Based on a cocktail popular in Prohibition-era gin joints, the Paper Plane belongs to the family of corpse revivers, created in the 19th century as hangover cures. This whisky-based version was first developed by bartender Sasha Petraske for The Violet Hour, a new-wave speakeasy in Chicago’s Wicker Park neighborhood.

Featured in “Our New Favorite Single Malt Whisky Comes From … New York?” by Shane Mitchell.

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The pisco sour was one of the first drinks to be codified during the “Golden Age of Cocktails.” In fact, the recipe emerged as a result of a confluence of factors far from the South American spirit’s birthplace. 

California boasts a history of wine and brandy production dating back to the 17th century, as well as a deep connection to South and Central American territories once controlled by the Spanish Crown. Gold Rush era San Francisco was a hotbed for cocktail culture, by virtue of the glut of unattached men looking for ways to distract themselves from their arduous work in the mining industry. While the Conquistadors invested in California wine production, spirit distillation was much less widespread; for local high rollers who wished to imbibe, high-quality options were slim. 

Pisco—a grape-based distillate whose origins are a topic of debate between Peru and Chile—was suited perfectly to the late 19th century’s emerging “fancy drinks” trend. At turns aromatic and dry, the spirit pairs nicely with various fruits and acids, and was a natural choice for the era’s elevated serves. San Francisco’s Bank Exchange and Billiard Saloon popularized pisco in the 1880s by mixing it with pineapple, lime, and syrup for the enormously popular pisco punch, inspiring imitators throughout the city. Then in the 1920s, the South American liquor garnered its international fame when Victor Vaughn Morris, an American bar owner who’d immigrated to Lima, began serving a pisco-based riff on the whisky sour.  Made luxuriously silky via the addition of egg white (like the Ramos gin fizz popularized in New Orleans shortly before), and highly aromatic courtesy of Angostura bitters, a drink this good is virtually impossible to improve upon, which explains why the recipe hasn’t changed in over a century.

*Note: It is important to point out that Chilean pisco is generally more floral, while Peruvian versions can display more earthy and vegetal notes which I find more suitable for cocktailing. There are four broad styles of Peruvian Pisco: Puro, Aromatico, Acholado, and Mosto Verde. I prefer Acholado for its drier profile, while others may prefer the sweetness of Mosto Verde. The brands Barsol, Porton, and Macchu Pisco will all work nicely in this recipe.

The post Pisco Sour appeared first on Saveur.

I developed the Wise Guy last holiday season and since then it has become one of my go-to winter drinks. Spicy, bold, and aromatic, the spiced coffee old fashioned is smooth enough to sip at a slow pace, so go with a “bottled in bond” rye or a premium, high-proof rum. Flavored with allspice, cinnamon, and clove, Piemento liqueur (sometimes also labeled Allspice Dram) was a popular ingredient in 18th century punches. The best examples are those based on pot-still Jamaica rum, such as Hamilton Pimento Liqueur.

Featured in: “How to Add Coffee to Your Cocktails.”

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To wine drinkers, the South of France evokes pale rosé and coarse red blends, but for me no drink is more emblematic to that sunny Medeterranean coast than the herb-tinged anisette called pastis. Redolent of the oily, almost numbing flavor of anise, pastis is something of an acquired taste, though the effect is more subdued when it’s properly served: Poured over ice and diluted to taste with an accompanying pitcher of water. When enjoyed this way, the intensely extracted spirit transforms into a refreshing long drink perfect for passing the summer hours away. 

Technically an aperitif, a glass of pastis will certainly awaken your appetite if it’s doing its job. And while you might think that such a distinctive drink would clash with food, its potency is actually the spirit’s strength. Pastis stands up to pungent ingredients like garlic, spice, and fat, taming those punchy flavors without overpowering. Its gentle herbal notes are a natural complement to the earthy sweetness of seafood—particularly shellfish.

Marseille native Paul Ricard originally developed pastis in 1932—in fact, the word “pastis” didn’t even exist until Ricard named his dupe after a portmanteau of the Provencal “pastisson” and Italian “pasticcio,” both meaning “mixture.” The spirit was initially intended to replace absinthe, the overconsumption of which had been blamed for the decline of early 20th century French society. While his recipe was similar to other drinks developed at the time (including Parisian Pernod), Ricard’s Marseillais brand quickly rose the ranks to become the preferred French anisette, inspiring a plethora of local imitators and establishing the category as a cornerstone of the convivial Southern French lifestyle. Today there are a handful of pastis brands widely distributed in the U.S., including the original Ricard, Pastis 51, and Henri Bardouin, all differing somewhat in composition, but always showcasing a similar base blend of star anise, anise seed, and liquorice root.

