In 1919 US Congress ratified the 18th Amendment banning the manufacture, sale, and transport of alcoholic beverages. That same year, in Italy, the brothers Luigi and Silvio Barbieri created Aperol, a lighter version of the wildly popular bitters aperitif that had become a staple cocktail ingredient served all across cosmopolitan European cities.
Made from orange, gentian, rhubarb, and cinchona, Aperol is a bittersweet herbal liqueur, one of many brands classed collectively as Amari. Aperol is considered a gateway amaro—sweeter and lower in alcohol than some of its more popular cousins like Campari and Averna.
Launched at the 1919 Padua International Fair, Aperol was an instant hit. A few decades later the iconic Aperol Spritz was born. Three parts Italian Prosecco, two parts Aperol and a splash of soda. In other words effervescent, refreshing, and light. Perfect for a soft drinker like me.
On a recent Tuesday evening, my sister and brother-in-law treated us to a bountiful feast of shrimp scampi, grilled artichokes, eggplant lasagna, balsamic onion flatbread, polenta, broccoli rabe, and beans from Capers & Lemons in Delaware. Vicky handed me an Aperol Spritz in a plastic to-go cup--essentially introducing me to liquid sunshine.
As previously stated, I am not a big drinker but I can't imagine going through this global pandemic without the occasional aid of an aperitif or two. I understand, now, why illegal distilling accelerated during prohibition, why moonshiners were motivated to create "hooch", "mountain dew", "white lightning" and a dozen other euphemistic names for non-aged spirits distilled from fermented sugar and grain.
Produced illicitly, under the "shine of the moon" it does have a certain mystique that has intrigued poets and troubadours for centuries, inspiring odes and songs. I have a particular favorite called "God's Own Drunk" a monologue written by Lord Buckley that I heard for the first time on Jimmy Buffett's Live album when I was seventeen and likely more intrigued by the notion of illicit alcohol than I am today. The monologue is a narrative about a teetotaler charged with babysitting his brother-in-law's still only to give in to temptation and drink enough whiskey to imagine (or have) a conversation with a 19 foot Kodiak bear whom he nicknames "Buddy." Of course when morning dawns both the bear and the still are gone. Moonshine will do that to you (I assume).
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