Of all the drinking customs imported from Europe, few seem as lost in translation as the aperitif. On these shores, it can involve just about anything with alcohol, including full-bodied shiraz, a belt of Scotch and even a happy-hour beer or two. Not so much in Europe, where the ritual almost always has a strong culinary purpose, to cleanse the palate, settle the stomach and stimulate the appetite during that restorative pause between the daily grind and the evening meal.
In the world of culinary foreplay, think of beer and whisky as Will Ferrell and Chris Kattan in A Night at the Roxbury. A proper Continental aperitif is Javier Bardem working his suave Latin charm on Scarlett Johansson in Vicky Cristina Barcelona.
To Europeans (and to some extent Quebeckers), the word aperitif is virtually synonymous with an array of specific brands, names the rest of us may be more apt to associate with Formula One advertising billboards or belle époque posters than the essentials of a well-stocked bar. Cinzano, Campari, Lillet, Dubonnet and Pernod are some of the more popular examples of these aromatized wines and spirits. But the list includes some lesser-known favourites, such as Aperol, Cynar, Ramazzotti and Punt e Mes. They're all good names to bear in mind when stocking up for fall entertaining season.
Often sporting enticing hues, from yellow to red to mahogany, classic European aperitifs strike a balance of fragrant bitterness, sweetness and mouth-watering acidity. Compared with spirits, they tend to be low in alcohol, less than 20 per cent in the case of wine-based formulations and 20 to 40 per cent for spirit-based versions, which are almost always mixed with water or club soda.
"It's not like the happy hour here in North America where you want a stiff drink and something to calm you down," says Colin Turner, bar manager at CinCin Ristorante + Bar in Vancouver. "These give you the flavours that make you want to eat."
This is what distinguishes aperitifs from that similar-sounding drinks grouping digestifs. These are meant to be enjoyed after the meal, supposedly to aid digestion, a claim that would no doubt find detractors among gastroenterologists in North America. The landscape can be confusing for a newcomer, to be sure, but roughly the dividing line is 30-per-cent alcohol. Higher than that and you're into digestif territory, with things such as Chartreuse from France and Averna from Italy.
But there are notable exceptions. Anise-flavoured Pernod and Ricard, for example, weigh in at 40 and 44 per cent, respectively. Though strong, they're typically consumed over ice with a small pitcher of water served on the side. Splash in some water and the clear, electric-yellow hue goes hazy, like out of a child's chemistry-set experiment.
Ultimately, the definition of aperitif is pretty hazy too. Ramazzotti, at 30 per cent, can serve double duty before and after a meal.
But at least they're generally easier to serve than cocktails. Best enjoyed chilled, some, such as Lillet, are perfect on their own or on the rocks in a tumbler. I prefer Lillet cold from the fridge in a white-wine glass (it's white Bordeaux wine kicked up to 17-per-cent alcohol with fruit-infused liqueur, after all). Red vermouth, including the especially bold-tasting but sadly hard-to-find Punt e Mes from Italy, tends to go nicely on the rocks with a slice of orange. Campari, the dazzlingly red icon of bittersweet imbibing, at 25-per-cent alcohol, loves to mingle with soda. Depending on your mood, the effervescence can provide a welcome lift to its syrupy texture. One part Campari to one part soda on the rocks is my preference.
If the acquired taste of many aperitifs can seem like bitter medicine, it's no accident. Vermouth, the centuries-old granddaddy, derives its name from wormwood, once thought to cure gastric disorders. Wormwood also was the foundation of absinthe, an ingredient in the original formulation of Pernod. Dubonnet, meanwhile, was created in the 19th century as a delivery mechanism for fever-reducing quinine. Ditto St. Raphael.
But the list of ingredients is vast, with some aperitifs containing more than 30 goodies, including camomile, cinnamon, gentian, foxglove, hyssop, citrus peel, star anise and saffron. Cynar (pronounced chee-nahr), which I learned to love at the knee of an Italian aunt, packs a jolt of herbal bitterness and is principally based on artichoke ( Cynara scolymus in Latin).
At CinCin, Mr. Turner says he has noticed a resurgence in aperitifs, especially Lillet and the relatively dry white vermouth Cinzano Bianco. In fact, Lillet in Canada is currently growing at an annual rate of 15 per cent by volume, according to Jeff Agdern, vice-president of Corby Distilleries Ltd., its Canadian distributor, which is controlled by the international wine, spirits and aperitifs giant Pernod Ricard. Responding to the trend, the Liquor Control Board of Ontario next month will introduce Lillet Rouge, the crimson counterpart to the standard white offering.
Credit the modest growth – it's still a niche market here – to a Trojan horse: cocktails. Years ago, many mixologists began steering away from super-sweet liqueurs such as Grand Marnier in favour of the aromatic qualities offered by the once-sleepy aperitif category, adding bracing vigour and subtler sweetness to new cocktails and essentially reviving a tradition extending back to the glory days of such classics as the Manhattan and martini. Better distribution and wider selection earned these aperitifs new visibility behind the bar and on drinks menus. Now, Canadians are slowly learning that aperitifs aren't just for mixing.