Even if you don’t like sipping the stuff, the intensity of undiluted pastis makes it a handy kitchen staple. Its sweet perfume can complement or mimic herbal notes like tarragon, basil, and fennel. A shot or two is de rigueur in traditional bouillabaisse, and pastis can even uplift braised chicken or rabbit. In a pinch, it stands in nicely for fresh tarragon in a quick oyster mignonette. 

Get the recipe for Mussels Rockefeller »

Although pastis contains less sugar than many other liqueurs, the overall impression is still quite sweet from sweet-tasting compounds (anethole and glycyrrhizin) in the aromatics. This balance makes it especially well-suited to savory recipes. Exact formulae are typically kept under wraps, but are said to include other herbs and spices, among them rosemary, thyme, angelica root, and nutmeg. In comparison, anisettes from elsewhere—think sambuca, arak, and raki—are typically made with only a single spice (usually either star anise or anise seed). These simple liqueurs can be used for cooking as well, though their sugar levels can vary widely, so don’t assume a one-to-one substitution. Absinthe, too, works nicely in the kitchen; its higher alcohol content provides an even more concentrated flavor, but certain blends are far more bitter than others, so add this spirit slowly, and to taste.

Pastis plays beautifully with all sorts of seafood dishes, but I find that it truly harmonizes the elements in broiled oysters Rockefeller. Typically topped with a compound butter flavored with spinach, garlic, and herbs, I prefer to add that herbaceous note with a splash of pastis instead. (Think of this like using vanilla extract instead of whole vanilla bean; the flavor in the spirit combines more subtly than the raw ingredient.) The addition makes hot shellfish taste more like the sea, rounding out their vegetal and earthy flavors with a slight sweetness, the alcohol intensifying the overall aroma of the dish. 

Sourcing and shucking fresh oysters isn’t something I normally make the time for, but I like to use this pastis-spiked Rockefeller butter on other seafood dishes as well. It’s great on broiled fish for an easy weeknight dinner, and for a low-stress-but-still-fancy starter, you could do worse than fresh mussels: Simply steam their shells open in white wine, split, and slather the meaty bivalves with the heady anisette butter. To gild the lily, I sprinkle on a little extra pastis before broiling the mussels until they sizzle, then serve them hot, on the half shell and with enough bread to soak up any extra juices.

The post This Is What Your Mussels Have Been Missing appeared first on Saveur.

Using special bottles for your bitters, tinctures, and solutions is an aesthetic power move, but there’s more to it than just appearances. Sondre Kasin, Principal Bartender at award-winning New York City Korean hotspot Cote and its subterranean cocktail bar, Undercote, underscores the functionality of this tool: “Of course, there’s the beauty of design, but bitters bottles or dasher bottles are all about consistency––when you’re making cocktails at home, usually you’re following a recipe, and when a recipe calls for dashes, in that context it’s referring to the quantity that comes from a dasher and not the size of a dash that comes from the standard topper on an Angostura or Peychaud’s bottle, for example.” According to Kasin, the dash that comes from this packaging is typically about twice as big as what a dasher offers. The beauty of the smaller dash quantity is that it allows for more precision and room for adjustment in a drink—you can’t subtract, but you can always add.

According to Kasin, dasher bottles come with a practical added bonus: no mess. “With original packaging, bitters can tend to go in unexpected directions, whereas with dasher bottles, there’s little mess as the liquid will go in the exact direction you intend,” he notes, adding that bitters can stain quite intensely. So spare your tablecloth and clothing and shop these choice dasher bottles in bulk.

Linall

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This classic dasher bottle features a stainless steel threaded top. This style offers more security than a cork topper (and they’re more easily washable than cork), so if you’re going to be dashing frequently, this might be the best option for you. We also appreciate the wide weighted bottom, designed to keep stability on your bar.

History Company

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Store your bitters collection like a pro and give your home bar an apothecary vibe. Inspired by the bitters and tinctures of an old pharmacie-turned-cocktail bar on Rue Jean-Pierre Timbaud in Paris, this beveled and cork-topped dasher bottle comes in a lovely box perfect for gifting.

