Erica De Mane

Recipe: My Aperol Martini

My first encounter with Aperol was in the early nineties at the Siena train station. I was there waiting for the arrival of my sister-in-law Lili. As usual, the train was late. (I know train schedules exist in Italy. I’ve seen them.) I was getting hot and sweaty and also anxious and bored (a bad combination all around), so I wandered where I will wander, over to the bar. I stared at all the lovely and some unfamiliar glistening bottles of booze. My eyes fixed on a bottle filled with a bright pinky orange liquor, a color I’m drawn to wherever I see it (Matisse loved it, Christian Lacroix draped his women in it, my grandmother had a ruffly vase glazed that color). I was told it was Aperol. “Rinfrescante” said the barman, adding  “for a young lady.” The lady part had me worried, but I went ahead, letting him pour a glass of approximately half Aperol and half sparkling water, no ice, of course. It tasted something like a Campari and soda but less bitter, sweeter, fruitier, and the color knocked me out. I tasted orange, sort of, but I knew this had to be one of those complex amaro concoctions made all over Italy from a zillion secret ingredients. It went down quickly, the way those sparkly-water drinks tend to do, but in my continuing quest for bigger and better, I immediately thought it would be nice to replace the water with vodka. I was afraid to ask for that. Nobody drinks vodka in Italy. It’s considered depraved, especially in the afternoon, and especially for a girl, for god’s sake. But I was happy enough to guzzle down two of these nice drinks the way they were offered. And before I knew it, in rumbled Lili’s train.

When I got back to New York, I was eager to buy a bottle of beautiful, delicious Aperol, only to discover it wasn’t exported. What a terrible disappointment. I became so focused on it that I spent much time doing research. I discovered it had been invented in Padua in 1919 and in fact had another one of those secret recipes, like Averna, Cynar, or Campari, that will never be divulged. (Aperol is now made by the Campari company.) However, I did find out that its color and flavor came partially from bitter orange and rhubarb, which made perfect sense, plus the usual but still somewhat spooky “assorted herbs and roots.”

A handful of years later I spotted Aperol in my local liquor shop. How exciting. I immediately scouted out good drinks to make with it. There’s one listed on their official site called an Aperol spritz, which is made of prosecco, Aperol, of course, and a big spritz of sparking water. Why do Italians have to turn every potentially decent drink into a spritz? Well, when I went about making my version, I got rid of that sparkly water right away. Aperol with prosecco is a fine drink, but what I really wanted was a gorgeous pinky orange martini. I messed around with variations (vodka or gin? sweet or dry vermouth?) and finally liked this one the best. Actually I really love this.

My Aperol Martini

2 parts Bombay Sapphire gin
1¾ parts Aperol
¼ part sweet vermouth
A long orange peel

Have all the liquids well chilled. Add ice to an old-fashioned glass. Pour in the Aperol and the gin. Add the sweet vermouth. Twist the orange peel a bit to release its oils, and drop it into the glass. Give the drink a quick stir.