This article is from the source 'nytimes' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.

You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.nytimes.com/2019/06/12/opinion/negroni-2019.html

The article has changed 4 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.

Version 2 Version 3
The Negroni Is 100 Years Old — and the Perfect Cocktail for 2019 The Negroni Is 100 Years Old — and the Perfect Cocktail for 2019
(6 days later)
There, there. Have a Negroni. This most delicious of bitter cocktails, the perfect elixir for a summer afternoon, turns 100 years old this year. You can raise your glass for a good cause, too: the end of June is Negroni Week, when bars and restaurants mix Negronis and Negroni variations for charity. By drinking a Negroni at a participating venue, you can raise money for organizations from Lambda Legal to the Colorado Water Trust, from the San Francisco-Marin Food Bank to United Cerebral Palsy. Has there ever been a more soothing way to raise money for a cause? I don’t think so, not unless I somehow missed Martinis for Puppy Dogs week.There, there. Have a Negroni. This most delicious of bitter cocktails, the perfect elixir for a summer afternoon, turns 100 years old this year. You can raise your glass for a good cause, too: the end of June is Negroni Week, when bars and restaurants mix Negronis and Negroni variations for charity. By drinking a Negroni at a participating venue, you can raise money for organizations from Lambda Legal to the Colorado Water Trust, from the San Francisco-Marin Food Bank to United Cerebral Palsy. Has there ever been a more soothing way to raise money for a cause? I don’t think so, not unless I somehow missed Martinis for Puppy Dogs week.
Invented in 1919 by Count Camillo Negroni in Florence, Italy, the Negroni is actually a variation on another classic cocktail, the Americano. A mixture of Campari, sweet vermouth and soda water, served with a lemon slice, the Americano was originally known as the Milano-Torino, because of the origins of its two primary ingredients — Campari from Milan and Vermouth di Torino, from, well, you know. The name changed during Prohibition, when it became a favorite of Americans on vacation in Italy.Invented in 1919 by Count Camillo Negroni in Florence, Italy, the Negroni is actually a variation on another classic cocktail, the Americano. A mixture of Campari, sweet vermouth and soda water, served with a lemon slice, the Americano was originally known as the Milano-Torino, because of the origins of its two primary ingredients — Campari from Milan and Vermouth di Torino, from, well, you know. The name changed during Prohibition, when it became a favorite of Americans on vacation in Italy.
It was also a favorite of James Bond. The Americano, in fact, is the first cocktail ordered in Ian Fleming’s first 007 novel. The gentleman spy disdains the thought of drinking whiskey or vodka in a French cafe. On a sunny sidewalk, Fleming writes, “Bond always had the same thing — an Americano.”It was also a favorite of James Bond. The Americano, in fact, is the first cocktail ordered in Ian Fleming’s first 007 novel. The gentleman spy disdains the thought of drinking whiskey or vodka in a French cafe. On a sunny sidewalk, Fleming writes, “Bond always had the same thing — an Americano.”
It was 100 years ago that Count Negroni asked his bartender at the Cassoni Cafe on the Via de’ Tornabuoni to stiffen his Americano by replacing the soda with gin. History records that the bartender, one Fosco Scarselli, also replaced the lemon with an orange slice. Did he add the bitters as well? The legends do not tell.It was 100 years ago that Count Negroni asked his bartender at the Cassoni Cafe on the Via de’ Tornabuoni to stiffen his Americano by replacing the soda with gin. History records that the bartender, one Fosco Scarselli, also replaced the lemon with an orange slice. Did he add the bitters as well? The legends do not tell.
[Sign up for Sam Sifton’s email newsletter, which provides recipe suggestions and food tips.][Sign up for Sam Sifton’s email newsletter, which provides recipe suggestions and food tips.]
Orson Welles sang the cocktail’s praises while he was making the film “Black Magic” in Rome in 1947. “The bitters are excellent for your liver,” he said, “the gin is bad for you. They balance each other.”Orson Welles sang the cocktail’s praises while he was making the film “Black Magic” in Rome in 1947. “The bitters are excellent for your liver,” he said, “the gin is bad for you. They balance each other.”