LINALL

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This nicely weighted, elegant dasher bottle by LINALL evokes the perfume trays of a bygone era. If you’re looking for something both decorative and functional, this handmade and lead-free cork-topped glass bottle is the way to go.

The post A Bitters Bottle Adds Order And Beauty To a Home Bar appeared first on Saveur.

I’d been in Elko, Nevada, for less than an hour, and I’d already broken a rule. I had come to The Star Hotel, a century-old restaurant and former boarding house for cattle ranchers, in search of the Picon punch. There it was, advertised on a chalkboard menu. YOU ONLY NEED ONE, PROMISE was written underneath.

I only saw the sign when already sipping my second. But given that I’d driven to this stretch of northeastern Nevada for the sole purpose of chasing the elusive cocktail, I gave myself a pass. In the boarding houses, its assembly usually goes something like: Toss a few ice cubes in a glass. Drizzle with grenadine. Fill with Torani Amer. Add a little soda, if you remember. Float brandy on top, and add a lemon twist.

What might you imagine Nevada ranchers drinking, posted up at the local watering hole? Beer, perhaps. Maybe with a shot of whiskey, or tequila. Certainly not a punch made with an obscure French bitter, or any derivation thereof, in a stiff drink that wouldn’t read as out of place on a Manhattan cocktail list.

In Elko, and Reno, and the tiny town of Winnemucca, the local drink of choice is this Picon punch—brought there, it’s surmised, by those towns’ substantial Basque populations in the late 19th century. “The way New Orleans has the Sazerac, northern Nevada has the Picon punch,” says Brandon Wright, co-owner of The Depot, a brewery-distillery in Reno. It’s a powerful concoction, consisting almost entirely of 80-proof alcohol, with just a bit of grenadine and soda to temper its namesake ingredient. Traditionally, the “picon” in that punch was Amer Picon—a French liqueur that’s bright with orange peel and complex with earthy, bitter elements. Today, Amer Picon is no longer sold outside France, so Nevada bartenders who continue to hold up the tradition make do with domestic versions.

Outside northern Nevada and certain Basque enclaves in Idaho and California, the Picon punch is all but unknown. But there’s another group who adore and even fetishize Amer Picon itself: modern-day mixologists. The liqueur figures in a number of classic cocktail books, due to its popularity in the late 19th century. And its rarity has made it the subject of great fascination. I’ve had a bartender at a venerable Japanese hotel pour me half an ounce of Amer Picon from an antique bottle he’d smuggled from France. Some mixologists are devoting considerable time to perfecting their own replicas with aromatic botanicals. It’s not a bottle you come across casually.

Amer Picon’s History

Like so many bitter liqueurs, Amer Picon had a medicinal intent early on: A Frenchman, Gaétan Picon, developed it as a malaria remedy in 1837 while stationed in Algeria, using quinine along with other botanicals and enough Algerian orange to make it palatable. He was enlisted to produce it for French soldiers, and its popularity grew from there; by the late 19th century, it was known throughout Europe and, later, the United States.

As ever, tastes change. Bitter drinks fell out of favor; meanwhile Amer Picon, after a change in ownership, altered its formula, lowering its proof from 39% ABV to 18%. By the 1990s, they stopped exporting altogether.

It’s the liqueur’s rarity that explains much of its appeal. (See also: Havana Club, the iconic Cuban rum, which American bartenders can’t legally purchase and thus adore.) But that’s not its only merit. Amer Picon is delicious—its bright, orangy flavor an ideal counterpart to the bitter botanicals that underlie it. And as classic cocktails have become increasingly popular, bartenders want to get their hands on an ingredient that appears in vintage recipes. In short, it’s worth smuggling a bottle of your own to the States.

Making Its Way to Nevada

But back in northern Nevada, “Picon” isn’t a culty mixologist obsession. It’s what old ranchers drink when their wives aren’t around, according to Chris Shanks, sixth-generation Nevadan, co-owner of The Depot and owner of Louis’ Basque Corner in Reno. “The old-school guys would use the same glass as they drank one after another, and keep the lemon rind garnishes in their glass, so they could keep track of how many they’d had,” he says. “But only when their significant others weren’t around to catch them at it.”

