Aperitivo hour

A café-bar in Rome (and Italy) is multi-purpose. They serve the strong shots of coffee my husband so misses, but there’s more. These institutions transition from day to night. The fast efficient tempo of a caffè standing at the bar morphs into a relaxed pace in the evening. The clang of cup on saucer is replaced by the clink of ice and gentle fizz of Prosecco. The pastries are cleared out. It’s time for something salty: crispy chips or a soft panini with fresh cheese and tomatoes. You move from the bright light of the bar to the dusky evening as the sky turns indigo. You don’t stand, you sit. 

It’s time for an aperitivo.

The hours between the end of a work day and dinner are not wasted in Italy. It’s a time to unwind with a drink, a nibble, and if you are so inclined as many Romans are, a smoke.

My husband and I get a taste of this aperitivo ritual at the café-bar near our apartment. The same one we frequent for our coffee fix during the day. Outside this café-bar are a few tables on a little spit of land. A widening of the sidewalk at the corner of the street is bordered by parked cars and scooters. Lights strung under the umbrellas and a patio heater provides warmth. The first night I had a Negroni, one of my favourite drinks. The second night we both ordered an Aperol Spritz.

Aperol Spritz is a popular drink. Even in Canada it’s commonly featured on a cocktail menu. But this was my first. Why did I wait until my last night in Italy to try this drink? I don’t know. It’s delightful. A little bitter, not too sweet. A little fizzy, really quite pretty.

My husband and I sip our drinks and nibble our snacks. We chat about our days in Rome and future travels. As we relax and sink into our chairs, our little spit of land is buzzing. Friends laugh at another table. A woman chain-smokes 5 cigarettes. Fiats and Vespas honk whizzing by. A scooter backs up right behind my chair. Another inch and I would have felt a nudge. 

We enjoy our aperitivo at a leisurely pace while the chaos of Rome swirls around us.

Amidst the bustle, our server recognizes us the second night. As I pay the bill, he asks us where we are from. I answer and he jokes, “So it’s the woman that pays in Canada.” In Rome it’s generally the man, though this is starting to change. “Lucky you,” he says looking at my husband.

I feel quite lucky too.

I also feel like making this vibrant cocktail at home. Now my liquor collection includes a bottle of this abnormally bright orange liquor. The drink is easy enough to recreate: Aperol, Prosecco and a slice of orange. Simulating the hectic energy of Rome is not so easy. I suppose I could start by pulling up a chair in a parking lot. Not quite the same. I will just have to close my eyes and recall the little spit of land we inhabited briefly for aperitivo hour in Rome.