Bitter Is Better

I vividly remember my first taste of bitters, a swig from a classmate's Campari and soda, which amidst our frat-party Natty Lights stuck out like John Kerry at a biker bar. I sputtered, "That's the nastiest thing I've ever tasted!" Despite its beguiling pomegranate-seed-red color, it was so aggressively astringent that I felt like I'd been knuckle-rapped in the temples. I thought, Who could like this horrible stuff? Well, maybe you. Did you start out swilling lawnmower beers but graduate to craft microbrews? Have you forsaken vanilla-scented Napa chardonnays for crisper, unoaked French ones? Do sweet-flavored vodka cocktails strike you as kids' stuff? If so, bitters could be a welcome new friend.

Skilled bartenders aim for balance in cocktails, a harmony between sweet, sour, bitter, and savory flavors. A bad Margarita clobbers its base spirit with sugar; a great one finely calibrates tart lime juice, sweet orange liqueur, and the earthy agave of tequila. Bitters are a valuable balancing tool in the craft bartender's bag, whether they're of the Angostura school, usually administered in dashes, or the Campari camp, traditionally poured freely as a digestif. Their complexity derives from secret admixtures of myriad botanicals: roots, barks, fruit rinds, herbs, etc. Bitters can star in a cocktail or play a supporting role, adding an ineffable intricacy to otherwise ho-hum drinks. (Indeed, the very word "cocktail" originally implied the presence of bitters.)

Cynar (pronounced chee-NAHR) is one of dozens of amari (Italian for "bitters") produced and beloved throughout Italy. Flavored principally by artichoke, it's lighter and more approachable than Campari, and far gentler than that black beast of bitters, Fernet-Branca. Taken neat, on the rocks, or mixed with orange juice, it's a great aperitif. That's how it's drunk in the old country, and at Caffè dello Sport (308 Hanover Street, Boston, 617.523.5063), the kind of ancient North End caffè where you'll find silver-haired gentlemen chatting in Italian over espresso and cards. A Cynar and soda ($6) is a classic way to sample this amaro's coppery, herbal bitterness and faint sweetness while passing an idle hour watching Italian soccer on TV or the parade of tourists outside.

Cynar is also prized as a cocktail ingredient for its ability to add subtle intrigue to other spirits without overwhelming them. It should surprise no one that the bartenders at Drink (348 Congress Street, South Boston, 617.695.1806) have strong ideas about what to do with it. One fantastic original creation here is the Little Carl ($10), made with Cynar, Sutton Cellars Brown Label vermouth (a unique, amber-hued aromatized wine from Sonoma), fresh lemon juice, and dashes of house-made orange bitters. Floating a hand-carved two-inch sphere of ice garnished with salt, it's an enigmatic wonder that slowly unveils new dimensions a taste at a time.

Less heralded and less hectic is the underrated bar at Central Square's Rendezvous (502 Mass Ave, Cambridge, 617.576.1900), where bar manager Scott Holliday quietly serves outstanding craft cocktails alongside the restaurant's superb New American cuisine. One of his unnamed originals ($10) combines American straight rye whiskey, Cynar, fresh lemon juice, and Peychaud's bitters, all strained into a cocktail glass and spritzed with fresh lemon oil. If you're a bored fan of the Manhattan, this variant will fascinate your jaded palate. It's another fine example of what bitters like Cynar bring to the cocktail table. In our dewy-eyed youth, life is simple and sweet, and so are our drinks. A few years on, when the world has been revealed as more complicated than a vodka and soda, a bittersweet, Cynar-accented cocktail may be just the thing to have in front of you.