Over the last decade, endless ink has been spilled on Basque cuisine: The many Michelin stars of San Sebastian, the pintxo culture of tapas-style bites, the incredible wine and cider. What Basque fare is to the food-obsessed, Amer Picon is to the drink-obsessed: a topic of great fascination. And yet Nevada’s substantial Basque heritage has largely gone unnoticed by those outside of the state.

Waves of Basque immigration to the United States began in the Gold Rush era. Many of these migrants, sheepherders by trade, found equivalent work in Nevada, largely in cattle ranching. “My theory is that the mountain ranges here resemble those of their home in the Pyrenees, and offered a similar lifestyle,” says Shanks. “All throughout the rural agrarian communities of Nevada, you’ll see Basque communities doing the same things their families had done in Europe—farming and ranching.” Migration continued into the 20th century, driven in part by Franco’s persecution of the Basques in Spain. Many Nevada families identify strongly with their Basque heritage, often those families with distinctive, many-syllable names: Jauregui. Aldazabal. Erreguible.

Nevada Basque cuisine, as it exists today, is thoroughly Americanized. Migrant ranchers would often stay in boarding houses, according to Shanks, with dining halls on the ground floor and rooms upstairs. Several of those establishments survive today as restaurants that serve enormous family-style meals of Basque-American fare. “Guys were working all day, so this might have been their only meal,” says Shanks. Staples include soup, green salad served with beans, and enormous platters of meat: “Lamb, beef, sweetbreads, oxtail,” he says. “Hearty, cheaper food that you can make go a long way—that’s become our Basque heritage.” And what do you drink at these boarding houses? Along with table wine, Picon punch.

Nevada’s Basque culture has evolved as distinct from anything a native vasco might recognize, and the Picon is no exception. “People here think the Picon punch is 100% Basque, and people over there must know about it,” says Anamarie Lopategui, co-owner of Ogi Deli in Elko, who still has family in the “old country.” “But it’s not true. If you go to the Basque country, no one has any idea what the drink is.”

Picon punch was popularized within the Basque boarding house culture, also once prominent in San Francisco. While its exact origins are disputed, The Basque Hotel, in San Francisco’s North Beach neighborhood, is often cited as its birthplace. (The bar that stands on that site today, 15 Romolo, is the rare place outside Nevada to serve its own version of the Picon punch.) The Basque Hotel’s owner eventually moved to Elko County and established one of the biggest ranches in the area, says Lopategui; that could explain the drink’s journey to Nevada.

There’s the minor wrinkle that Amer Picon is not, itself, Basque; it was produced in Marseilles. But its popularity across Europe was widespread enough, in the 19th century, that most Basque immigrants would have been familiar with it.

Amer Picon Today

Today, of course, virtually no one in Nevada drinks true Amer Picon. Instead, all those Picons contain a version of amer made by Torani, out of San Francisco—whose name you’ll recognize from brightly colored syrup bottles that are a staple of coffeehouses everywhere. Torani Amer is, in fact, the only alcoholic product the company sells. They began producing their own amer immediately after Prohibition was repealed, according to Andrea Ramirez, the company’s manager of consumer and customer market insight, because the Basque community in San Francisco was looking for a local, less expensive base for their Picon punches. Today it’s primarily sold in Nevada, as well as parts of Idaho and California.

“It’s a legacy product,” she says. “We’ve never had to advertise or promote it, for all these decades. We don’t have to babysit it. It has its niche and it’s successful there.” Heavy on the caramel and orange, Torani’s not a perfect replica of the French original, but it’s a brawny anchor for a Picon punch, which—in the most pragmatic sense—is a perfect aperitif: bitter and boozy, girding you for a meaty, convivial feast ahead. “You gotta try that before you eat. It gives you more appetite,” according to Louis Erreguible, founder of Louis’ Basque Corner in Reno, in a 2012 interview with Imanol Murua. “It’s the truth. You drink one Picon, it makes you feel like eating.” More than one Picon, they maintain, is not recommended for outsiders. “We say, ‘Two are the Picon and the third is the punch,'” said Louis’s wife Lorraine Erreguible.

While firmly entrenched within the boarding house tradition, Picons were consumed far beyond that, according to Brandon Wright. “Picon punches were a part of every family gathering that we had growing up in Nevada,” he says.

