Aperol

That sunset-orange glow in every Venetian piazza around six o'clock? This is the bottle behind it. Aperol arrived in Padua in 1919, the work of the Barbieri brothers, and it has spent a century defining what an aperitivo should taste like — bitter enough to wake the appetite, sweet enough that anyone can drink it.

The recipe is guarded, but bitter and sweet oranges, rhubarb and gentian do the heavy lifting. What sets Aperol apart from its bolder cousin Campari is restraint: it sits at a gentle 11%, and the bitterness is a suggestion rather than a statement.

On its own it smells of orange peel and a herbal, root-like edge. The palate is bright and citrus-forward, with rhubarb tartness and just enough bitter backbone to stop it turning into squash. The finish is clean and quick, which is exactly the point — it's built to whet, not to dominate.

Nobody really sips Aperol neat, and nor should you. This is a spritz waiting to happen, the drink of long summer evenings, terrace tables and the hour before dinner when the day finally loosens its grip.

How to Serve

The spritz, and get the ratio right: three parts Prosecco, two parts Aperol, one part soda, poured over plenty of ice in a big wine glass with a fat slice of orange. Prosecco first, Aperol after, so it doesn't sink.

Where to Drink It

Bar Termini in Soho for a spritz done by people who care. The Wolseley on Piccadilly for a grand-café aperitivo. Cecconi's in Mayfair when the weather turns and the terrace fills.

Food Pairings

Salted almonds and green olives are all it asks for — though a plate of prosciutto and grissini turns a single spritz into a proper start to the evening.