American Vermouth: Anything Goes

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/13/dining/american-made-vermouths-anything-goes.html

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At one time it shared equal billing with gin in the martini. But when that cocktail went dry, vermouth was relegated to the back of the bar. Worse than uncool, it became irrelevant.

Now, in the current craze for craft spirits, the drink is in resurrection mode. Restaurants like Rouge Tomate and Franny’s, in New York, are featuring it with greater frequency in cocktails. Vermouth is creeping back into the glass in its original form, as an aperitif sipper on its own.

The recent availability in this country of some superior vermouths from Europe, like the spectacular Mauro Vergano and Carpano Antica from Italy, has inspired American enthusiasts to try concocting this ancient drink in small batches. Vya, in California, started distributing nationally in 1999. Since 2009, four more vermouths have arrived in the domestic market, two of them from the New York area.

One of the more unconventional of the new varieties is the work of Bianca Miraglia, 29, who lives in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Dressed one night in suspenders attached to cutoffs over patterned stockings, she looked like a hipster Eloise. Last month, Ms. Miraglia introduced her brand, Uncouth Vermouth; the label bears the silhouette of a woman from the Empire period, uncouthly sticking a finger up her nose.

What drew someone so young to such an old spirit? “It’s truly a magical potion that starts out as wine and then it gets resurrected as an erotic aperitif,” she said.

Vermouth is made by steeping wine with a huge assortment of herbs, barks, roots and fruits; the length of time varies. Some producers, like Mauro Vergano, an Italian master of the art, keep this maceration going for up to a month. The wine is fortified with brandy and sweeteners, often sugar or honey. Because there’s no single recipe, the taste is difficult to summarize, but many vermouths evoke a marmalade, with its balance of bitter and sweet. Some conjure up Christmas cake; others, a forest walk through pines and ferns.

Where vermouth parts ways from other aromatic wines (like the esoteric Barolo Chinatos or the commercial Suze) is in its inclusion of wormwood, a practice with deep roots in medicine. Hippocrates is said to have prescribed wormwood-based wines for an array of ailments, including anemia and menstrual cramps. Alcohol was added for the first time in 1786 by Benedetto Carpano of Turin, Italy. If we are to believe vintage posters, his Carpano Antica was the Coca-Cola of its day.

The big vermouth makers — Noilly Prat, Martini & Rossi, Dolin and others — muscled in on his success. All used wormwood. Although European law still requires it today (the wine’s name derives from “wermut,” the German word for the herb), the United States does not. “In America we are free from the rules,” said Adam Ford, a New York lawyer who brought his powerfully flavored Atsby vermouths to market, without wormwood, in October. “If it looks like vermouth, smells like vermouth and acts like vermouth, it is vermouth.”

Carl Sutton, founder of Sutton Cellars, a San Francisco winemaker that produces a wormwood-free vermouth, defended the omission. “I find it overwhelmingly bitter,” he said.

Unlike her fellow artisans, though, Ms. Miraglia fears no bitter, and uses the very Harry Potter-sounding herb, mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris), a relative of wormwood (Artemisia absinthium). She finds most vermouths far too syrupy, so she sweetens hers solely with fruits or wines, like riesling. A few of her vermouths are bracingly dry.

Raised in Leonia, N.J., Ms. Miraglia fell for wine early. Before she was of legal age, she started bartending, then worked as a sommelier. She thought about winemaking, but decided she wasn’t patient enough for the wait from grapes to bottle. In Brooklyn, casting about for a creative outlet, she settled on drinks, which harnessed her love of wine, cooking and mixology to her rule-breaking nature.

She was a founder of a pop-up cocktail bar; since her favorite vermouth, the Mauro Vergano, costs nearly $50 a bottle, she decided to whip up some of her own. While other vermouth makers hit the history books, she tasted like mad and improvised until she had something that satisfied her.

She likens her process to brewing a really great cup of tea. She warms wine on her stovetop, adds mostly foraged herbs and whatever she has pushed through her juicer. She strains but never filters, so her vermouths are often cloudy. Then she adds brandy to fortify the wine to 18 percent alcohol, which preserves the fresh ingredients. She lets it settle for a few days.

One night last June as Ms. Miraglia was making a batch, she rhetorically asked her boyfriend, “Can I just do this all of my life?” Uncouth Vermouth was conceived. She found space to rent in the Red Hook Winery, where she also had access to the vintner’s Long Island-grown wines. Herbs are foraged, procured or grown by her mother, Mary K. Miraglia, an avid gardener. Other ingredients come from the farmers’ market; Bianca Miraglia has squeezed butternut squash through the juicer, tried beets and recently pondered using arugula. Her Uncouth flavors include a zingy serrano chile lavender and a dry, tannic apple mint.

Are these truly vermouths? Mr. Vergano, who blends his iconic vermouths in the Piedmont region of Italy, said that while they could be delicious, they were not the real thing. Then again, he could have easily said that about all the American versions.

Vermouth remains a tough sell. Ms. Miraglia said many of the guests at a recent Slow Food event saw her table and uttered something like “vermouth — ick.” It’s a shame, because these wines work well in a classic drink like the manhattan, or in lighter, sherry-based cocktails. But honestly, all that is needed to appreciate these beauties is ice, possibly a splash of soda and a twist.

A Sampling, Bitter to Sweet

Imbue Bittersweet Portland, Ore., $30. Its pale color belies the intense floral element of clover blossoms; finishes like a honey Ricola candy. Mix with gin and absinthe for an Obituary Cocktail.

Sutton Cellars Brown Label San Francisco, $20. A unique vision in a lightweight drink, rooty and medicinal and barely sweet, with a topsy-turvy savory and herbal kick and a fine ginger burn. Refreshing with a twist and a splash of soda.

Vya Sweet Madera, Calif., $20. Amber brown and powerfully fragrant, with cedar, orange and licorice tones. Certainly sweet, but balanced by bitterness. A good choice for any recipe that calls for sweet vermouth.

Atsby Amberthorn Mattituck, N.Y., $35. First comes the freshly cut hayfield, then it drinks like sweetened liquid rye bread — in a good way. Compelling in a tequila manhattan or drinks with Aperol.

Uncouth Vermouth Apple Mint Brooklyn, $35 (500 milliliters). Bone-dry and tannic, with a long finish of freshly foraged wild mint. Beautiful for chilled solo sipping with an herbal garnish.