It’s that centrality in the community that inspired Wright and Shanks to create a modern-day amer at The Depot. “We wanted to make something true to the tradition of Amer Picon,” Wright says, “but put our own twist on it.” Heavy on the orange, Amer Depot is lighter in color than Torani’s version, with a pronounced bitterness from cinchona bark and a complex array of botanicals including ginger, rose hips, and elderberries. It’s significantly more nuanced than Torani Amer, and makes a mean Picon punch in its own right.

Lopategui, who uses Amer Depot in her deli’s Picon punch, believes that the drink isn’t just for weathered old ranchers anymore. “When I was growing up, it was what dads and grandpas drank,” she says. “But today, you’ll see people in their 20s trying a Picon, and they’ll love it. Culturally, it’s interesting; people love it across the board.”

Wright agrees. “We’re at such an interesting cultural crossroads in northern Nevada. It’s one part Burning Man, one part cowboy boots. And I have a lot of affection for that,” he says. “There’s a certain romanticism about the things that make northern Nevada special. And the history of Picon is one of them.”

The post The Obscure French Bitter That Took Over Nevada—And Many Bartenders’ Hearts appeared first on Saveur.

This sweet, nutty liqueur is inspired by the one made at London’s American Bar at The Savoy, where it’s made with a sous vide technique. You’ll need resealable plastic bags and a few large clips (such as binder clips) to mimic the effect. Try a splash in a classic whiskey cocktail or in a mixed drink with ginger beer or ale, enjoy the spirit on its own, or drizzle it over cake or ice cream.

Featured in: Why You Should Be Adding Salt to Your Cocktails

Equipment

• Heatproof Liquid-Measuring Cup
• 1-Gallon Plastic Freezer Bags
• Large Pot
• Metal Binder Clips
• Tongs
• Large Heatproof Bowl
• Fine-Mesh Strainer
• Coffee Filter or Cheesecloth
• Glass Bottle or Jar

The post Salted Chestnut Liqueur appeared first on Saveur.

When Amor y Amargo opened in 2011 in New York’s East Village, there was only one amaro produced in the U.S. on its shelves. Now there are more than 20, though Sother Teague, the bar’s founder and New York City’s resident amaro expert, says the American amaro scene is “still incubating,” so more bottles are bound to come out of the woodwork.

The rise in domestically produced amaro is, at least in part, correlated to an increased interest among consumers in amaro (plural: amari), the category of bittersweet liqueur originally produced in Italy. And though the Italian giants like Campari and Aperol still dominate backbars across the country, a number of craft distilleries that were already making vodka, whiskey, and other spirits right here in the U.S. are adding an amaro to their portfolio. There are even some distillers that started out expressly producing amaro, even if they have since added other liqueurs to their range.

“Whatever was being produced was just being consumed by the maker or the neighborhood, which is how it starts all over the world,” says Teague, explaining why he’s got so many more domestic amari on his shelves now than he did in 2011. Now that they’re becoming more available, America is going through a bit of an amaro craze, and Teague is one of its most vocal champions. At Amor y Amargo, he pours the products that he likes best, and distillers send him their bottles with the hopes of getting them on his shelves.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about amaro is that each one is so unique that almost everybody can find a type that suits them. While American distillers are using some less traditional ingredients like coffee or hibiscus, Teague believes there’s no fundamental difference between Italian amari and American ones, since they’re so hard to define in the first place. “Overwhelmingly, even American amari try to stick to the traditional thinking and methodology,” he says, alluding to the rich history of sourcing local botanicals for amari, and creating a taste of place. “Each one of these is trying to do things with stuff from where they’re at.”

While the American amaro market continues to grow, there are already a few available that are the best of the best. Here are the 10 American amari Teague recommends seeking out right now.

The Campari-Like Amaro

This red bitter made by Washington D.C.-based Capitoline Vermouth tastes of grapefruit, ginger, and cinnamon. “It’s one of the few that is still naturally colored,” Teague says, referring to carmine, the traditional red coloring extracted from the cochineal beetle that many modern bitter liqueurs like Campari have foregone in recent years. He recommends Capitoline Tiber as a substitute for Campari, adding that it would be great in a Negroni or Americano, or on its own with seltzer.

The Amaro for Tea Lovers

Ibisco Bitter Liqueur gets its name from the Italian word for hibiscus, which is one of the botanicals that gives it a unique flavor. It “tastes to me of tea,” Teague says, adding that it’s soft, floral, and tannic. The amaro starts off sweet but then begins to dry your tongue out. Lockhouse Distillery is based in Buffalo, New York and also makes vodka, gin, barrel-aged gin, and a few other spirits.

