Cocktail Concoctions & Connections

A Liquid Romeo and Juliet

No, this will not be an analysis of the twisted plot of Shakespeare’s tale of desperate young love. Rather, I write of Vermouth and Campari, my mind’s mixological version of Romeo and Juliet. Why would I come up with this unusual comparison? For one, Romeo and Juliet lived out their tragic romance in Verona, Italy. Correspondingly, Campari and Vermouth called two city-states of Italy their home. For two, Romeo and Juliet experienced love at first sight and sealed their love in secret marriage. It was also a love-at-first-sight union for Campari and Vermouth when Gasparo Campari first married them in the 1860s. But, before delving into the use of this magical combination, I want to separately explore the origins of each of these two bittersweet aperitivos.

Romeo/Vermouth

Vermouth came first. For centuries, various cultures had been infusing alcoholic beverages with botanicals. Herbalists sought to improve flavor and create beverages with beneficial medicinal characteristics. When one experimenter included wormwood as one of the infusion ingredients, early Vermouths began to take shape. Vermouth is made by first aromatizing wine with botanicals (roots, barks, flowers, seeds, herbs, and spices). Then, it is fortified with a small amount of a distilled spirit, generally brandy. A closer look into its origins draws open the curtain of possibility to reveal another brief scene from the Chronicles of Cocktail Connections…

It was a warm sunny day of the year 1786 in Turin, Italy. Antonio Benedetto Carpano arrived early at his wine shop across from the Palace of King Vittorio Amadeo III. He walked quickly through his wine room to the back of the shop where he worked each day applying his training as an herbalist. Antonio wanted to create an infused wine of such exceptional quality that it would be fit for the King across the Palazzo. He had studied the longstanding German medicinal tradition of adding the bitter aromatic herb wormwood to wines, and he knew in his heart that he could improve upon those early flavors to create the tastiest of aperitivos.

The herbalist trembled with anticipation. The latest trial batch of fortified Muscatel, to which he had added various mountain herbs, spices, dried fruits, and, this time, a little burnt sugar, was ready for tasting. He slowly poured his precious creation into a sampling cup. Then, as he sipped the results of his labor, a look of pure satisfaction spread across his face. His Vermut, named for the German word for wormwood, was ready for the public.

He shouted proudly, “I shall gift these fruits of my labor to the King. He is sure to find my Vermut to his liking, and with his approval, I shall find fame and fortune.”

Antonio was true to his word. King Vittorio loved it and adopted the tasty beverage for the royal household. The Carpano wine shop did became Turin’s focal attraction, and over the years, the Carpano Vermouth reputation spread worldwide.

Some countries have prohibited using Wormwood as a drink ingredient. So, modern day Vermouths rarely include it. Vermouths have evolved with the times to become the two distinct versions that serve as key ingredients in many of the classic cocktails we enjoy today. Carpano’s creation is the father of sweet Vermouths, commonly referred to as red or Italian. However, not long after Carpano’s efforts, herbalist Joseph Noilly developed a dry white French version of Vermouth.

Juliet/Campari

In Italy, they say that you have to drink Campari three times before you can start to appreciate it. It has an herbal bitterness to it that may not appeal to all. However, given my taste for bitter IPA beers, I quickly developed a liking for this herbal fruity liqueur. Gaspare Campari, its creator, by age fourteen was already working in a bar mixing drinks for thirsty customers. In 1840, after opening his own café, Campari began experimenting with concocting bitter aperitifs using different herbs, spices, and other ingredients. So, once again, we travel the trail of the Chronicles of Cocktail Connections and let imagination provide a tale; this time in 19^th century Italy…

Gaspare Campari looked around the basement of his café in Novara, Italy. This is where, for many years, he had honed his herbology skills trying to concoct the perfect bitter liqueur that could be either an aperitivo before dinner or a digestivo after dinner. The basement was a crowded, yet somehow organized, mess. Plants hung from the ceiling in various stages of drying. Baskets filled with many varieties of herbs, barks, roots, spices, dried fruits and flowers littered the floor, and vials of infused water and alcohol of all colors and flavors adorned the shelves. Complex aromas filled the air.

Nearly every time he emerged from his cellar, he would have some new potion to try, and the many customers at the café where he worked had enjoyed some of his efforts. “It is time to sample my new infusion,” he said to himself, as he held a bottle up to the candlelight. “I hope that slight addition of rhubarb does the trick.”

He had worked far into this summer night of 1860. This time, Gaspare had built upon a bitter drink from Holland that he had recently discovered. To make his new creation he had used over 60 different precisely-measured ingredients. Wanting this liqueur to have a special colorful attraction, he also had used a peculiar edible red dye made from cochineal insects. Explorers of the New World had brought back this dye when they found the indigenous people coloring fabrics with it.

He headed straight home to his most trusted taster, his beautiful wife, Isabella. Isabella had an extremely discerning palate, and always gave her honest opinion. He joined her in their kitchen, and greeted her saying, “I’m home, Bella. How’s my little Taste Bud? I have another liqueur for you to try.”

Gaspare poured a glass, and Bella’s eyes widened as she gazed upon the crimson elixir. She savored its bouquet before taking her first sip. She quickly took another. “Oh, Gaspare. This is like a sunset in a glass. It has such a seductive spicy orange flavor, with sweetness on my tongue and a lingering bitterness. You must make more and bring this to our customers and to all of Italia.”

Gaspare’s chest swelled with pride and sense of accomplishment. He retired to bed, eager to share the fruits of his labor on the coming day.

