths and aromatized wines. Typically wine-based, these skew French.
Bitter liqueurs. Wine- or spirit-based, these skew Italian.
I’m going to share my favorite bitters (not to be confused with bitters, the non-potables we use to season cocktails UGH) in this newsletter.
Æcorn: Developed by Warner, this won't be available in the States until early summer, so I won’t go into TOO much detail, but it’s properly bitter and has a nice, weighty mouthfeel. This is one of the few alcohol-free products I sip on its own. (Chilled.)
Ghia: X-tremely bitter (gentian root, orange peels) and not even trying to be sweet, this is one of my all-time favorite alcohol-free beverage products, PERIOD. “It’s like super-concentrated grapefruit peels,” says my friend John deBary.* Yes! (Even though I’m not sure there’s any grapefruit in it.) But Ghia’s also unique in that it’s got a ginger-y bite. It’s the only non-clarified product on this list—it’s an opaque, dusty pomegranate color in the bottle—and bits and pieces will settle as it sits, so shake it before pouring. And when you do, try it simply with seltzer and a hit of lime. When you’re ready to level up from that, check out the recipes on Ghia’s website; they were developed by Alison St. Pierre, who has been a bartender at some beloved New York restaurants including Romans and King.
Lyre’s Italian Spritz: This is a new offering from Lyre's, which produces a range of alcohol-free beverages, some more successful than others. (Generally, I like their aperitivo-style products better than the other spirits.) It's shooting for Aperol and it scores: rhubarb, bitter herbs, and burnt orange are all present, and it's bitter-sweetness is impressively balanced. (That sounds like a throwaway comment, but it’s not: I’m impressed! It’s like two frenemies playing a long, civilized game of seesaw.) I've found myself taking little nips of it while making dinner all week.
Giffard Aperitif Syrup: Like Lyre’s, the bitter-sweet balance is on point here, though I find the bitterness lingers a touch longer with this product. (I’d say that it’s closer to Campari than Aperol.) It’s true to its name: The texture is syrupy, the mouthfeel weighty. Good with seltzer or on vanilla ice cream. (You heard it here!)
Crodino: I don’t want to piss off the Sanbitter heads out there (I’m one of you!), but if I were told I could only drink one bitter soda for the rest of my life, I would choose the golden sunset-colored Crodino. She packs a punch in that little 3.4-ounce bottle! Upon the first sip, you'll taste vanilla and wonder if you're drinking cream soda, but then WHAM! In comes the audacious bitterness. You’ll still feel the sting one minute later.
Sanbitter: Replace Crodino’s vanilla with cherry, its orange color with ruby, and the bitterness with a slightly softer version, and you’ve got Sanbitter. This is the classic, and I appreciate that its 3.4-ounce glass bottle is label-free. (Sanbitter, if you're reading this, I'm putting in one more request to sponsor Gabriella Paiella.) Here’s how San Francisco bar owner Josh Harris desired it in Good Drinks, the book: "It drinks more like Campari than anything else—it’s aperitif-like in viscosity and it hits all the parts of your tongue that I’m chasing when I put together a cocktail— which means that I either drink it on the rocks or I add something effervescent to it. Fever-Tree’s bitter lemon tonic is dry, so it plays nicely with the sweetness in Sanbitter. You could put Sanpellegrino’s Limonata with it, but then it’s going to drink more like a soda. With tonic, it drinks more like a cocktail. Sometimes I just mix it with sparkling mineral water, but it has to have a big bubble, like Topo Chico."
Wilfred’s: This is the wild-card choice, because while it doesn’t taste bitter to me, it is refreshing, Jolly Rancher-red, and meant to be spritzed. On its own, the rosemary and clove come on too strong, but mixed with soda water, they lay off, letting Wilfred’s drink dry and a little tart. (Tonic water is nice with it, too, and doesn’t risk taking things into too-sweet territory.) Note that Wilfred’s is thinner than many of the products on this list, so if you’re looking for something hefty in the mouth, this isn’t the one.
(For what it's worth, I also like Sanpellegrino Chinotto, but despite the fact that chinotto is a bitter orange, most chinotto sodas drink more rooty and cola-like to me. Same with Casamara Club “amaro club sodas”: They taste more herbal than bitter, though I do appreciate them. Very much!)
* deBary, by the way, is the founder of Proteau, a line of nonalcoholic beverages. He and I have become close over the past few years, so I feel it’s no longer responsible of me to write about Proteau, but the sparkling Rivington Spritz (a little bitter, not ~bitter~) definitely falls into the apéritif category and is worth a taste. My favorite is the still Ludlow Red, and deBary will be making a bigger appearance in this newsletter down the line. That’s all I’m going to say about that. (Hi, John!)
Amari makers are famously protective of their recipes, which are often over 100 years old and adhered to strictly. It’s hard to say how to make one, but Louis Lebaillif from the Little Red Door in Paris has given it a shot. Drinks writer Elva Ramirez shared his D.I.Y alcohol-free amaro recipe in her new cocktail book Zero Proof (pre-order here!), and she was kind enough to give us a sneak peek.
Passeggiata
Louis Lebaillif, Little Red Door, Paris
Makes 1 drink
Little Red Door is one of Paris’s most innovative bars, and this drink demonstrates why. Bittersweet no-proof drinks are the hardest to pull off, yet this drink unfurls a tapestry of flavors. The non-alcoholic amaro is made using a custom blend of four different infusions, each of which adds a different dimension of flavor. Think of it as making four separate teas that are then combined into a master mix.
