Let’s be real, no sugar-coating: the Italian aperitivo has become a parody of itself. We’ve swung from one extreme to the other, falling out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. First, there was the era of the "wild buffet" that post-war-style feeding frenzy where you’d dive into trays of rubbery cold pasta just to call it dinner for ten euros. It was a messy pile-up of carbs and elbows, sloppy and devoid of dignity.
But if we thought we’d evolved, we were dead wrong. Instead, we’ve landed in the "Gourmet Famine."
You sit in a place that looks like a film set, order a 20-euro drink, and they serve you a canapé so small you could inhale it through your nose. A tiny square of bread, a drop of chemical foam, and a lonely edible flower on top. It’s the aesthetics of nothingness. They’ve convinced us that paying for hot air is "exclusive," when the truth is we’re all just tired of spending a fortune only to leave hungry and broke.
THE COUNTER-AS-ALTAR BLUFF
This isn’t a crusade against bartenders. There are kids behind the wood working their asses off, studying chemistry and botany to make sure you drink well. The problem is the system: a model that has transformed the bar counter into an altar where the customer is a barely tolerated guest, and where technique has strangled the soul out of the experience.
We’ve traded genuine conviviality for an Instagram post. But people are fed up. We’re looking for that middle ground that seems to have vanished: a place where the food has as much dignity as the drink, where you don’t have to brawl at a buffet but you also don't feel like a chump because the "appetiser" vanished in a single micro-bite.
ALESSANDRO MELIS: THE KNIGHT OF COMMON SENSE
In the middle of this desert of fluff stands Alessandro Melis. A man who’s been behind the bar for thirty years and doesn't need to play the rockstar to earn respect. His elegance is a middle finger to modern sloppiness: he dresses well because he respects you, period. It’s not a uniform; it’s a message: "I am here for you."
Melis is an Oste an Innkeeper a word that almost sounds like an insult to today’s mixology purists, yet it’s the highest title there is. He isn’t selling you a concept; he’s selling you a moment. His aperitivo breaks the cycle of the invisible canapé: cocktails made as God intended and snacks that are "tasty, tempting, and real." Something you can actually chew, something satisfying that accompanies the alcohol rather than staring at it from a distance.
THE PROVOCATION: GIVE US BACK "THE POPULAR"
We’re throwing down a challenge, a real provocation for 2025. What if the true avant-garde was going back to being "popular"?
We don’t mean low-quality; we mean that sense of belonging that is open to everyone. Enough with the temples of silence and sterile perfection. We want to go back to talking, laughing loudly, and getting our hands dirty. We want an aperitivowhere the guest is king, not the garnish in the glass.
Are we certain the future lies in that cold perfection that leaves you empty? Or is the hope found in the warmth of a living room, where you can drown the day’s troubles in honest conversation? Because as long as there’s someone who, after a drink in a posh bar, feels the need to hit a greasy street-van at 2 AM just to feel alive, our question remains: did we really trade our dignity for an edible flower?
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- Alessandro Melis