Gaspare put his name to his creation and brought it to the people of Novaro and then to nearby Milan where he moved and opened his own Caffè Campari. However, it was his son Davide that became the force of wider marketing in the years to come. Right from the beginning, the makers of Campari kept things secret. Beyond alcohol, sugar syrup, and oranges, only a few in the distillery know the details and proportions of the many ingredients, which have remained constant through the decades. However, the Campari Company has made one change…no more use of insects. They now achieve that beautiful red color artificially. 

The Marriage and Offspring

Not only was Gaspare the father of our Juliet/Campari, but sometime in the 1860’s, he performed the wedding of Juliet/Campari to Romeo/Vermouth. He mixed his product in equal amounts with the Italian Vermouth that had been enjoyed by Italians for over 70 years. His Campari now being produced in Milano and the Vermouth coming from Torino (Turin), he called his mixture a Milano-Torino, or Mi-To for short, and served it to all his customers at his Caffè Campari.

The Italians and other Europeans loved the Mi-To. However, at some time around the turn of the century, Americans visiting Europe began to ask for their Mi-To’s with soda water added. Thus, was born the Americano, the first offspring of the marriage. Not long after, another offspring was born; one which would eventually make its way to number 2 on the current list of most popular cocktails in the world. The Chronicles of Cocktail Connections serves up that cocktail’s tale of origin by blending a couple ounces of extremely clouded history with a dash of defining imagination…

A small crowd had gathered at the Caffè Casoni Bar in Florence, Italy on a beautiful summer’s evening, as the setting sun shimmered on the waters of the Arno. Even many months after returning home late in 1912, Count Camillo Negroni still enjoyed telling his friends and neighbors about his adventures in America.

“Tell us more about the western rodeos, Camillo,” pleaded Salvatore Marino, the Count’s good friend.

“Well, Salvatore,” the Count began, pausing to take a sip from his first Americano cocktail, “After my success in the gambling dens of New York City, I made my way west, to experience the life of a cowboy. After demonstrating my equestrian skills and making a name for myself, I was asked to participate in something the Americans call a rodeo. There I was, the star of the show; dressed in the finest of clown attire. I bravely lured each bull in my direction, sometimes climbing into my wooden barrel. I risked being gored by those deadly horns to allow the other cowboys to scramble to safety. Oh, how the crowd cheered me!”

Taking a break from his tales, and ready for another drink, Camillo turned to Fosco Scarselli, the Casoni bartender. “I must say, Fosco, these blends of our Italian Campari and Vermouth with soda water are tasty. But, it if you want to call them Americanos they really should be made more American!”

Fosco perked up. “What do you mean?” he asked.

During Camillo’s time gambling in New York City, he frequented many of its finest nightclubs. “The Americans have really taken a liking to our Vermouth. But they enjoy strong spirits with their ‘cocktails’ as they call them. I have developed a taste for their Gin and Whiskey and those Vermouth drinks they call a Manhattan and a Martinez.”

Fosco was always willing to explore new ideas, and replied, “I will see what I can do.” He started with the Campari and Vermouth of the MiTo and then added an equal amount of gin instead of soda as suggested by Camillo. He sampled it, and smiled. He handed the drink to the Count saying, “I think we have created some magic for all to enjoy, and in honor of the return of our good friend, I will call it a Negroni!”

The crowd cheered as Negroni’s were passed out to all.

A properly made Negroni is stirred, not shaken. It is built over ice in a rocks glass, and garnished with a slice of orange. Outside of Italy an orange peel is often used in place of an orange slice. Either is acceptable, though an orange slice is more traditional. Some first-time tasters say that the mix of gin, Campari, and Sweet Vermouth might as well be a cough syrup. Others say a great Negroni is cocktail alchemy, melding three aggressive ingredients (all containing herbal components) into something of taste bud beauty.

The Negroni took its time in finding its way into the glasses of Americans, primarily due to its origin being just before Prohibition. Its popularity increased after World War II, and much more so amid the ongoing craft cocktail boom.

In 2013, in response to the Negroni craze, Campari and Imbibe magazine joined forces to co-sponsor a National Negroni Week. The annual June celebration challenges bars across the country to highlight classic and modified Negronis on their menus. And, the bars then donate a portion of the profit from those cocktails to a charity of their choice. In 2019, twelve thousand venues around the world participated, and so far, $3 million has been raised for charitable causes. Like most celebrations in 2020, the regular Negroni Week fell victim to the pandemic. Considering the challenges that the COVID-19 crisis is posing to bars and restaurants worldwide, Negroni Week in 2020 was postponed to September. It became a digital-only event that raised over $292,000 to help the pandemic stricken hospitality industry.

The Campari-Sweet Vermouth bittersweet marriage has been a go-to blend for so long that people have tried adding to it almost everything possible. Thus, in addition to the soda water and gin of the initial Americano and Negroni, there have been several other offspring:

Campari/Sweet Vermouth + prosecco = A Sbagliato

• Campari/Sweet Vermouth + Bourbon = A Boulevardier
• Campari/Sweet Vermouth + Tequila = An Agavoni 
• Campari/Sweet Vermouth + Vodka = A Bitter Widow
• Campari/Sweet Vermouth + Rum = A Rum Negroni 
• Campari/Sweet Vermouth + Apple Brandy = Mela d’Alba

The tale of Romeo Montegue and Juliet Capulet ended with their sad and unnecessary double suicide. However, our liquid love story has a happier ending. The perfect Italian marriage of Vermouth and Campari lives on and on. It grows stronger with each wonderful new riff on the Milano-Torino cocktail invented by the creative bartenders of the world.