Burden of Proof

Breaking down the strange spirits neither of us have ever heard of.

by Drew Lazor

Peculiar spirits abound behind the bar at The Franklin.

Neal Santos

Philadelphia's uptick of amazing cocktail destinations is reason alone to raise a glass. But what if you don't know what the hell is in that glass to begin with? If you're in the majority of drinkers — those who don't study high-proof history with great academic gusto — reading down a cocktail list can sometimes double as a foreign language exercise. So we've picked the encyclopedic brains of some of our favorite Philly drink mixers in the hopes of breaking down a handful of the not-so-familiar spirits we see popping up on menus around town.

David Snyder

AMARO

WHAT NOW? Amaro refers not to a specific brand or spirit, but to a family of them — an amorphous, tough-to-pin-down family. And of course, this family comes from Italy. "Amaro simply means 'bitter' in Italian, and is a wide umbrella," says Al Sotack of Franklin Mortage & Investment Co. (112 S. 18th St.) Numerous herbs, distinctive spicing agents (think clove or cinnamon), fruit rinds and roots are typical base ingredients in amari, which tend toward a bitter flavor profile and generally hover around 60 proof. Italians like to drink amaro as a post-feast digestif, usually neat.

Neal Santos

WHAT NOW? A low-alcohol Italian apertif, Aperol's chief flavor characteristic is bitter orange (think the pith of the fruit), but sip it straight and you might also pick up gentian root and rhubarb. You might be wondering how they bottle that vivid off-red hue. "It is colored with Cochineal red," says bartender Phoebe Esmon of Catahoula (775 S. Front St.), "which is extracted from the cochineal beetle." Bug juice!

TRY THIS: Go old-school at Cichetteria 19 (267 S. 19th St.) with a classic Spritz, which combines Aperol with Prosecco and soda. For something with more bite, Esmon suggests the Introduction to Aperol, a drink originating at NYC's Pegu Club that combines the apéritif with gin, Angostura bitters and lemon. At Catahoula, order a 2 to 2, where Aperol does well smoothing out the aromatic presence of absinthe alongside lemon, simple syrup and orange bitters.

WHAT NOW? Originating in Piedmont, Cocchi Americano is a product that's very close to Kina Lillet, a much-ballyhooed, now-defunct apéritif that birthed what we now know as Lillet Blanc. A blend of fruit, spices and herbs is naturally infused, with quinine, into Moscato d'Asti wine to create Cocchi's unique bitter/spicy base. "It's sweeter than it used to be," says Katie Loeb of Oyster House (1516 Sansom St.), but, thanks to the inclusion of quinine, "still has that tonic-y back end."

TRY THIS: At Village Whiskey (118 S. 20th St.), the Twentieth Century features Cocchi along with gin, lemon and crème de cacao. At Oyster House, do the Lion Tamer, where Courvoisier and Dolin Rouge vermouth join Cocchi, the lot served chilled in a wine glass for a drink subtle enough to bolster a regular daytime drinking habit.

Drew Lazor

WHAT NOW? It's hard to miss the zingy typeface label of Punt E Mes, made by the famous Carpano distillery (inventors of vermouth). Unlike their flagship Carpano Antica Formula, Punt E Mes is actually a red vermouth with bitters already added to it, so it's technically a cocktail before it's even mixed with anything. As for the name (Italian for "a point and a half") — there are many backstories, but bartender Christian Gaal at Noble (2025 Sansom St.) is fond of one. "A Piedmontese stock broker, asked by the waiter at his corner bistro how many dashes of bitters he preferred in his [vermouth]," says Gaal, "exclaimed, his head still at work, 'a point and a half!'"

TRY THIS: Gaal's Saratoga (above) cocktail calls for equal parts rye and cognac, Punt E Mes and orange bitters for a tricked-out take on the classic Manhattan.

WHAT NOW? The distinctive label doesn't lie — Cynar (CHEE-nar) really is made with artichokes. But don't go drawing butter just yet. "It doesn't necessarily taste like artichokes," says The Franklin's Colin Shearn. "But it does have a vegetal, earthy quality found nowhere else."

TRY THIS: On menu at The Franklin, check out Shearn's House of Lords, a sour cocktail that sees Cynar curtailing the sweet profiles of Pimm's and crème de peche. Off menu, ask for the Transatlantic Giant, a Cynar-touched mix-up of bourbon, Jamaican rum, sloe gin, crème de cacao and Angostura bitters. "The Cynar is the only 'bass' ingredient," Shearn says of the drink's mostly-sweet elements. "Without it, it would be gross."

Jessica Kourkounis

WHAT NOW? Green Chartreuse is very powerful (110 proof!), very peculiar herbaceous liqueur stocked at any cocktail bar worth its weight in rocks glasses. It's got a whimsical backstory — it's made by French Carthusian monks from a secret list of 130 herbs and plants, and it's claimed that only two of those monks know the real recipe. (Fun fact: The color chartreuse is named for this spirit, not the other way around.) "It's not for your average drinker," says Cristina Tessaro, bar manager at London Grill (2301 Fairmount Ave.). "But if you're feeling adventuresome, this is a great step to take."

TRY THIS: London mixes a mean Last Word (above) — equal parts Luxardo Maraschino liqueur, gin, lime juice and Chartreuse — among other Chartreuse-y explorations. At Oyster House, try bartender Andy DiGiulio's The Truth About Us, which brings together bourbon, Chartreuse, Campari (similar to Aperol), bitters and orange peel.

(drew.lazor@citypaper.net)