The Negroni Dymystified

   
    Imagine: you’ve found yourself courted by an armchair disciple of spirituous liquids. In an effort to distinguish themselves from casual swill drinking vermin, while also pre-justifying the five cocktails they will drink at dinner, your date begins a crescendo of arrogant pretensions. Where is the waiter? Trying to sustain yourself by grazing on the cocktail menu, you let it slip that you might have a Negroni to start. A mistake. Citing Wondrich with increasing strength and fullness of tone, your companion will tell you that it’s suitable here, but the best Negroni is actually made at Café Gilli, Firenze, fashioned by one Luca Picchi. They’ve never been, a fact dexterously omitted that from the tirade. They mention Count Negroni who fancied himself a cowboy, and how his preference for adding gin to his Americano was the cocktail equivalent of Caesar crossing the Rubicon. Milano-Torino this, Torino-Milano that. Williams, Welles, Ballard. Dante, pre-batch, Forthave. What have you done? But fret not, dear reader for this twisted scene is just a figment of my mind. It won’t be today, it may not be tomorrow but one day you might wake and find this hellish future has become your present circumstance - so heed my advice. To avoid anguish and regain control, seize the silence afforded by your critic’s first breath, and utter this simple phrase: “I’ve read I.B. Drinkin.”

    Now is the time to reclaim the Negroni, an uncomplicated cocktail made of equal parts gin, sweet vermouth, and Campari. At first, these three disparate elements live out divergent existences within a not-yet-chilled cocktail. But soon a tempestuous whirlpool, conjured by a muddler, extracts water from the ice: the officiant needed to christen our chymical union.  (A single chopstick, the end of a spoon, or in dire circumstances one’s own digit works just as well, but be prudent to stir until the glass attracts condensation). Doubtful of this practice and eager for disappointment? With your next, take a sip before the pivotal swirl, and understand immediately why this practice could be so paramount to understanding the work before you. A well-read limbic system might invoke Longfellow, conjuring a vision of “a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.” Finally an orange peel, oils expressed and rim caressed, is added. Any keen observer will note a resemblance between the rind, semi-submerged along the edge of a crimson pool, and Japanese Macaques meditating in the hot springs of Jigokudani Park. We can only dream. 

    Like all three ingredient cocktails the Negroni functions akin to a monarchy, with Campari as its Sun King. Support for the crown may come from a bevy of gins and vermouths of various creeds and customs, substitutions for the sovereign should be chosen wisely. Reformers can be indulged, but in the end the palate demands balance which tinkerers should note is not always expressed in volumetric ratios. Suggestions of Aperol must result in quick expulsion from the court.

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    This weekend, as your glass shifts from full to empty, and then back again, I hope you come to the realization that value may lie within the process, not in the product, however fleeting it may seem. True diversion in life, the kind that shuts off the mind from care and study, requires preparation and the confidence that, in this moment you’ve set aside for respite, the world around you seeks no quarrel nor conflict in your affairs. During moments of revelrous drinking, one can ignore thoughts that beg answers. Sometimes the everyday is irregular enough.

Negroni
1 ounce Campari
1 ounce sweet vermouth
1 ounce dry gin
Orange peel to garnish

Fill a double old fashioned glass with ice.
Combine all liquid ingredients.
Stir until the glass is frosty.
Garnish with the twist, and enjoy.