We arrived in Rome in mid-April ready to imbibe (no doubt from the Latin for "drink"—bibere) a lot of Campari, the somewhat bitter liqueur that we had first experienced decades ago, and immediately disliked. The bars in San Lorenzo, Piazza Bologna, and elsewhere in the city were ready to oblige the evolution in our tastebuds. The Campari Spritz (Campari and Prosecco with a twist of orange peel) is ubiquitous, exceeded in popularity only by its counterpart, the Aperol Spritz—sweeter, not to our liking.
The classic Negroni—made with equal parts Campari, sweet vermouth, and gin, is also very popular, as is the Milano-Torino (Campari and sweet vermouth, no mixer), known familiarly as the Mi-To (pronounced Me-Toe), the name derived from the origin of the ingredients: Campari is made in Milano, sweet vermouth [by Martini and Rossi] in Torino (mito also is "myth" in Italian).
In the city center, across from Piazza Venezia, a busy bar filled with tourists had as its centerpiece over-sized bottles of Campari and Aperol.
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| High-up, center: Campari featured prominently at the local bar, "My Way," we frequented in the Piazza Bologna area (it was our favorite morning coffee bar in the neighborhood). And 5 bottles Campari to 1 Aperol. |
In Rome, the "spritz" is almost always served in a large wine glass with plenty of ice.
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| Nothing like a spritz (pronounced "spreetz") to put a smile on your face. |
You can also get a "spritz" to go. At this place—at a Liberation Day celebration—the price was E6 (about $6.60).
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| London |
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| Dianne at Satyrus— |
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| —overlooking the gallery |
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| Enjoying a "spritz" at Tree Bar on via Flaminia—note the hand-cut chips and other goodies. |
Of course, the grocery stores carry Campari Soda, in those cute one-portion triangular bottles designed by Futurist artist Fortunato Depero in 1934, shown here in an all-Depero exhibit currently at Rhinoceros Gallery in the Hotel Rhinoceros. The gallery is just steps from the Bocca della Verità and down the street from the Campidoglio.
Curiously, it proved difficult to find our own bottle of Campari, for home consumption (mostly by our guests, we claim). Rome's grocery stores all carry copious amounts of wine, spirits, and liqueurs, but Campari was never on the shelf. In one store, a cashier who appeared to be knowledgeable told us that the Campari was under lock and key in storage, because it was a frequently stolen item. He sent an employee to the back room—he was sure it was there—but the employee came up empty, twice, as did the cashier on his own expedition. Then we noticed that some bars had what looked like Campari, but the label was somewhat different; we wondered what was going on.
Finally, we found our Campari, in of all places—a mini-market just down the street from our Piazza Bologna apartment. Mission accomplished!
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| Mini-market to the rescue! An ample supply of Campari. Aperol, too. Sweet vermouth to the right. |
We later became aware that over the last decade or so, Campari—made only by one company—has now and then been in short supply. Given that some young folks have abandoned wine for beer and cocktails, and given that Campari is a widely favored cocktail ingredient, the shortage that we experienced makes sense.
Just a few years ago, a sign for "cocktails" would have been a rare sighting in Rome. Not today. We have since learned from a teacher friend that Italians are not particularly good with the apostrophe—even in their own language, let alone English (nor are Americans, we've noticed).
Bill
