Make your own Aperol-style damson aperitivo, perfect in a spritz

Feel free to skip straight to the recipe. However, you may enjoy a brief historical interlude first…

The story of Aperol

I’d always thought that the neon orange of Aperol was a recent bit of genius marketing. But no, it turns out there’s a fascinating background. Our story starts in 1900s Padua, a northern Italian town west of Venice, home to one of Europe’s oldest universities, a cross-roads of rail and road links that later became the headquarters of the Italian first world war army. Here we find the Barbieri brothers, Luigi and Silvio, running a small pharmacy and distillery they’d inherited from their father Giuseppe. These small liquoreia’s produced medicinal tonics, digestivs, liqueurs and cordials. Their champion product was Ovos, a sweet egg-based liqueur a bit like a zabaglione, a “reconstituting tonic” that would help with recovery from illness or surgery, marketed to children, the elderly and even soldiers. The 1900s version of a protein shake?

We don’t know what the Barbieri’s got up to during the first world war, although it is possible their herbal bitters and tonics were used by military hospitals. What we do know is that immediately the war ended, they created their own version of an aperitif, based on drinks popular in pre-war Paris. Padua had been close to the front lines between the Italian and Austro-Hungarian armies, with the decisive final Battle of Vittorio Veneto just 30 miles north. Its population had lived through bombardments and evacuations; schools and churches had been converted into barracks and hospitals. Following the 1918 armistice, the Padua Fair of 1919 was a symbol of Italy’s revitalisation, and this is where the brothers unveiled their new creation: Aperol. Their idea was to appeal to the newly optimistic mood, to create a lighter pre-dinner aperitif, to capitalise on the emerging café culture. At 11% alcohol it was much weaker than most bitters and vermouths, and the bright orange hue was (allegedly) inspired by Italian sunsets.

How did they source the ingredients? Around that time, they’d have had a good supply of both sweet and bitter oranges from Sicily, Calabria or Campania in the south of Italy. Every summer, foragers in the mountains north of Venice would dig up gentian roots, and the vital bitter ingredient would be transported by rail to merchants in Milan and Venice. The third main ingredient was dried rhubarb, specifically Chinese rhubarb native to the mountain plateaus of China, Tibet and Mongolia. This would have come either overland through Russia, or by ship from Shanghai, in sealed wooden chests to local droghieri who’d distribute dried botanicals. Rhubarb bitters (rabarbaro’s) had been popular since the late 1800s, so the Barbieri brothers were tapping into exising traditions and established trade routes.

Aperol’s popularity gradually spread across northern Italy, consumed neat as an aperitif, positioned as “Ideal for ladies and young women” and “for every hour of the day”. After the second world war, Aperol was a beneficiary of la dolce vita: rising living standards, cafés, beach holidays, Vespa scooters and of course aperitivos. But in order to understand the next boom, we should go back to look at the origins of the spritz.

In the early 1800s much of northern Italy was part of the Austrian empire. The Austrian soldiers, struggling with the strong, acidic local wines, would spray in (spritzen in German) a dash of water. The popular Weinspritz was a white wine and water. Over the next hundred years the drink spread into cafés and bars across the Veneto region, with soda replacing water as carbonation technology developed. Prosecco production boomed in the nearby hills (as it does to this day), and local bitter amari were added. By the early 1900s the Spritz Veneziano was a common drink, combining prosecco, bitters and soda.

The post-war years saw our Aperol and spritz stories come together, with the inevitable combination of Aperol as the bitter component of the spritz. The Barbieri firm successfully expanded their Aperol business across northern Italy’s aperitivo scene, and it remained in family hands into the 1980s, before its success caught the interest of bigger multinationals, It was sold to Seagrams in 1983. 1991 saw the controversial closure of their historic Padua plant, as Aperol was sold again to Cantrell & Cochrane, the Dublin based drinks company behind Bulmers / Magners cider among other things, and production moved 200 miles west to Piedmont (where it remains to this day).

At this point in our story though, Aperol Spritz is still a local phenomenon. The real turning point started with another acquisition in 2003 by Campari. But hang on just a second. Campari is also a bitter aperitif from northern Italy, how did it get to be so successful that it could acquire its competing aperitivos? Likely three reasons: it had a 60 year head start. It began in Milan, a bigger city with more influential and wealthy customers. Finally, Davide Campari (son of founder Gaspare) invested early in marketing in the form of avant-garde poster art, creating its identity as a symbol of modern, urban sophistication. By the time Aperol was launched at the Padua Fair, Campari was already exporting internationally to Nice, Buenos Aires, and New York. So fast forward again to the 2000s, after Aperol has been acquired by Campari. The big vision came from their CEO, Istanbul-born Bob Kunze-Concewitz. For him, Aperol “wasn’t just a product—it was a social behaviour waiting to be exported.” Campari Group’s ferocious marketing gurus standardised the spritz recipe known and loved today (3 parts prosecco, 2 parts Aperol, 1 part soda), pushed the distinctive orange colour with glasses, parasols, pop-up bars, and created one of the fastest growing spirits brands in the world. Over 300,000 Aperol Spritzes are now served daily in the Veneto region alone, and its one of the top 10 most-consumed cocktails worldwide. It has come a long way from a small pharmacy in Padua.

So now you know the story behind it… how do you make your own? Some of my earlier amaro recipes are complex. The alpine-style damson amaro has 21 ingredients. With this one the goal was simplicity. I was inspired by this cynical reddit post, reacting to complex recipe suggestions:

Comment
byu/jedisobe from discussion
inAmaro

Could it work as the bitter component of a tasty spritz with only a handful of ingredients? I think it turned out pretty well, but you can judge for yourself. The gentian for bitterness, the orange peel as the dominant sweet flavour and the rhubarb root to add an earthy note are all authentic back to the 1919 recipe and still easy to source, even if not via ancient trade routes. I’ve added ginger for a light spiciness, cherry bark for a mild additional bitterness and a subtle hint of cassia or cinnamon for warmth. The alcohol content will be stronger than Aperol at around 25-30%. Of course I’ve added damsons, so the colour will be a vivid ruby-purple rather than orange, and they’ll add an almondy fruitiness.

Damson Aperol recipe