EVENING RITUAL: The desire for today's aperitif is nothing like the urge “Mad Men”-era dads felt. It's more of a gentle, insistent yearning, not so much for alcohol but for the pause that marks the end of the workday and the beginn
As life gets ever more hectic, I rely more and more on the civilized custom of a before-dinner alcoholic drink. Sometimes it’s all I can do to make it to that magical hour when I’m handed a Campari and soda or a glass of rosé and take a first bite of dusky olive tapenade on toast.
This is nothing like the urge “Mad Men”-era dads, mine included, felt to grab that first glass of Scotch the minute they walked in the door.
An aperitif marks the time of day when whatever’s undone will have to wait for tomorrow, when you can sit dreamy-eyed and absorbed in watching the light fade to dusk. It’s about celebrating the moment at hand, alone, with one other or with friends. A ritual that’s well worth cultivating.
An aperitif can be as simple as a glass of chilled fino or manzanilla sherry with a bowl of oil-slicked olives and roasted almonds. Or some vermouth or Fernet Branca on the rocks with a few slices of Fra’ Mani salami and thin slices of baguette.
If I have some ripe white peaches and a bottle of prosecco knocking around, I might make Bellinis, but how likely is that unless I’ve planned well ahead? I also love a kir royale, like the one Lou Amdur makes at Lou, his Los Angeles wine bar, with an artisanal crème de cassis and Crémant d’Alsace rose.
Lately, though, I’m drawn to bitter — that cooling Campari and soda or my new favorite, a classic Negroni: one part gin, one part Campari, one part vermouth di Torino. For a lighter version, I might top it off with the last of the prosecco.
What’s important, too, is that little bite — call it tapas or pintxos or canapé. Go to any bar in Venice, Italy, for example, for an aperitif and you’ll find a spread of cicchetti, the Venetian equivalent of tapas, laid out on the counter. In Spain you could spend the entire night hopping from bar to bar, nibbling on this and that. That’s why the dinner hour starts well after 10 p.m.
At any rate, the aperitif hour ensures that you won’t arrive at the table famished and wolf your way through the meal. It’s just more civilized.
An ambitious cook can go to elaborate lengths to produce an array of little bites. I’m more inclined to keep it fairly simple and usually put out one or two easy things. It could be as basic as whole almonds toasted with olive oil and fresh thyme leaves, which I love.
Right now, at the height of tomato season here in California, I’m making pa amb tomàquet like crazy. That’s Catalan for “bread with tomato.” There are many variations, but basically it’s toasted bread, such as baguette, rubbed with a halved tomato and drizzled with your best olive oil. Sprinkle on some sea salt. Serve as is or topped with a slice of jamón serrano, or a single salt-cured anchovy filet down the center.
There’s always the classic melon or figs and prosciutto. Or smoked salmon.
If I have the time (and some Gruyere in the fridge), I’ll make gougères, those delicate cheese puffs that Burgundian winemakers often serve to show off their wines. For a festive occasion, make it Champagne and gougères still warm from the oven.
For another toast topping, you can soft-scramble a couple of eggs with a few spoonfuls of grated bottarga and top them with a strip of scarlet piquillo pepper. As a variation, scramble the eggs with piquillo peppers and top with an anchovy. And if you’ve somehow secured a black truffle, roughly chop it and fold it into butter-rich oeufs brouilles (the French version of scrambled eggs).
Roasted eggplant, mashed with a fork and seasoned with garlic, lemon juice and olive oil, makes another simple spread with triangles of warmed pita. And I’m always ready to have a plate of those pretty rose-and-white French breakfast radishes with sweet butter and sea salt.
If I have a spare half-hour, I’ll mix up socca batter, basically chickpea flour, water and a dash of olive oil, to make the street food snack, a sort of chickpea crepe, beloved in Nice in the south of France. David Lebovitz has a good recipe in his book “The Sweet Life in Paris.” Or try panisses, chickpea cakes, from Daniel Young’s book “Made in Marseille.”
And lately, inspired by an appetizer Octavio Becerra serves at Palate Food + Wine in Glendale, Calif., I’ve been making sardines on toast. He serves wonderful sardines from Galicia in Spain in the opened tin with all the fixings — a pile of toasts, sweet butter and sea salt. I found the same sardines for sale at Sur la Table: Look for the blue-and-white box and the brand Matiz. They’re plump, delicious and not at all fishy. And the great thing is you can always have them on hand in a cupboard. (The nearest Sur la Table locations are at Cherry Creek mall in Denver, in Lakewood and in Boulder. Check out www.surlatable.com.)
One more thought: It’s important to have the aperitif outdoors if possible — on the balcony, the front porch, the deck, the backyard. I once wrote a story about bouillabaisse at Domaine Tempier in Bandol, France. The night began, like all French meals do, with an aperitif. Tempier’s owner and cook extraordinaire, Lulu Peyraud, led us to a table beneath an ancient umbrella pine quite a ways from the house, where she served the domaine’s fine Bandol rosé with little croutons or toasts spread with tapenade or the smashed livers from the fish meant for her bouillabaisse.