The Coffee-Tinged Amari

Teague sees these as a great alternative to saccharine coffee liqueurs like Kahlúa and Tia Maria. Both amari are made using local coffee. Amaro Pazzo—which translates to “crazy bitter” in Italian—is produced by Long Road Distillers in Grand Rapids, Michigan. The base spirit is distilled on-site, where they also make vodka, gin, whiskey, and a few other spirits and cordials. It’s infused with wormwood, gentian, chicory, orange peel, and several other botanicals, and then blended with coffee by Madcap Coffee Company.

Bartender and distiller Ryan Maybee revived Kansas City whiskey—a type of whiskey that died out during Prohibition—and named his distillery J. Rieger & Co. after the family that used to make it in the early 1900s. He recently teamed up with Kansas City coffee brewers Thou Mayest to create Caffè Amaro, which Maybee ages in his old whiskey barrels.

The American Versions of Fernet

St. Agrestis has strong notes of menthol backed up with sarsaparilla, “so it tastes like minted root beer,” according to Teague. It’s made in Brooklyn by sommeliers Nicholas Finger and Fairlie McCollough, who fell in love with amaro on a wine-tasting trip to Italy and decided to make their own.

The Leopold Bros. distillery in Denver is run by Todd and Scott Leopold, who make vodka, gin, whiskey, absinthe, and a variety of other spirits and liqueurs. Their take on Fernet is intensely piney with hints of rose petals, elderflower, chamomile, and honeysuckle. Teague likens the flavor to “pulling the bark off and licking the inside of a tree.” At 80 proof, it’s the strongest amaro on this list.

The American Ferro-China

Ferro-China—a variety of amaro fortified with iron salts—was originally developed in the 1800s by Dr. Ernesto Baliva as a medicine to combat the rising number of cases of anemia among Italians (ferro comes from the Latin ferrum, for “iron”). The “China” in the name comes not from the country, but from the addition of quinine-rich cinchona bark. Don Ciccio & Figli, a Washington D.C.-based distiller with roots in Italy’s Amalfi Coast, makes a range of amari and cordials inspired by family recipes that date back to the 1880s. Amaro delle Sirene is their signature amaro, but Amaro Tonico Ferro-Kina, a rare iron-citrate-based amaro similar to an Italian Ferro-China, is their more unique offering. The liqueur’s most predominant flavor note is iron, but it also has hints of lemon, cinchona, and gentian.

The Wintry Amaro

Philadelphia Distilling—the company behind Bluecoat Gin—makes Vigo Amaro, which has a flavor reminiscent of cinnamon buns or ginger snaps. It’s rich, syrupy, and has strong notes of warming spices. Teague says the liqueur has a wintry appeal that could be nice in a Negroni variation with rum, blackstrap bitters, and Spanish vermouth.

The Mellow Amaro

Tattersall’s Amaro has notes of cloves and caramel with subtle hints of licorice, star anise, fennel, honey, and citrus zest. The richly colored liqueur is sweet but not cloyingly so, with a soft finish. Tattersall Distilling was one of the first craft distilleries to open in Minnesota after 2011 legislation known as the “Surly Bill” changed some of the state’s outdated liquor laws, making it much easier for small distilleries to operate. They now produce 22 spirits and liqueurs, including a Fernet and a vermouth.

The American Alpine Amaro

Made in Breckenridge Colorado, this award-winning amaro has the alpine flavors you’d expect to find in the mountainous region, including hand-harvested local herbs, bitter roots, and dried fruit. “I liken this one to some other ones from Italy, like Alto Verde and Amaro dell’Erborista. I feel like this one is in the middle,” Teague says, adding that it’s one of his favorites.

The post The 10 Best American Amaro Bottles to Drink Right Now appeared first on Saveur.

“How I explain it to people is, it’s unexplainable,” exclaims Sother Teague, chuckling at the way this amorphous spirit category confuses the heck out of people who come into his East Village “bitters tasting room,” Amor y Amargo. “The cool—and uncool—thing about amaro is it’s the wild west as far as definition goes.” Teague would know: He’s just back from Miami, where he was named mixologist of the year at Wine Enthusiast’s Wine Star Awards—one of the many distinctions he holds.

