Negroni

The Negroni is the last Campari drink that I currently have the makings for, and may well be the best-tasting one thus far. If I ever had to drink Campari -- I mean, if I was given a choice between being sodomized by a blue whale and drinking Campari -- this is the drink that I would choose. Campari still tastes like ass, but the Negroni makes it almost palatable.

The Negroni also has a pretty cool pedigree. It is allegedly named after General Pascal Olivier Count de Negroni, a French army officer and nobleman who fought in the Franco-Prussian war, was personally decorated by Emperor Louis Napoleon, and was commander of the Legion of Honor. Along the way, he also created this drink.

Other reports state that it was named after Camillo Negroni, a Florentine who always ordered the drink. The Ultimate A-to-Z Bar Guide halves the difference between the stories, claiming that Count Camillo Negroni asked a Florentine bartender to add gin to his Americano.

Call me a snob, but I like the General Negroni story better. There's something about the Louis Napoleon twist that makes the story way cooler.

Either way, this is yet another drink that calls for a lemon twist. In my search for the proper way to make a lemon twist, I found all sorts of complicated methods involving toothpicks, freezers, and hours of preparation. Ultimately, I decided to go with slicing a lemon, cutting off the peel with a paring knife, and giving it a firm twist. It ended up releasing a little bit of the essential oils and making a wonderful garnish.

Negroni
(from The Ultimate A-to-Z Bar Guide)

3/4 ounce gin
3/4 ounce Campari
3/4 ounce sweet or dry vermouth
cold club soda, optional
lemon twist

Stir liquid ingredients with ice; strain into chilled cocktail glass; add splash of soda, if desired. Or combine liquid ingredients in an old-fashioned glass filled with ice cubes; add a splash of soda, if desired. Garnish either style with lemon twist.

Americano

Campari is a bitter, bright red aperitif that was created in the 1860's by Gaspare Campari, an Italian bartender. James Bond has been known to drink Campari, and it shows up in Fellini films, Duras novels, and Primus songs. It is Steve Zissou's favorite drink and one of the only English words that Bang Bang speaks in The Brothers Bloom; this seems to suggest that Wes Anderson is a big fan of the stuff, although I'd prefer to believe that he just makes use of it for its pop culture flair.

There is no doubt that Campari is pretty cool right now. Lady Gaga featured it in one of her videos, as did Christina Aguilera. The Pogues namechecked it, Rihanna's backup singers drink it, and Jessica Biel is the company's 2009 Calendar girl. It also has a supremely cool website.

Pedigree, bright color, reasonable price, and cool literary currency: in many ways, Campari seems to have it all. Given that, I tried to like the stuff. Unfortunately, for all my efforts, I kept bumping my head against two basic truths:

1. Campari tastes like a smoker's mouth the morning after a major bender, with a slight hint of novocaine.

2. It is truly one of the foulest flavors imaginable. I totally hate it.

Even so, I drank all of my Americano, and will undoubtedly work my way through the rest of the Campari recipes in my various bartenders guides. I will try very, very hard to like the stuff.

The Americano was first made in Gaspare Campari's bar, not long after the aperitif was developed. Its original name, the Milano-Torino, celebrated the fact that the two main ingredients came from Italian towns. Milano supplied the Campari and Torino supplied the sweet vermouth. Later, when it became clear that American tourists were drawn to the drink, the cafe renamed it in honor of its new benefactors.

It is a decent drink as far as Campari drinks go, which means that it is absolutely beautiful to look at. It tastes better than a tequila ghost, but not quite as good as the sweaty asscrack of a Russian cab driver.

Americano
(from The Ultimate A-to-Z Bar Guide)

1 1/2 ounces sweet vermouth
1 1/2 ounces Campari
Cold club soda
lemon or orange slice

Pour vermouth and Campari into chilled highball glass filled with ice cubes; add club soda, stirring gently. Garnish with lemon or orange slice.

Rosita

In the May/June 2009 issue of Imbibe magazine, Hannah C. Feldman and Tracy Howard sketched the outlines of a three-stage master course in mixology. I was immediately intrigued.

For years, I've had some pretty decent basic bar knowledge. When I was about ten years old, my babysitter, Edie, taught me how to make a gin and tonic and ensured that I knew how to hold it steady while she drove. In the ensuing years, I've picked up a few more basic recipes. In college, I drank a lot of cocktails, and learned how to make a credible martini and a decent bloody mary. My white Russian is decent, my B-52 isn't an embarrassment, and I know my way around a "nuts and berries." Beyond that, if you hum a few bars, I can generally fake it.

Still, in the years since grad school, I've fallen into the trap of always drinking the same standards: scotch, absinthe, wine or beer. My skills have gotten a little rusty, and my knowledge is sorely lacking. Faced with Feldman and Howard's impressive list of "basic" cocktails, I could no longer hide from my equally impressive ignorance: it was clear that action was called for. Although I already had a drink guide -- the encyclopedic Ultimate A-To-Z Bar Guide by Sharon Tyler Herbst and Ron Herbst -- I decided to begin with the Rosita, the basic "101" cocktail that Imbibe suggested.

My first step was buying the ingredients: reposado tequila, sweet vermouth, dry vermouth, Campari, and Angostura bitters. I had never had reposado, and Sauza seemed like a good, reasonably-priced choice. For the vermouths, I went with Martini and Rossi, the most expensive choices that my local liquor store had to offer (they cost a buck more than the off-brand). As far as the rest, Campari is Campari is Campari and Angostura bitters, while a little hard to find in the Bronx, showed up in a Whole Foods in Manhattan.

All in all, the ingredients for my first drink ran about 80 bucks. Even by New York standards, this is a little high, but there's a lot to be said for giving my liquor collection a shot in the arm.

The Rosita was a mixed success, at best. Although complex, it had a bitter undertone that left me wary about drinking more. The lemon twist floating in the reddish-chestnut drink was, admittedly, gorgeous, the overall flavor was kind of unpleasant and stale-tasting. My wife, Virginia, completely hated it.

On the bright side, my liquor cabinet was now well-stocked with tequila, Campari, and two types of vermouth. Prepared for more adventures, I recorded my thoughts on the Rosita and looked forward to the next day's drink.

Rosita
(from Imbibe)

1 1/2 ounce reposado tequila
1/2 ounce sweet vermouth
1/2 ounce dry vermouth
1/2 ounce Campari
1 dash Angostura bitters
Cracked and cubed ice
Tools: barspoon, three-piece shaker
Glass: Old Fashioned
Garnish: Lemon Twist

Stir ingredients in a shaker with ice cubes, strain into a glass filled with cracked ice cubes and garnish.