One of the things I most enjoy about being in France is savoring a real French aperitif before dinner. (I’m also enamored of Italian aperitifs, but that is a story for another time). My husband, Paul Lukacs, recently wrote about a wonderful dinner we had in Chablis (see his June 29 blog at Wine Review Online), but one thing he failed to mention was that while he sipped a glass of Champagne as we studied the menu, I was enjoying the house aperitif, a flute filled with Champagne, gin and Framboise. The refreshing delicacy of Champagne, the kick of gin and the blast of flavor from the raspberry liqueur conspired to make this aperitif a perfect beginning to a memorable dinner.
Strangely, many of my wine-writing colleagues do not share my fondness for aperitifs. Some even look askance when I sing the praises of vermouth, Campari, or anisette. What are they thinking–that wine is the only acceptable pre-dinner beverage? Oh, please. No one would accuse me of not liking wine enough, but to my taste buds wine is best appreciated with food. Champagne is the exception, but without food most other wine tends to either stall the palate or send it into overdrive (depending on the wine). Aperitifs, on the other hand, are crafted as appetite stimulants to get the taste buds and digestive system ready for a meal.
Among the many attributes of aperitifs is the ritualistic socializing role they play in traditional French life. I also like the fact that because they are (usually) lightly alcoholic one can enjoy a couple of them before dinner with no untoward effect (the more spirituous ones are often mixed with water, so if you begin with 16 percent alcohol and add water you reach 8 percent). Another attraction of French aperitifs is that they tend to have specific regional connotations. But when you get right down to it, the thing I like most of all about aperitifs is the way they taste.
I first developed a fondness for aperitifs right out of college, when I moved from California to the west coast of France, where I lived in La Rochelle, a seaport town in the Charente-Maritime region. In those days, when one met with friends for dinner there, chances were good that everybody would begin the evening with a glass or two of Pineau des Charentes. This regional aperitif, which was invented in Charente in the 16th century, is a fortified wine made from lightly fermented grape must plus Cognac (the grapes are usually Ugni Blanc, Colombard, or Folle Blanche). White Pineau is aged a minimum of 18 months in oak barrel, red 14 months. Served chilled, it is fresh, fruity, and sweet. To be honest, these days I find Pineau a tad too sweet, perhaps because it lacks the appetite stimulating hint of bitterness that characterizes many other apéros. Dubonnet, for example, which dates back to the mid-19th century and is made from red wine and plant extracts, is particularly notable for the inclusion of quinine, which gives the bitter edge to an otherwise sweet drink. (The original Dubonnet was 14.8% alcohol, but for the American market it was made at 19%. Go figure.)
Pastis (Pernod and Ricard), are anise based apéros associated with warm weather and the maritime regions of southern France, and they’re always diluted with water. Suze, made from the distilled roots of the gentian plant instead of grapes, is a type of bitters, usually diluted with water, tonic, orange juice or soda. Byrrh, a Languedoc specialty dating back to the mid 19th century, is made from red wine (usually Carignan and Grenache) plus a dose of appetite arousing quinine (Byrrh was the leading aperitif brand in France in the 1930s). Lillet, a beloved classic from the Bordeaux region, is based on local wines (traditionally Sauvignon Blanc and Semillon) plus fruits, especially oranges, which are steeped in alcohol and barrel aged. Like most wine-based apéros, Lillet is traditionally served chilled, with or without a twist of lemon.
Wildly popular in the heady days before World War II, many of these apéros fell out of favor in the late 20th century. Happily, they appear to be making a comeback in French cafés and bistros, and are showing up stateside too. Tchin tchin!
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