A perfect moment.
Ideas for an aperitif bar
If you’re just starting to put together an aperitif bar, here are a few essential bottles to get you started:
• Campari: Invented in Novara, Italy, in 1860 and still made with the same recipe. Red in color, made from herbs steeped in alcohol and water. A classic aperitif is Campari and soda.
• Dolin Vermouth de Chambery blanc: For me, the best of the French vermouths, made with white wine from the Savoie region of France and botanicals from Alpine meadows above Chambery. The company has used the same recipe since 1821.
• Cocchi Storico Vermouth di Torino: Giulio Cocchi’s original recipe from 1891, reintroduced to celebrate the Piedmontese firm’s 120th birthday this year. Makes a terrific Negroni, but you can also drink it straight.
• Carpano Antica Formula dal 1786 vermouth: Intensely aromatic red vermouth from Italy. Drink it on the rocks, or use in making cocktails.
• Lillet: A sweet French aperitif wine made from a blend of sauvignon blanc, semillon and muscadelle, mostly from Bordeaux — and quinine. Produced since the 19th century. Usually served on the rocks with a wedge of citrus.
• Pastis (Pernod, Ricard, Berger Blanc and 51 are widely available brands): Anise-flavored liqueur developed as a substitute for absinthe and popular throughout the French Mediterranean. When water is added to the yellowish liqueur, it turns cloudy.
• Dry sherry: Fino or manzanilla sherry from Andalusia. Serve chilled, preferably in a sherry copita, a small tulip-shape glass.
SOCCA
—
Yield: About 3 (9- to 10-inch) pancakes, 6-8 servings
1 cup (4.6 ounces) chickpea (garbanzo) flour
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons water
3/4 teaspoon sea salt, plus extra for serving
1/8 teaspoon ground cumin
2 1/2 tablespoons olive oil, divided, plus more as needed
Freshly ground black pepper, for serving
Procedure:
1. In blender, combine flour, water, salt, cumin and 11/2 tablespoons oil until smooth. Remove batter to bowl and set aside to rest at least 2 hours, covered, at room temperature.
To cook, preheat broiler. Oil 9- or 10-inch pan (or cast iron skillet, or tart pan) with remaining oil and heat pan in oven.
2. Once pan and oven are blazing hot, pour enough batter into pan to cover the bottom, swirl it around, then pop back into oven.
3. Bake until socca is firm and beginning to blister and burn, about 2-3 minutes. The exact time will depend on your broiler.
4. Slide socca out of pan onto cutting board, slice into pieces, then shower it with coarse salt, pepper and a drizzle of olive oil.
5. Cook remaining socca batter the same way, adding a touch more oil to the pan between each one.
Adapted from “The Sweet Life in Paris,” by David Lebovitz
LULU’S TAPENADE
—
Yield: 6-8 servings (about 1 1/4 cups)
1/2 pound large Greek-style black olives, pitted
2 salted anchovies, rinsed and filleted, or 4 fillets
3 tablespoons capers
1 garlic clove, peeled and pounded to a paste with a pinch of coarse
salt
Small pinch cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon tender young savory leaves, finely chopped, or a pinch
of crumbled dry savory leaves
1/4 cup olive oil
Procedure:
1. In food processor, reduce olives, anchovies, capers, garlic, cayenne and savory to a coarse puree.
2. Add olive oil and process only until mixture is homogenous — a couple of rapid whirs.
Adapted from “Lulu’s Provencal Table” by Richard Olney
PANISSES
—
Yield: 4-6 servings
2 cups (9.2 ounces) chickpea (garbanzo) flour
1 quart water, hot but not boiling
1 tablespoon olive oil
Frying oil
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Procedure:
1. Sift chickpea flour and combine in large saucepan with hot water and olive oil. Heat over moderately high heat, mixing continuously with whisk, until mixture thickens and starts to bubble, 2-3 minutes. Exchange whisk for wooden spoon and cook, stirring continuously, 10 minutes more; mixture should be thick and heavy.
2. Spread out clean dish towel on work surface. Place panisse mixture along bottom of the dish towel. Wrap towel over mixture and roll it into a log, 2-3 inches in diameter. Refrigerate 2 hours. Remove towel and cut logs into 1/3-inch-thick discs. (As an alternative to the towel method, which can be tricky, spread out mixture onto oiled baking sheet to a depth of 1/3 inch, cover with dish towel and refrigerate 2 hours. Remove dough from fridge and cut rounds using cookie cutter, biscuit cutter or small jar.)
3. Add frying oil to a skillet to depth of about 1/4 inch; set over moderately high heat. Fry panisse in small batches until golden, about 1½ minutes on each side. Drain on paper towels. Sprinkle with sea salt and pepper and serve immediately on a dish, or, better yet, in a paper cone.
Adapted from “Made in Marseille,” by Daniel Young
