The Night I Discovered Amaro
Fifty-some countries, a thousand bars, and it took one fall evening in Chicago to discover the drink I'd been missing.
August 4, 2026 · 5 min read · Robert Parker Cross
I've been lucky enough to travel to more than fifty countries, and one of my favorite things to do wherever I go is find a local bar and ask a simple question: "What do the locals drink?"
That has led me to some unforgettable discoveries — mezcal in Oaxaca, genever in Amsterdam, pisco in Lima, ouzo at a tiny waterfront café in Greece, and even a few glasses of baijiu in China that I'll politely say were... memorable.
Looking back, it's hard to believe that through all those travels, I had never tried amaro.
An Ordinary Tuesday at Acanto
Several years ago, there was (and fortunately still is) an Italian restaurant in my neighborhood called Acanto, near Michigan and Madison in Chicago. It became one of my favorite places. I was there often enough that the bartenders knew my usual order before I sat down.
At the time, that usually meant a martini.
One fall evening, I noticed a row of interesting-looking bottles on the back bar. Dark glass, old labels, names I'd never heard before. Curious, I asked the bartender the only question that made sense: "What exactly is amaro?"
Instead of giving me a long explanation, he smiled, reached for a bottle, and poured me a taste. Then another. And another.
Instead of giving me a long explanation, he smiled, reached for a bottle, and poured.
Two Hours That Changed My Taste
The first was smooth and approachable, with notes of caramel and orange peel. The next had more herbs and spice. Then came Fernet.
That one definitely got my attention. It was bold, intensely herbal, minty, and unlike anything I'd ever tasted. Most people either love Fernet or hate it. To my surprise, I loved it.
Over the next couple of hours, I sampled several more amaros and realized something I hadn't expected. Amaro isn't just one drink. It's an entire category, with every bottle telling a different story. Some recipes have been handed down through families for generations. Others originated in monasteries or small mountain towns. Each reflects the region where it was created and the people who make it.
The bitterness wasn't something to get past — it was part of what made each bottle interesting.
Amaro isn't just one drink. It's an entire category.
Why I Started This Website
That evening sparked a new passion. Since then, I've made a point of seeking out amaros whenever I travel, especially in Italy. My collection has grown, disappeared as bottles were shared with friends, and grown again.
Eventually I realized I wanted a place to share what I'd learned. That's how Amaro Aficionado came about.
Here you'll find reviews of individual bottles, their history, where they're made, what's in them, tasting notes, cocktail ideas, and recommendations on where to buy them. I'll also share recipes, travel experiences, and the stories behind some of Italy's most fascinating spirits.
Whether it's the alpine herbs of Braulio, the Sicilian citrus of Amara, a dependable bottle of Averna, or a small producer you've probably never heard of, every amaro has a story worth telling.
I hope you'll enjoy discovering them as much as I have. Salute!
Every amaro has a story worth telling.
