Felicia D'Ambrosio
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Once freed from its red wax cap and poured from its dark brown bottle, Carpano Antica Formula performs a trick its cheaper counterparts have not been able to accomplish in nearly a century: making vermouth cool again. In the years after Prohibition was repealed, protective tariffs made importing quality French (dry) and Italian (sweet) vermouths difficult, resulting in lost interest. Now, thanks to the revival of classic cocktail culture, cities like Philadelphia are finally rediscovering the fortified, aromatized wine.
First consumed on its own as an apertivo, vermouth became the foundation for many cocktails thanks to a bothersome little bug. In 1850, botanists brought cuttings from native North American grape vines to Europe, inadvertently unleashing phylloxera on Europe. By the 1860s, the louse had destroyed nine-tenths of the continent’s vineyards, decimating production of Madeira and brandy, America’s favorite spirits at the time.
Exporters forced sweet vermouth into the Stateside market as a substitute, requiring bars to buy a certain quantity if they wanted anything else. Faced with a glut of product, bartenders began experimenting, developing the drinks we now think of as classics, including the Martinez (which predates the Martini) and the Manhattan. In the 1890 Waldorf-Astoria cocktail book, nearly half of the recipes call for sweet vermouth.
No single individual is credited with inventing vermouth, but Antonio Benedetto Carpano is the man who brought his Carpano Antica Formula to the market in 1786. His ruddy, spicy and complex liquid is the result of infusing wine botanicals — including wormwood, gentian, hyssop, horehound, cinnamon and citrus, though the actual recipe is a closely guarded secret — before adding grape spirit and caramelized sugars to up sweetness and proof.
Felicia D'Ambrosio
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In this town, every liquor bar worth its ultra-cold ice has Antica Formula on hand. At the Franklin Mortgage & Investment Co., it’s the well vermouth, appearing in cocktails like the Kensington (bourbon, sweet and dry vermouth, Peychauds bitters, orange marmalade). Bartender Nicholas Jarrett estimates they go through up to a bottle a day.
Village Whiskey bartender Stephen Seibert’s Cellar Door merges Wild Turkey Russell’s Reserve six-year rye, orange and mole bitters and rosemary leaves with the spicy vermouth for a drink that’s both eye-opening and complex. (VW beverage manager Paul Rodriguez notes that the aggressively flavorful Antica Formula can be “a bit of a bully in a drink,” and Jarrett concurs that proportions for more delicate drinks, like the gin, Campari and vermouth Negroni, must be adjusted for balance.)
Antica Formula has even broken out of cocktail bars, appearing on the menu at the new Percy Street Barbecue. Co-owner Steve Cook, a Manhattan fan, punched up the classic by adding the vermouth and sharp Campari to the rye and Angostura bitters that define the drink. Though Texas Hill Country natives would probably scoff at the pairing, nothing complements a melting slice of brisket quite like big, bitter drink — the Manhattan, Texas.
(felicia.dambrosio@citypaper.net)
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