A “passeggiata,” by the way, is the Italian art of the leisurely evening stroll; it typically takes place between 5 p.m. and 8 p.m., when Italians meander outdoors and socialize before nightfall. Complex, bitter, and deeply layered, the drinkable Passeggiata will have you lingering over it as you make dinner plans with new friends.
2⅓ ounces Non-Alcoholic Amaro (recipe follows)
4 teaspoons Seedlip Grove 42 distilled non-alcoholic spirit (available at specialty stores and from Amazon)
1¾ ounces Fever-Tree club soda, chilled
2 orange twists, for garnish
In a chilled 10-ounce highball glass, combine the amaro, Seedlip, and club soda. Fill with ice and stir briskly. Squeeze one of the orange twists over the drink, rub it around the rim of the glass, then discard. Garnish with the remaining orange twist.
Non-Alcoholic Amaro
Makes about 28 ounces
To make Little Red Door’s amaro, you’ll first create four different infusions, which are then combined. While there are a lot of ingredients, the infusions do the hard work for you, as there is no cooking required.
The vegetable glycerin in the final blend works as a sweetener and also a preservative. Once glycerin is added, this blend will stay fresh for up to 3 months in the fridge or up to a year in the freezer.
All the ingredients listed below can be found at Kalustyan’s (foodsofnations.com).
10.7 ounces Bitter Blend (recipe follows)
8.3 ounces Sweet Blend (recipe follows)
1 ounce plus 1 teaspoon Spice Blend (recipe follows)
½ ounce plus ½ teaspoon Floral Blend (recipe follows)
10½ ounces vegetable glycerin (available at craft stores and from Amazon)
2 grams (0.07 ounce) tartaric acid (an organic souring agent)
In a large bowl, combine the bitter, sweet, spice, and floral blends. Add the glycerin and tartaric acid and stir until they dissolve. Pour the amaro into bottles or jars, cover, and refrigerate for up to 3 months.
Bitter Blend
Makes about 12 ounces
30 grams (1 ounce) coffee beans
5 grams (0.18 ounce) gentian root
14 ounces water
Grind the coffee beans in a mortar and pestle or spice grinder. Transfer to a sous vide bag or a mason jar, add the gentian root, and seal tightly. Infuse at room temperature for 24 hours. Strain through a cheese-cloth-lined fine-mesh sieve into a clean jar, cover, and refrigerate for up to 3 weeks.
Sweet Blend
Makes about 12 ounces
25 grams (0.9 ounce) cacao beans
2 vanilla beans, split and seeds scraped
14 ounces water
Grind the cacao beans in a mortar and pestle or spice grinder. Transfer to a sous vide bag or a mason jar, add the vanilla beans and water, and seal tightly. Let infuse at room temperature for 24 hours. Strain through a cheesecloth-lined fine-mesh sieve into a clean jar, cover, and refrigerate for up to 3 weeks.
Spice Blend
Makes about 12 ounces
15 grams (0.5 ounce) dried juniper berries
2 green cardamom pods
14 ounces water
Place the juniper berries in a sous vide bag or mason jar and gently bruise them; add the cardamom pods and water and seal. Let infuse at room temperature for 24 hours. Strain through a cheesecloth-lined fine-mesh sieve into a clean jar, cover, and refrigerate for up to 3 weeks.
Floral Blend
Makes about 6 ounces
15 grams (0.5 ounce) dried chamomile flowers
10 grams (0.4 ounce) dried hops flowers
5 grams (0.18 ounce) dried lemon thyme
14 ounces water
Combine the chamomile flowers, hops flowers, lemon thyme, and water in a sous vide bag or a mason jar and seal tightly. Let infuse at room temperature for 24 hours. Strain through a cheesecloth-lined fine-mesh sieve, gently pushing on the solids, into a clean jar. Cover and refrigerate for up to 3 weeks.
Excerpted from ZERO PROOF © 2021 by Elva Ramirez. Photography © 2021 by Robert Bredvad. Reproduced by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. All rights reserved.
One last confusing piece of information: It’s hard even to define amaro since, unlike many spirits categories, there are no rules governing its makeup. “Though many Italian amaro makers would love—and are actively lobbying for—a designation of origin, they’ll likely never get one because each amaro is so different,” writes Sother Teague (who is an amaro expert and he can’t even define it) in his book I’m Just Here for the Drinks. “As long as it’s a bitter-sweet liqueur, it pretty much qualifies as amaro.”
Warner concurs: "There isn’t one perfect definition that encapsulates all that amari are or can be. But, simply put, amaro is the Italian word for bitter and the spirits that bear the name are infused with herbs, spices, other aromatics." She actually loves that the amari category refuses to be put in a neat little box. "These are drinks defined by provenance, local flora, and a kaleidoscopic approach to botanical richness and complexity.” Go off, amari!
My use of parentheses and exclamation points is getting heavier and it’s not good for any of us, so I’m going to stop now.
How did you like this newsletter? Too long? (I think so, and I’m going to try and make them more snackable in the future.) Enough info in the tasting notes? What else would you like to see from me and what products would you like me to tackle? My editorial calendar isn’t yet set in stone, and I want to make sure I’m giving you what you deserve. Which is THE MOST.
Thanks for being with me, and, until next time, cheers! (Last exclamation point.)