The Aperitif Moment: Sip or Flinch

By WILLIAM GRIMES

© New York Times 1999

First impressions last longest. The downbeat of the conductor's

baton, the first step in a tango, the opening words in a flirtation

these initial moves can make or break.

So, why is the aperitif, the traditional mood-setter for the

perfect meal, so poorly understood, especially now, when

restaurants all over town seem to be bending over backward to

create distinctive pre-meal drinks?

On most fronts, American diners have become more sophisticated and

demanding, but when faced with the aperitif moment, they flinch.

"Something to drink before the meal?" is a question brimming with

promise. It deserves a better answer than, "Uh, a glass of white

wine?" Some diners, bestirring themselves, ask for a martini. Bad

idea. The martini is many things, but one thing it is not an

aperitif.

The truth is, most people are confused about what an aperitif is

and what it is supposed to do, and that includes professional

bartenders. Is it the same as a cocktail? If not, then where is the

dividing line? Questions like these have challenged the finest

minds in drinkdom.

"An aperitif is a wine-based product, served before the meal, to

which you need only add a garnish," said Jean-Luc Deguines, the

food and beverage director at the Mark Hotel in Manhattan.

Deguines, who once worked as a bartender at the posh Mirabelle in

London, is French, of course, and so is his definition. It is

clear, emphatic and highly traditional, limiting the aperitif to

herb-infused products like vermouth, Lillet, Dubonnet, St. Raphael

and Byrrh, all of them served on the rocks with a twist.

Ted Haigh, a drink historian who, under the name Dr. Cocktail,

oversees the cocktail discussions on America On Line, offers a more

inclusive definition. "The aperitif is what's known as a quinquina,

or a drink that contains quinine, a bitter agent, which is

diluted," he said. "The diluted bitterness is the key, I think.

Undiluted, it is a digestif, which is taken after the meal and is

intended to settle the stomach." (A liqueur, or cordial, he might

have added, is a sweet, spirit-based drink, usually consumed after

the meal.)

The Haigh definition would include all the drinks on Deguines'

list, plus bitter Italian aperitifs like Campari, Punt e Mes and

Cynar, an aperitif flavored with believe it or not

artichokes. It also opens the door to the now-illegal absinthe and

its descendants, Pernod and Ricard, all of them flavored with

anise.

What all of these preparations have in common is enough bitterness

to stimulate the appetite and enough sweetness to make the

bitterness palatable. With the exception of absinthe, they are also

lightly alcoholic and therefore lift the spirits without numbing

the taste buds.

Certain wines do more or less the same job, although not the

big-shouldered chardonnays that many diners wind up drinking before

a meal. The white Burgundy wine known as aligote, which is

mouth-puckeringly tart when drunk on its own, blends perfectly with

creme de cassis to become the classic kir.

A chilled manzanilla or fino sherry also sets up a meal in fine

style. And Champagne has just the right crispness and acidity, not

to mention happy bubbles, to kick off a meal in memorable fashion,

especially if the restaurant, paying proper attention to the

all-important fun factor, has added a soupcon of this or that to

the glass, and perhaps a colorful garnish.

The festive role of the aperitif should not be underestimated. It

is, in a way, a before-meal cheerleader, and part of its task is to

grab attention.

"The art and skill of mixology is to take away the boring aspect of

what to drink before lunch or dinner,"said Salvatore Calabrese, the

author of "Classic Cocktails" (Sterling Publishing, 1998) and the

bartender at the Lanesborough Hotel in London. Showmanship counts,

in other words.

The world of the aperitif was calm and rational until the Americans

came along and invented the cocktail in the early 19th century, and

Europeans began experimenting with it early in this one. The

vermouth cassis and the Campari-based Americano and Negroni have to

be considered major steps forward in civilized life, but what are

they?

Calabrese struggled with the taxonomy and found a comfortable spot

straddling the fence. "The Americano or Negroni are aperitifs in

the sense that they open the palate and stimulate digestion," he

said, "but they are also classic cocktails."

Aaron Von Rock, the wine director at Verbena in Manhattan, takes a

slightly more romantic view of the issue. The aperitif, which he

calls "the first step on that epicurean trip," can be defined as

much by its social function as its physical properties. "Cocktails

celebrate sociability and bring people together," he said. "That's

the mental focus I have when I have a cocktail. People who order an

aperitif pay more attention to what flavors are occurring and what

wines they will select."

There is ample evidence that restaurant owners and chefs around

town have been thinking hard about their before-dinner drinks

lately, and that they may even be a step ahead of their customers.

Diners who don't bother to ask what the house is serving in the

aperitif line can be missing out on a splendid way to start a meal.

At Gertrude's, Laurent Manrique has put his stamp on a classic

Gascon aperitif known as the pousse-rapiere, a combination of

Armagnac, Grand Marnier and Champagne served with a slice of

orange. Manrique infuses his Armagnac with oranges, cloves, vanilla

and various herbs to get a complex, spicy-pruny aperitif that

triggers subliminal cravings for foie gras.

For its 38th birthday, La Caravelle has come up with the Kir Royale

38, adding a little Cognac and Grand Marnier to Champagne.

Garnished with a slice of orange, it makes a rich, suave pre-meal

drink. Jacques Capsouto, at Capsouto Freres, has pulled off a nifty

trick by stealing some raspberry coulis from his pastry chef and

using it to make a bright, fruity Champagne aperitif.

Scarabee has solved the cocktail-aperitif argument by creating a

drink that can be either. Called a French martini, it starts with

blond Lillet infused with red currants. The aperitif-minded can

take it as is, chilled and pink, with a curl of lemon peel. Add

vodka, and it becomes a cocktail.

Once in a while, a stiff cocktail defies the rules and manages to

sneak into aperitif territory. The Juniperotivo at Monzu is one of

these imposters. Made with Junipero, a highly aromatic, herbaceous

gin from the people who make Anchor Steam beer, it's a

sweet-and-sour special that offsets the astringency of the gin with

lime juice, mint and pomegranate syrup.

"Although most aperitifs are in the low-alcohol range, this one

works because it has a tartness that gets the salivary glands

going, and a touch of sweetness and herbaceousness that sets up the

palate for food," said Jerri Banks, Monzu's food and beverage

director.

The restaurant has also done a clever variation on the Americano,

substituting the fruity, chocolatey Punt e Mes for sweet vermouth.

For sheer audacity, however, Tabla takes the cake. The customer who

orders a Ginger Citrus Snap gets a mixture of Stoly Oranj and

ginger eau de vie that occupies two-thirds of a curved martini

glass. A waiter then tops up the glass with Billecart-Salmon

Champagne and deposits small pile pomegranate seeds in the drink.

As the bubbles collect around the seeds, the seeds begin to rise.

The bubbles fall away, and the seeds fall. Whee!

This alcoholic lava lamp has found an audience. One woman, filling

out a comment card, wrote, "It makes me feel like running naked

down Madison Avenue and setting my hair on fire." That's a good

start to any evening.