Garibaldi

Garibaldi

We had a brief reprieve from the heat earlier this summer, but the Berlin weather forecast projects a jump back up to the sultry sweaty sticky zone above 30C for next week. While it seems like most Germans are rejoicing at the return of the summer season, I am rejoicing at the return of sidewalk patio drinking. However, one factor must be mentioned and that is the return of the Aperol Spritz. 

Now, far be it for me to malign the Aperol Spritz. When made properly with quality ingredients (i.e. NOT warm Rotkappchen sekt), it’s a thing of beauty. A refreshing babe of a drink for the sunniest of days, to be consumed under the shade of a straw hat on a rickety wooden folding chair while looking for cute dogs. As such, you can hardly walk down the street without tallying up the number of giant neon orange bevvies in the hands of folks just trying to cool off in the heat. Unfortunately, the vast majority of these Aperol Spritzes are either syrupy sweet headache juice or watered down monstrosities that are definitely not worth the 6 euro you paid for them. Miss me with the pretentious “it’s a Spritz Veneziano” junk when it’s 34C and you are just throwing them together from a premixed pitcher of trash fruit and bottom shelf bubbly. 

Full disclosure: when it comes to orangey booze, I will always choose Campari over Aperol. I’m not much for the sweet stuff, plus I feel like the bitter edge of Campari matches up with its alcohol content more neatly than Aperol manages. I feel like Aperol is just a little unbalanced, which some people love. To each their own!

To add another chapter in my STOP // GENDERING // ALCOHOL book, the weeeeeeird bias that some people have with “Aperol is for girls, Campari is for boys” nonsense is just too annoying on a hot day. I literally cannot even handle the thought of dealing with a waiter who could ask “you mean Aperol right” if I ask for a Campari Spritz on a sweltering afternoon. I get heated when my husband talks about how he asked for an Aperol Spritz on a trip to Italy several years ago and the waiter laughed and served him Campari instead, because “Campari is for men.” STOPPP.

Anyway. Enter the Garibaldi. Take the best parts of the Aperol Spritz (by which I mean the orange flavor. Anyone who whines about Prosecco, here’s a novel idea: just drink it on its own). Build on the orange concept with fresh orange juice, WHIPPED TILL FLUFFY in a blender. Introduce Campari. So yes, it’s not quite an Aperol Spritz at all. I haven’t tried swapping the Campari for Aperol and I have zero intention to do so. 

Per the internet, modern fount of knowledge, Garibaldis were “perfected” at Dante, a NYC restaurant; they claim they discovered the power of blended orange juice. Here in Germany, Campari + orange juice = Campari O, a drink delightfully referred to by a friend as what her mom and her mom’s friends all drink (ladies, please let me join your cool mom gang). Having had both, I am cheerful to say that I would happily drink either instead of a middling Aperol Spritz, provided the orange juice comes from a fruit instead of a bottle and everything is as cold as possible. If there’s a hill I have to die on, it’s that ice is a normal thing for bars and restaurants to never run out of. 

Ingredients & Method: 

After messing around with proportions, I’ve found that a 1:3 ratio of Campari:orange juice is my preferred measure. However, adjust as you like. (Some people even add sugar syrup. We all make our own decisions in life.) 

  • 1 measure Campari

  • 3 measures orange juice 

Squeeze oranges, then blend on high without ice. This should make the orange juice “fluff” up. In a rocks glass, add ice and then pour Campari over the top. While still fluffy, pour the orange juice into the glass and stir. 

Finally: if you’re a warm-hearted person trapped in a cold-loving body, please enjoy this site I came across, which lists all the places in Berlin with air conditioning. Let’s hang out in the Lidl freezer section and talk about booze. 

Livin' La Vida Lucha

Livin' La Vida Lucha