Bittersweet: How we fell for Negronis
Thought Aperol was still chic? Not so, says Tatler magazine – there’s a new Italian tipple in town. Richard Godwin reports
Stop! Is that Aperol in that bottle there? You weren’t by chance about to pour yourself an Aperol Spritz were you – that luminous, refreshing Italian apéritif that was chic in, what, 2012?
Well, I’m afraid it is now off-menu. At least according to Tatler, the high society magazine, which has published a list of things that people at Tatler consider to be hip (ie things that people who actually know about things considered hip five years ago). Apparently, the Aperol Spritz “has returned to Italy, where it will be consumed in pretty little piazzas after its brief sojourn in the UK.” Just as you were thinking of serving them at your longed-for spring barbecue!
But never mind, your guests will be twice as impressed – and three times as drunk – if you serve them a Negroni.
“Currently the big-hitter, the top dog,” says Tatler. “Even people who don’t like them are drinking them.” Naturally, if you have spent any time in the sorts of bars normal people drink at these past few years, you won’t have failed to note the rise of this Negroni. You might think of it as the padrino of Italian pre-dinner drinks: thumpingly strong (thanks to its all-alcoholic ingredients), bracingly bitter (thanks to the Campari, the drinking person’s Aperol), and not to be messed with (one part gin, one part Campari, one part Italian vermouth, capisce?). It’s not-too-sweet but also refreshing, it’s complex but it slips down easily, and while pre-dinner is the optimal imbibing time, it also works wonderfully after dinner and provides a dandy pick-me-up any moment you need a little dance-floor sprezzatura.
So the Negroni is to the bittersweet 2010s what the Cosmopolitan was to the sugary Nineties and the Mojito was to the minty-fresh Noughties: a cocktail that captures the spirit of the times. So much so, it’s put a few noses out of joint. A few years ago, I was drinking lovely old-school Martinis with the venerable Frank Caiafa, patron of the Old Waldorf-astoria in New York, when he remarked. “Waddya think of this whole Negroni thing?”. I had to confess I liked this whole Negroni thing. He didn’t seem convinced. “Any hipster can make a Negroni.”
That’s true. Any hipster can make a Negroni. And that’s why the Negroni pandemic has proved so hard to kill: inspiring Negroni weeks, Negroni festivals, even the Negroni tours that former bartender Leon Dalloway, founder of the Gin Journey, now organises in London and Manchester. For the Negroni requires no skill, no technique, and no fiddly measuring. You can generally talk the most lackadaisical landlord through making one with ingredients you find in most pubs (there’s usually a bottle of Campari left over from the Seventies).
The more forward-thinking bars in the capital have actually plumbed in Negronis – it pre-batches just fine – so you can get them on tap for as little as £6. These qualities also make it perfect for home drinking. The 1:1:1 ratio means there’s no annoying leftovers after you’ve been through the three bottles; it can work out as little £1.50 a drink, cheaper than wine! Indeed, when I throw a party, I usually make a huge tureen of the stuff. The only thing you need to remember is use lots of ice and garnish with a little lemon.
It hasn’t always been so well known. It’s a vintage cocktail, to be sure, but it’s not precisely a classic: it doesn’t appear in The Savoy Cocktail Book,
(though you will find the not dissimilar Old Pal: equal measure Campari, French vermouth and rye whiskey). Gary Regan, a cocktail historian, traces its origins to Florence, 1919, in his book The Negroni: Drinking to La
Dolce Vita, and finds no evidence to disprove the hoary old legend that it came about as an evolution of the Americano. This was a combination of Campari, vermouth and soda water, originally named the Milano-torino (where Campari and vermouth are made) but renamed for the American soldiers who became fond of it post-first World War. One afternoon, a far-sighted genius, Count Camillo Negroni, wanted something stronger, so asked for gin instead of soda water.
Orson Welles came to enjoy the combination while in Rome in 1947. But it wasn’t until the craft cocktail revival – which ran in tandem with a
revival of interest in Italian food, spearheaded by restaurateurs such as Polpo’s Russell Norman – that it spread through speakeasies to chain pubs to your vicarage fundraisers.
Indeed, we might see the Aperol Spritz as a staging post, introducing English palates to the sophisticated bitter flavours that Italians have long loved. Unlike sweetness, you have to learn to appreciate bitterness, which the tongue initially detects as poison. It’s a learning curve.
My opinion is that you shouldn’t mess with a Negroni too much. My friend Henry Jeffreys, author of
Empire of Booze, maintains that the best Negronis are the simplest ones – Beefeater gin, Campari, Martini Rosso – and there is a certain harmony in that combination.
But by all means play around. Carpano Antica Formula vermouth makes for a rich, decadent Negroni; Punt e Mes doubles the bitterness but any fortified wine will do the job. The herbal Monkey47 gin makes for strikingly different drink to the citrusy Plymouth. And remember, Campari is not the only bitter liqueur in town.
There’s no need to be traditional about it either. I once made a surprisingly avant-garde Negroni with Koko-kanu coconut rum, fino sherry and Fernet-branca.
Once you try a Negroni, I promise you will not look back.
Richard Godwin is the author of The Spirits: A Guide to Modern Cocktailing