I like to mix them with a single jigger each of gin, Campari and sweet vermouth, a few shakes of bitters and an orange peel. A writer friend of mine flames the citrus peel, which is dramatic and makes the drink more aromatic, although I have never been able to do this without setting off the fire alarm.I like to mix them with a single jigger each of gin, Campari and sweet vermouth, a few shakes of bitters and an orange peel. A writer friend of mine flames the citrus peel, which is dramatic and makes the drink more aromatic, although I have never been able to do this without setting off the fire alarm.
Another key element, I believe, is to serve the cocktail with a single gigantic ice cube from an oversize ice cube tray. I got mine online. I regret nothing.Another key element, I believe, is to serve the cocktail with a single gigantic ice cube from an oversize ice cube tray. I got mine online. I regret nothing.
Each era creates its own signature cocktail, and sometimes the drinks that become popular during any particular decade can tell us something about the culture that produced them. In the 1930s, for instance, some drinks covered up the sketchy quality of the spirits during Prohibition. My favorite Depression-era drink is probably the French 75, so named because consuming some early versions of it allegedly felt like being shelled by a field gun called the Canon de 75 model 1897. In “Casablanca,” Yvonne and her Nazi date order French 75s at Rick’s Café. I’ll let someone else parse the significance of a Nazi ordering a drink named after a French artillery weapon, although Claude Rains, as Captain Renault, does note that Yvonne “may constitute an entire second front.”Each era creates its own signature cocktail, and sometimes the drinks that become popular during any particular decade can tell us something about the culture that produced them. In the 1930s, for instance, some drinks covered up the sketchy quality of the spirits during Prohibition. My favorite Depression-era drink is probably the French 75, so named because consuming some early versions of it allegedly felt like being shelled by a field gun called the Canon de 75 model 1897. In “Casablanca,” Yvonne and her Nazi date order French 75s at Rick’s Café. I’ll let someone else parse the significance of a Nazi ordering a drink named after a French artillery weapon, although Claude Rains, as Captain Renault, does note that Yvonne “may constitute an entire second front.”
In the 1950s and ’60s, drinks turned sweeter; the iconic cocktail of that era might be the brandy Alexander, a potent potable that we’ve bizarrely come to think of as feminine. Mary Richards drinks one in the pilot of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show”; years later, we see Peggy Olson drink one in Season 1 of “Mad Men.” (The writer Sarah Baird observes that by the penultimate episode of the series, Peggy is drinking Scotch just like her male counterparts, and it’s hard not to view this as progress.)In the 1950s and ’60s, drinks turned sweeter; the iconic cocktail of that era might be the brandy Alexander, a potent potable that we’ve bizarrely come to think of as feminine. Mary Richards drinks one in the pilot of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show”; years later, we see Peggy Olson drink one in Season 1 of “Mad Men.” (The writer Sarah Baird observes that by the penultimate episode of the series, Peggy is drinking Scotch just like her male counterparts, and it’s hard not to view this as progress.)
In the 1980s, I drank piña colada — because I could, I suppose; and in the 2000s I found my way to Cosmopolitans (thank you, “Sex and the City”) and mojitos. Those are sweet drinks, too, although they were a significant step up from the first drink I ever ordered at a bar: the, ahem, Kahlua Sombrero.In the 1980s, I drank piña colada — because I could, I suppose; and in the 2000s I found my way to Cosmopolitans (thank you, “Sex and the City”) and mojitos. Those are sweet drinks, too, although they were a significant step up from the first drink I ever ordered at a bar: the, ahem, Kahlua Sombrero.
In the end, though, all cocktails aspire to the martini. It is hard to argue with Ogden Nash’s observation: “There is something about a Martini, / A tingle remarkably pleasant / A yellow, a mellow Martini / I wish I had one at present.”In the end, though, all cocktails aspire to the martini. It is hard to argue with Ogden Nash’s observation: “There is something about a Martini, / A tingle remarkably pleasant / A yellow, a mellow Martini / I wish I had one at present.”
Martinis make me crazy, though; I always want a second after I’ve had the first. But the second one is rarely a good idea. As James Thurber once said, “Two are too many, and three are not enough.”Martinis make me crazy, though; I always want a second after I’ve had the first. But the second one is rarely a good idea. As James Thurber once said, “Two are too many, and three are not enough.”