If you haven’t tasted an amaro on its own, you’ve undoubtedly come across them on cocktail menus. They’re essential ingredients in classics like the Aperol Spritz, Negroni, and Americano, not to mention more inventive cocktails at countless bars across the country. “In the beginning there wasn’t that much to offer, and now I feel like I get something new every week,” Teague remarks, explaining that it used to be a question of economics. No demand meant no supply, but now that more bartenders and consumers are interested in amari, new producers are getting into the game. You can even try your hand at making your own.

Perhaps this increased production is muddying the waters a bit, but then again, the history of amari is more about tradition and lore rather than strict rules and regulations. “The definition is bittersweet liqueur. It used to be bittersweet liqueur from Italy, but it’s not that anymore,” Teague says, pointing to bottles from Germany, Poland, the U.S., and France. Originally, they were bittersweet herbal tinctures created by medieval monks and pharmacists for their medicinal properties. Merchants like Salvatore Averna started commercializing them in the 1800s, and they’ve been an integral part of Italian gastronomic culture ever since.

As Teague explains, “most bitters are a three-pronged construction: alcohol in the base, bittering agent in the middle, flavoring on top.” Of course, every element varies from one amaro to the next. Some are made with a neutral spirit base, such as beet molasses, while others have a grappa base. Many use gentian flowers or roots as the bittering agent, but some use bark, like wormwood. And when it comes to the flavoring, that’s where producers really go nuts, incorporating as many as sixty different herbs, fruits, spices, and other ingredients into their recipes. So how on earth are you supposed to know which one you’re gonna like best? Taste them, of course! Here’s a rundown on some of the most popular Italian amari.

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The Easy-Going Aperitivi: Campari & Aperol

These bright red-orange spirits are most commonly served as aperitivi in cocktails like the ubiquitous Aperol Spritz, Campari Soda, Negroni, Negroni Sbagliato—and the list goes on. True fans should make a beeline for Camparino, a bar in Milan’s Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, and Bar Basso, where the Negroni Sbagliato was born, but walk into any bar in Italy and you’re pretty much guaranteed to be served any of these drinks. Taste on their own, Campari and Aperol are like siblings: Campari is more intense, with strong orange hints, a bitter taste, and viscous texture. Aperol also has strong orange notes, but is softer, with a lower ABV for easy sipping.

The Gateway Amari: Montenegro, Nonino, Vecchio Amaro del Capo

Montenegro, Nonino, and Vecchio Amaro del Capo are on the lighter end of the spectrum—both in color and flavor, making them perfect gateway amari. Montenegro’s recipe dates back to 1885 and has 40 botanicals from around the world, including orange peel, coriander, nutmeg, marjoram, cloves, and cinnamon. Nonino has a grappa base and is aged in barriques of Nevers, Limousin, and small sherry casks. Teague often recommends it to wine drinkers because it maintains that fruity, grape-y flavor and is easy to sip neat. Vecchio Amaro del Capo is a bit syrupier than the others, but is still quite approachable, with orange and floral gentian notes—though with a distinctly higher ABV at 35%. It hails from Calabria and is made with 29 ingredients, including orange blossom, chamomile, liquorice, peppermint, and aniseed. According to Giacinta Polidori, Food & Beverage Manager at Rome’s iconic Hotel de Russie, it’s one of the most popular amari at their legendary Stravinskij Bar.

The Sweet Sicilian Sipper: Averna

Averna could be considered a gateway amaro, but is a bit more intensely sweet and flavorful than the others. It was born in the Sicilian village of Caltanisetta in 1868 and is still produced there, using a secret recipe of roughly 60 ingredients that get macerated and infused in a neutral spirit. In Sicily, it’s often consumed after dinner with a slice of orange or lemon peel and fresh mint, rosemary, or other herbs. Polidori cites Averna as her personal favorite. It’s also one of the most requested amari at Bar Longhi in Venice’s famed Gritti Palace, according to Head Bartender Mirko Falconi.

The Alpine Amaro: Bràulio

Though you can’t really talk about terroir in relation to amari, Bràulio has a distinct pine-y taste, closely linked to its Alpine origins in the picturesque village of Bormio. It was born there in 1875 and, though it’s now part of Gruppo Campari’s portfolio, it’s still made by the same family. They use a combination of 13 herbs, berries, and roots, like gentian, juniper, peppermint, wormwood, and yarrow. This is the amaro you want to be drinking on a cold winter night.

