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

	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.

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