Barrett's Mixology

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Negroni

By Michael G. Gabel, Jr.

1 Part Gin
1 Part Campari
1 Part Red Vermouth

Build in a tumbler glass over cubed ice—one ounce Campari, one ounce Rosso Vermouth, one ounce Gin. Garnish with a slice of orange.

The steak sat in front of me, alone on the plate and untouched. I had hoped that the meat would help to fill the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, but the desire to consume the flesh physically would not come. With an authoritative wave of the hand, I motioned the waiter over to my table. “A Negroni, please,” I said softly, hoping an aperitif would encourage some form of hunger within me. Apart from what I could scavenge from the scant fare of my refrigerator or the odd peanut butter cup, few solids had passed my lips in the last three weeks. It was liquids, rather—of the intoxicating variety—that I found myself sliding down the ol’ craw in a half-hearted attempt at subsistence. After all, it was the cruel mistress alcohol that had wrought my current grim form, and it seemed fitting for her to put an end to it.
I’m unsure if it was the bitterness of the Negroni that shocked me into reality or simple disgust for my pathetic languor, but, like a fog dissolving at dawn, the indiscernible void in my belly abated and was replaced with honest-to-goodness hunger. My “mandatory vacation” from work, too, would run its course. (And soon enough I would be returning to the office and to the life I relished, missing not so much as a step.) Without giving it a moment’s notice, I tore into the $80 steak as if The Chair were waiting for me when I finished. And as my silverware clanked onto the suddenly bare plate, I sat back in utter agreement with the state I found myself in. All was not lost.

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