The Artichoke-Laced Sipper: Cynar

The big artichoke on the bottle is a dead giveaway—this Mediterranean thistle is one of the ingredients that gives this amaro its bitter, herbal taste. With a recipe that traces back to 1952 in Venice, it’s one of Italy’s younger amari. This dark brown liqueur has strong caramel notes. Danny Meyer’s new Roman-inspired bar Vini e Fritti serves it in their Cynar Spritz.

The Cola-esque Amari: Meletti & Ramazzotti

Meletti and Ramazzotti are both made from kola nut, the same ingredient used to create the distinct caramelly flavors of Coca-Cola, Pepsi, and Dr. Pepper. As Teague puts it, “if Meletti is Coca-Cola, Ramazzotti is Dr. Pepper—a lot of dried fruit and back notes of cinnamon and allspice.” If someone comes asks him for a rum and coke, he’ll make them a cocktail combining white rum, Meletti, lime bitters, a grapefruit twist, and seltzer.

The Smoky Campfire Amari: Zucca Rabarbaro & Sfumato Rabarbaro

Rabarbaro means rhubarb in Italian, but this amaro has nothing to do with the sweet and tangy taste of rhubarb pie. It’s made using Chinese rhubarb, which takes on a subtle smoky flavor when dried. The original Zucca Rabarbaro recipe dates back to 1919 Milan, but Cappelletti decided to ramp up the smoke factor in Sfumato Rabarbaro, actually smoking some of the Chinese rhubarb stems. The result is an aroma that evokes youthful memories of sitting around a campfire.

The Unfiltered Amaro: Amaro dell’Erborista

Teague considers this a favorite for everyday drinking, especially in the spring and fall. It looks a bit like a wheat beer because it’s unfiltered, and has notes of gentian and honey, which is used to sweeten it. Unlike most amari, which are flavored with a wide variety of herbs, fruit, and seeds, this one gets its dominant flavor from the gentian flower, which does double duty as bittering agent and flavoring agent.

The Bartenders’ Handshake: Fernet-Branca & Branca Menta

Fernet-Branca and Branca Menta are definitely an acquired taste. Both feature a high level of menthol, which might make you feel a bit like you’re drinking boozy mouthwash. According to Teague, the world’s number one consumer of Fernet-Branca is the country of Argentina. Number two? The city of San Francisco, where an affinity for it spread among the bartenders of the predominantly Italian North Beach neighborhood, leading many to call it “the bartender’s handshake.” “It’s pretty bracingly bitter, but sweet at the same time,” Teague says. “It’s really towing that line, confusing your palate.” Falconi loves this one because it’s an old style and an old recipe.

The post A Field Guide to Italian Amaro appeared first on Saveur.

Flavoring your own booze at home is a fun, whimsical way to push the limits of your favorite bottle. But the technique isn’t limited to steeping and straining. You can also use rich, fatty, or oily ingredients—like peanut butter, dairy, or aromatic oils—to delicious effect, if you know how to harness their powers. To get started, we asked cocktail pioneer Nico de Soto of Mace in New York City and Danico in Paris to simplify some creative techniques for holiday infusions.

Traditional Infusion

As with other seeds and spices, infusing cocoa nibs simply involves steeping them in your spirit of choice. Toasting the nibs teases out the warm flavors, and pairing them with a grassy blanco tequila makes a best-of-Mexico sipper that easily mimics the appearance and depth of a brown spirit, offset by the brightness of agave.

Fat Washing

Though the name may evoke the idea of a greasy mess, fat washing refers to the process of infusing a fatty ingredient like butter or bacon grease into a spirit, then removing the fat after infusion by chilling and solidifying it. The process leaves behind only the flavor and aromatics of the ingredients, like the toasty, nutty milk compounds of browned butter in crisp apple brandy.

The Orchard

Effleurage

Effleurage is an age-old perfumers’ technique used to extract botanicals from flowers by pressing the fresh petals into a layer of vege­table fat. To similar effect, you can spread a high-quality, unsweetened peanut butter across a baking pan to maximize surface area, and then float some bourbon on top to pull out the flavors.

The post Infuse Your Booze to Make the Most of Holiday Ingredients appeared first on Saveur.