It seems that cocktail hour may be making a reappearance in
our lives. And instead of the usual gin and tonic, we are getting more exotic
in our tastes. While a couple of full strength vodka martinis before dinner
might be too much for you (it is for me), there is fun to be had in seeking out
specialist aperitifs that get the digestive juices flowing, without knocking
your block off.
Vermouth is possibly the most famous style of specialist
aperitif. The process to make it sounds straightforward enough: various
botanicals are steeped in grape spirit for a period of time and then mixed with
wine and caramel to give the required level of sweetness to balance the dryness
of the wine and the bitterness of the herbs. In order to qualify as vermouth,
one of the botanicals must be wormwood or Artemisia
absinthium. And yes, the Latin name gives you a clue that this is the same
herb used to make Absinthe, rocket fuel of the Parisian demi monde, the
wormwood giving it its hallmark green tinge. Wormwood has also been credited
with causing hallucinations in Absinthe drinkers, even madness – though I feel
the very high alcohol level (often over 50% up to over 70%) might also have had
something to do with any ill effects.
The German for wormwood, Wermut, gives us vermouth in
English. Vermouths tend to be around 14-20% alcohol, roughly the same as sherry
and port.
The birthplace of vermouth is Italy and its second home is
France. The big names, Cinzano and Martini, are both based in Turin, northern
Italy. Noilly Prat, the classic French vermouth hails from Marseillan, not far
from Béziers in southern France. Noilly Prat Original Dry, with its full
flavoured style and hint of herbal bitterness would be my choice for a classic vodka
martini, though in truth I don’t think I’ve ever asked for it by name – how on
earth do you say it? Anglicising it to “Noily Prat” sounds daft, but the
apparently correct way to say it in French, “Nwa-ee Pra” sounds equally silly.
I once tried to get a French colleague to help me out, but he insisted that
“C’est pas français ça” and seemed to think I was trying to trick him into
saying something rude and that he was not about to fall into my trap.
THE big aperitif story of the last couple of years has been
Aperol, or specifically Aperol spritz. Aperol shares some characteristics with
vermouth, but the dominant flavouring is quinine, derived from the bark of the
quinquina tree, rather than wormwood, making it a quinquina. Aperol originated
in Padua in Italy and became popular between the wars. It’s a slightly
disconcertingly bright orange colour and has a bitter-sweet flavour profile –
think of a less brightly coloured and less intensely flavoured Campari. The in vogue way to drink it is as a spritz:
3 parts Prosecco, 2 parts Aperol and 1 part soda water, over ice with a slice of orange. As Aperol is only around 11%
alcohol to start with, this ends up being a lightish option as an aperitif and
has the virtue of being fizzy, which is what we Brits seem to require in our drinks
currently.
There are no hard and fast rules about the different
categories of aperitif and you might also come across Americano, which is
usually grouped with the quinquinas as this ingredient is generally part of the
recipe. Another issue which muddies the waters is that these drinks usually
involve proprietary blends of herbs and spices and the exact recipes will be
jealously guarded.
Other quinquinas you might encounter:
Dubonnet was originally developed as a way of making quinine
palatable to French foreign legionnaires fighting in malaria-infested parts of
Africa. Its glory days are probably behind it (or maybe it’s due a revival) but
it is thought to be a favourite tipple of the Queen, with equal parts Dubonnet
and gin I understand. Respect, your Majesty.
Byrrh is a stalwart of dusty roadside bars anywhere in
deepest France and is something that I’ve never actually tasted - another
example of not knowing how to say it. Well I do know how to say it, which is
“beer” – but an English person asking for that in a French bar is much more
likely to end up with a glass of Kronenbourg than a small glass of a
quintessentially French aperitif. I must be braver!
The French have a fondness for a range of herbal-based
drinks, including Suze, which is flavoured
with gentian, making for a really bitter drink, and St Raphael, which is red,
fruity sweet and only slightly bitter. It’s hard to know if these should be
classed as vermouths or quinquinas. You might also come across Dolin from
Chambéry on the edge of the French alps, which is possibly a “true” vermouth.
Such discoveries illustrate how hard it can be to classify
aperitifs, but also one of the pleasures of exploring them: they often reflect local tastes and there are some
hugely popular drinks in certain regions which are unknown elsewhere.
My latest vermouth discovery hails not from France or Italy,
but Archway, north London. Sacred Spiced is an authentic vermouth based on
predominantly English produce. The base wine is provided by Three Choirs in
Gloucestershire, it contains thyme grown in Somerset and the organically
grown wormwood originates in the New
Forest. Other ingredients, including cubeb (a type of peppercorn berry) and
cloves obviously have to be imported. It’s a rich chestnut brown colour with a
good balance of bitterness and sweetness with flavours of orange zest and spicy
complexity. It would make a cracking Negroni – 2 parts gin to 1 each of
vermouth and Campari. Available from Caves de Pyrene for £48.