Every culture has its methods for taming the cranky beast within. The French have Chartreuse,all through Central Europe, the stunning purity of eaux de vie, in Germany, herbal schnapps like Underberg.Yet no country can match Italy for the sheer variety of digestive preparations available, The Italians view a smoothly running digestive system as crucial to one?s health and happiness, and therefore offer dozens of countermeasures for keeping distress in check.

These digestives, or digestivos, are known collectively as amari. The word refers to the bitterness, derived from quinine, that unifies this disparate group of liqueurs.Among the amari are various stylistic subsets. Some are made with artichokes, like the well-known Cynar. Others incorporate black truffles, or the husks of green walnuts. Perhaps the best known are the fernets, which refers not just to the famous Fernet-Branca but to an entire run of bracingly bitter amari.

Bloated? Overstuffed? More than a little uncomfortable?

The ancients anticipated these woeful moments of distress. Wise to the sensitive ways of the digestive system, they brewed tonics and elixirs intended to remedy such afflictions of excess. These homemade restoratives, generally herbs, plants and other botanicals blended into an alcohol base, live on commercially today in the form of digestives.

By digestives, I do not mean the general run of after-dinner drinks: the brandies, grappas and other distilled products that are meant as a pleasantly intoxicating extension of the meal. Nor do I refer to dubious customs like the trou Gascon, a shot of raw young Armagnac, taken at a midway point in a huge meal, that is said to blaze a hole in the stomach, creating room for more food.

Digestives were historically intended as palliatives, meant to counter all sorts of ailments and physical imbalances. They may no longer be assigned quite the same medicinal value today as they were a few hundred years ago, but count me among the many who believe they can help to settle that queasy feeling. 

Every culture has its methods for taming the cranky beast within. The French have Chartreuse, the infused herbal liqueur that, in its elixir form, is said to have curative powers. All through central Europe, the stunning purity of eaux de vie can wake up the senses from their postprandial torpor. In Germany, herbal schnapps like Underberg are intended to calm the stomach. You can even find Underberg sold in American drugstores, in three-packs of one-shot bottles, despite its alcohol level of 44 percent.

Yet no country can match Italy for the sheer variety of digestive preparations available, for good reason. The Italians view a smoothly running digestive system as crucial to one?s health and happiness, and therefore offer dozens of countermeasures for keeping distress in check.

These digestives, or digestivos, are known collectively as amari. The word refers to the bitterness, derived from quinine, that unifies this disparate group of liqueurs. Hundreds of amari are produced in Italy. Each has a proprietary formula that generally includes various herbs, roots, flowers and spices, which are macerated in alcohol, sometimes blended with a sweet syrup and tempered in barrels or bottles. 

Among the amari are various stylistic subsets. Some are made with artichokes, like the well-known Cynar. Others incorporate black truffles, or the husks of green walnuts. Perhaps the best known are the fernets, which refers not just to the famous Fernet-Branca but to an entire run of bracingly bitter amari.

Restaurants in Italy may offer a dozen selections of amari after a meal, but in the United States the choices are usually limited to a few well-known brands, like Fernet-Branca and Averno, as well as Campari, now better known as an aperitif, with the addition of soda and lemon peel, or as an essential component of the Negroni cocktail, along with gin and sweet vermouth.

One notable exception is Convivio, the southern Italian restaurant on the East Side of Manhattan, where Levi Dalton, the sommelier, has put together a list of amari that currently stands at two dozen or so bottles. Mr. Dalton encourages curious diners to try a flight of amari, which reveals how strikingly different each example can be.

Nonino, for example, the well-known grappa producer in Friuli-Venezia Giulia, makes Quintessentia, an amaro that wraps the bitterness in a cocoon of sweetness, more a dessert-like addition to a meal than a soothing anodyne. Lorenzo Inga in the Piedmont, on the other hand, produces Mio, a complex herbal potion that spreads warmth through the mouth. Del Capo, from Caffo, a distiller in Calabria, has a menthol flavor that is almost eye-tearing, with a lovely herbal complexity, while S. Maria al Monte from Nicola Vignale in Liguria offers an herbal bitterness that can cut through the last vestiges of any meal.

With some exceptions, I often find that amari can be a little too sweet. Averna, for example, can be almost cloying, not what comes to mind when seeking relief. At those moments I would look to the fernets, which are loudly, proudly bitter. Convivio offers a half-dozen fernets, like a head-clearing version from Girolamo Luxardo of Veneto; the mild, complex Fernet d?Italia from Da Peloni in Lombardy; and the ubiquitous Fernet-Branca, which, with its strong but beautifully balanced minty bitterness, is difficult to surpass. This is not to be confused with Branca Menta, a sweet version of Fernet-Branca with mint flavor added.

Amari can be surprisingly versatile. Mr. Dalton offers them as aperitifs and cocktails, as well. He also has an excellent selection of chinati wines, largely Barolo, that are traditionally infused with quinine, herbs and spices, and sweetened with sugar. Chinati are also considered digestives, although when I first encountered a Barolo chinato in the Langhe, it was given to me for a cold.

With an alcohol content that can range from 20 to 40 percent, amari may seem a potent way to punctuate a long, tiring meal. Rather than that final shove over the edge, I prefer to think of them as a gently invigorating path back from the abyss. 

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/25/dining/25pour.html?_r=1
 
 

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