In the Cupboard

The discovery of a new food or drink strikes something deep in the brain’s most primitive regions. A salamander emerging from the primordial ooze feels the same vital vibrations upon eating a new, especially plump insect as does the gourmand when first eating foie gras d’oie. There is a resonance in the true flavor discovery that re-connects us to our food, awakens us to our world, and expands the language of our spirit.
In this first posting to In the Cupboard — which will focus on the over-looked, under appreciated, and misunderstood sundries and techniques of the kitchen — I would like to talk about the Sbagliato, which I only just discovered, on a recent trip to Italy.

When Columbus discovered America he was said to preen and prance about in a very annoying, prissy, practiced way that only tights-clad and ruffled Italian discoverers seem to be able to preen and prance: Look at me everybody, I discovered an entire new world! I’ll even call it The New World! It’s mine. I discovered it.
Never mind that millions of people already lived there, that civilizations had risen and fallen and risen again successively at least since the Olmecs carved their first squat stone heads some two millennia earlier. Never mind chocolate (which gave Europe a new outlook on everything from social intercourse to sexual intercourse), corn (which saved the Italians from culinary turpitude and possible starvation) to Turkey (which gave the French century of gloating over the fabled truffled). Well, the discovery of the discovery of the Sbagliato is mine. Ho scoperto. E ‘il mio.

Without further ado: the Sbagliato Saga

Chapter I : Negronilithic Era

Here is the world’s first and only in-depth, category-killing, ultimate Sbagliato recipe. Sit on my knee, and listen, young apprentice. There is some ink to spill and some drinks to pour before we arrive at our final destination.

Sbagliato: bubbly, ruby red, herbaceous and bitter, beading condensation down the ice-cold sides of a rocks glass — one more reason to lament the brevity of the Oregon summer. The challenge here, on a rather hot, definitely languid Monday afternoon, will to abstain from drinking one or two before finishing this post.

The Sbagliato cocktail (it took me a few minutes of brainstorming my spelling options after returning from Tuscany, so I’ll document for posterity sake that it is definitely not spelled spaghettliotto (which is what occasionally slipped out when ordering it), not sbagliatto cocktail, not spagliotto (which I usually said when ordering it), not sbalgioto, not s’baglliottto, not subactillio). Once you get over the hump of spelling Sbagliato, it’s all down hill.

FYI, the Americans call it a Negroni Sbagliato, which seemed lost on the Italians who have been mistakening it for decades. A Negroni Sbagliato cocktail recipe seems a bit obtuse. Would you like a fish filet of sole for dinner? I guess Americans like certainty in their food; honestly, “buffalo chicken wings?” Why do people say that? I honestly doubt it is likely to get some Griffin-like hairy flapping buffalo dish for dinner if you just say “buffalo wings.”

The Sbagliato cocktail begins with the Negroni cocktail, and is one of the very few, if not the only, example in history of a knock-off cocktail that rivals the original. Imagine, if you will, that the original episodes of Star Wars never indulged in Muppets or dwarfs in panda suits. The Sbagliato cocktail is the Empire Strikes Back, sans muppets, of the Negroni. Negroni sbagliato… Besides, it’s fun to watch Italians’ faces as they try to parse the juxtaposition of lousy Italian accent and suave, discerning drink order: “un sbagliato per favore,” you bumble, with no further elaboration.

To skip straight from following a standard Sbagliato recipe to making the best dang Sbagliato imaginable, it is necessary to first master the Negroni cocktail.

The classic Negroni consists of:
1 part gin
1 part sweet vermouth
1 part Campari
Combine all three ingredients in an Old Fashioned (rocks) glass over ice and garnish with a slice of orange.
The Negroni invented Florence in 1919 by the no-nonsense Count Camillo Negroni, who found himself in need of something stiffer than an Americano (made with Campari, Sweet Vermouth, and seltzer), and asked for gin with his Americano. One can only wonder why he wasn’t made a Marquis.

So, how do we improve on the Count’s excellent work?

The ultimate Negroni cocktail derives its superiority from three improvements:
1. improving the quality of the ingredients
2. tuning the amount of gin
3. serving it chilled and up

Ingredients:
Gin: Use gin that is good, but not great. Use a good sturdy gin like Tanqueray or Beefeater or Bombay (not Sapphire — too strong). You don’t want the Karmic debt of mucking up great gin with a bunch of highly flavorful additives. Don’t raid your mom’s secret stash of Hendrick’s or Plymouth or Baffert’s or Magellan or Citadelle or Quintessential or G’Vine. You get no extra points for gin erudition, snobbiness, etc. Remember, we are going for a drink that a Count would drink, and as we all know, Counts are born cool and debonair without even trying.

Vermouth: Use good Sweet Vermouth. Here, sky is the limit. Sweet Vermouth is indispensable to every drinker, from the dilettante who prefers it straight, over ice, on a porch swing, to the serious drinker, who prefers it with bourbon and bitters, chilled an served up in a martini glass on a porch swing. We go through a 750ml bottle Sweet Vermouth (Vermouth Rosso) every month or so, but when we finally get around to putting up a porch swing we hope to improve on that quantity substantially. My favorite Sweet Vermouth these days is Andy Quady’s creation,Vya Sweet Vermouth. Andy is not only not Italian, he is not even a Count. But his Vermouth kicks. We sell it at The Meadow, where it serves as fodder for many a tirade on mixology. Carpano Antica Vermouth Rosso is another great option. Do not use Carpano’s Punt e Mes, as it will steamroller the Campari, the gin, and the surrounding countryside.

Campari: That’s it–Campari. I’ve dug around a bit in Italy, and if there is a better, more boutique type production of a Campari-style bitters I have yet to find it.

Tuning: Adding more gin gives the Vermouth and Campari room to move around in, revealing greater depth to their intense herbacious, citrus, spice notes. Like an experienced lover, the additional gin inspires our cocktail to impart its secrets with passion bridled by solicitousness.

Serving: Following Count Negroni’s lead, we whittle down even more the amount of dilutant in the drink, serving it up. The ultimate Negroni experiences only a brief tryst with water, during its gentle chilling. Diaphanous contrails of icewater swirl through the cocktail, imparting the silky mouthfeel of that godlike cocktail, the gin martini. This essential variation on the classic Negroni cocktail boasts the added advantage of a built in requirement that you drink it rapidly, and by extension, repeatedly.

The ultimate Negroni cocktail consists of:
2 to 3 parts good gin
1 part good sweet vermouth
1 part Campari
Combine all three over ice cubes in a shaker. Stir gently. Do not shake, do not beat it to death, do not stir it like you’re trying to make whipped cream. Bartenders brutalize their gin, either because they think it looks showy, or because they are in a hurry, or maybe because they think exploding a perfectly good drink into shards of ice and bubbles makes them look especially virile. Stir gently, for about 10 seconds. Strain into a chilled martini glass. Twist with orange zest, so that some of that lovely volatile orange oil beads and glistens on the surface of the drink. Garnish with the pretty curlicue you have made with the orange zest.

Now, my quiet student, you are ready for the Sbagliato.

Chapter II: Enter the Sbagliato

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markbitterman :: Aug.05.2008 :: Drink :: No Comments »