In the Battle of the Boozes, Aperitifs Hit Below the Belch

Annika Mengisen

	A Cocktail Comeback?

While Campari is a household name in its native Italy, cosmopolitans -- or Heinekens -- spring to mind as predinner drinks in the U.S. Hence the raised eyebrows when I ordered a Campari and soda recently at a New York City snack bar.

With U.S. marketing campaigns like Dry Sack's "the aperitif moment," liquor brands want to convince me that the buy-one, slosh-one-down special at happy hour is crass and irresponsible.

I have to admit, it's a tough sell for me, given my penchant for drinking Guinness through a straw, but I accepted the Campari from my waitress as my friend eyed the drink with suspicion.

The taste initially had evoked a slight essence of cough syrup, but as my palate adjusted to the foreign bouquet, it took on a subtle herbal quality, not unlike Anis or a much more demure cousin of Jagermeister.

I gladly tasted more and felt a slight, yet cultured buzz as I ate a piece of bruschetta and my friend stole a sip. He's 10 years older than me and loves a pint after work or with dinner. "Why am I supposed to like this?" he asked, leaving me wondering if I was responding to my taste buds or just the hype.

An aperitif, coming from the Latin "to open," is a light alcoholic drink designed to spark the appetite, not drown it.

Lou Reed crooned about Doubonet on ice and James Bond loved Lillet in his martini, yet whether or not today's young Americans will willingly replace their beers or even wine with an aperitif is another question. Could it be that they're just not refined enough to appreciate this drink category?

While he doesn't profess to be an official cocktail historian, mixologist and a founder of the Museum of The American Cocktail Tony Abou-Ganim believes Prohibition, not ignorance, is most to blame for Americans' reluctance to embrace the aperitif. "[During Prohibition] it was more about getting to the destination than enjoying the journey," he explains.

When Prohibition ended and bars reopened, America didn't have much of a drink culture, he says: "People were just happy to see boats coming back form England with real gin." Aside from a few old-world niches in cities like New York and Boston, drinkers lost their cocktail knowledge, says Abou-Ganim.

Rousing the Spirit

Today, patrons at Manhattan's Picholine, however, are particularly fond of Dry Sack, a medium dry sherry from Spain's Andalusia region.

I tried a glass, straight, no ice (allegedly a favorite among female patrons) and was surprised by a smooth, dry taste that elegantly maneuvered over my taste buds. At 19.5% alcohol, it didn't blur my vision and left me able to enjoy the hors d'oeuvre afterwards. I sincerely wish this drink would catch on to a wider audience, increasing the chances of a date buying me a fragrant sherry instead of a Budweiser (BUD Quote).

While U.S. sales of Dry Sack, which started out as an aperitif in the 1930s, have remained stable over the years, Joel Gosler, president of Kindred Spirits, Inc., Dry Sack's Miami-based importer, says this indicates a younger generation is coming into the brand from the bottom. As a result, Dry Sack's new campaign will focus on marketing to this hip, more world-wise early 30s set.

Campari launched a similar effort this year in select markets on the East and West Coasts with Aperol, a liqueur which is bigger in Italy than Campari but virtually unknown in the U.S.

"Now [the drink] is more about the journey than the destination," says Abou-Ganim. Aperitif brands are hoping their target demographic will agree as they make a concerted effort to revive the category. As a newly-minted fan, I sip to their health, but, especially in New York, they've got a hearty history of happy hours and super-sized cosmopolitans to break through first.

On the Tail of Cocktails

Annual U.S. sales of Campari have stayed at 45,000 to 50,000 cases for the past 15 years, says Umberto Luchini, marketing director at Skyy Spirits. This year, as a result of Campari's 2006 purchase of Skyy and increased investment in marketing, sales reached 60,000 cases for the first time.

Still, Luchini categorizes Campari under cordial liquors because "the aperitif doesn't exist in the U.S. as a category itself," he says.

As establishments try to promote the practice anyway, it's the yuppies, says Abou-Ganim, who might do the most to bring back the aperitif. "It's like when they had to have a Cuban cigar," he explains of this overly zealous group of trendsetters. "They weren't sure which end to light, but hey."

Combine rampant trendiness with groups like Mothers Against Drunk Driving and a desire to drink less but better spirits, and you have a more welcoming atmosphere toward the cocktail, with the aperitif close behind.

"The cocktail hour skipped a generation," says Abou-Ganim, whose grandparents drink whiskey sours before dinner while his parent's generation opts for discounted happy-hour beers.

Kelley Spillane, senior vice president of sales at Castle Brands (ROX Quote), says sales of liquor like Pallini Limoncello are increasing as they are introduced to consumers in different ways and marketing gets more proactive.

When Abou-Ganim speaks to the younger generation about cocktails at events like the recent Food and Wine Magazine Classic in Aspen festival, the standing-room crowd is at least an indicator of a growing interest among consumers.

So will the Gen-Xers drop their beers en masse for more sophisticated predinner drinks?

"I will say that consumers are more intrigued with cocktail and mixing of cocktails than I've seen in my 27 years in the industry," says Abou-Ganim, who asks every bartender he meets for a Negroni, his favorite aperitif of Campari, gin and sweet vermouth. In the last 10 years, almost every bartender has at least heard of it, he says.

He hopes the value Americans place on premium brands will eventually set the stage for a U.S. resurgence of the aperitif. "In the world of high-speed Internet and 'have your people call my people,' a bowl of cured olives with good cheese and Campari is very civilized," he says.

While I agree, I'm still skeptical. Though I was surprised when a bartender at a local pub knew how to fix me a Campari and soda, I still had to introduce the idea of an aperitif to nearly all my 30-something friends.

Ultimately, says Spillane, for the aperitif to become the new cocktail in America, the whole dinner experience has to be transformed and slowed down -- a feat not easily or quickly accomplished.

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