And so I turn to the Negroni for solace on a summer afternoon. If you feel that the Aperol spritz is not a good drink — and the internet has been abuzz with this very question this spring — why not try a Negroni, especially now during Negroni Week? You will raise money for a cause and, who knows, perhaps discover something new.And so I turn to the Negroni for solace on a summer afternoon. If you feel that the Aperol spritz is not a good drink — and the internet has been abuzz with this very question this spring — why not try a Negroni, especially now during Negroni Week? You will raise money for a cause and, who knows, perhaps discover something new.
Is it too bitter, you ask?Is it too bitter, you ask?
Given the age we now live in, with its fury and its noise, I feel it is exactly bitter enough.Given the age we now live in, with its fury and its noise, I feel it is exactly bitter enough.
Cheers.Cheers.
Update, June 17: The generous and impassioned response to this column reminded me a little bit of the line from “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,” in which a newspaper editor tells Jimmy Stewart, “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.” One of the delights of writing a piece like this is in hearing from Negroni drinkers with stories of their own.
There is, first and foremost, no unanimity on the perfect ratio of its ingredients. While the standard recipe calls for a ratio of 1:1:1 between the gin, Campari and sweet vermouth, many Negroniati insist that the gin should outweigh the other ingredients, although by how much is a matter of some debate. Other readers question whether additional bitters are necessary at all, given that the Campari already provides this flavor.
Given the age in which we live in, my own opinion is that more bitterness is not inappropriate.
I filed this column while I was on assignment in Hobart, Tasmania, where an Australian bartender at a restaurant in the harbor (at which the Americano was the house special) counseled me passionately against flaming an orange peel in a Negroni — an unquestionably theatrical presentation, he admitted, but adding an unnecessary smokiness to the taste. Personally, I love the theater of the flamed peel, but never bother with it at home, not least because I dislike setting myself on fire.
The actual genesis of the Negroni, too, is a subject that threatens fisticuffs among some enthusiasts. While Count Negroni, in consort with his bartender, Fosco Scarselli, is traditionally credited with the invention, there is a counter-story that the drink was in fact created in Senegal in 1870 by one General Pascal Olivier Comte de Negroni; an article in the publication Drinking Cup is headlined, “New Evidence the Negroni Was Invented in Africa — Sorry Italy.” As James Thurber liked to say, You could look it up.
Then there’s the question of the Americano. I wrote that the Americano derived from an older drink, called the Milano-Torino. But the cocktail writer David Wondrich holds that their relationship is not chronological; rather, he wrote in an email, “the Americano is the generic, while the Milano-Torino a specific variation.” Mr. Wondrich also argues that the name “Americano” came not out of Americans vacationing in Italy during Prohibition — an origin story widely recounted at Saveur, Punch, Imbibe magazine and elsewhere — but rather, according to his research, from the “American practice of adding bitters to vermouth to make a Vermouth Cocktail (attested as early as 1868).” He notes that author Arnaldo Strucchi described this in a work entitled “Il vermouth di Torino,” published in 1907.
Tradition holds that Count Negroni asked his bartender to replace the soda with gin, a story repeated in articles in Esquire, the Michelin guide and Food and Wine, among others. Mr. Wondrich, however, notes that the default Negroni recipe in Italy “does not replace soda with gin, but adds it.” Go figure.
What struck me above all in the wake of this column was how many variations there are on the Negroni, and how devoted some readers are to their particular twists. A Pink Negroni adds Lillet Blanc, lemon juice and a sprig of tarragon; a Boulevardier replaces the gin with bourbon. There are many others.
On the day that this column ran, I returned to my New York apartment late, absolutely deranged from the 20-hour plane ride home from Australia. To celebrate, I set about making myself a Negroni — only to find that I was out of sweet vermouth. Somewhat resentfully I made the drink instead with the dry vermouth I keep chilled in the refrigerator for martinis. The result was crisp and meditative — and is, of course, the recipe for another version of the cocktail—the Cardinale.
In no time at all I found myself reading all about the legend concerning that drink; there is disagreement about whether it sprang to life at Harry’s Bar in Venice, or at the Orum Bar in a Roman hotel then called The Excelsior. Difford’s Guide has the whole story, which — you will be shocked to learn — is complicated.
All of these contradictory legends are part of the delight of cocktails: their flavors, their history, and the solace they can bring. There, there. Have a Negroni, and enjoy!
The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.
Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram.Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram.