Amaro: A bittersweet-but-not-too-sweet symphony
There's a moment that happens at dinner, usually around the time the plates are being cleared, when someone at the table asks for something with a little more going on than a glass of water. Something to signal the meal isn't quite over yet. Italians have had a word for that sacred moment for centuries (yes, centuries): amaro.
The word directly translates “bitter” in Italian – but it’s also a type of drink: an herbal liqueur built around roots, bark, citrus peel, flowers, and spice. It’s been a fixture of European drinking culture since at least the Middle Ages, when monks first began infusing alcohol with medicinal botanicals as a kind of digestive cure-all. It's actually one of the oldest drink categories in the world.
But this post-meal ritual belongs to everyone. And it’s having a moment right now. Let’s get into it.
What actually is amaro?
Amaro is less a single drink than a whole universe of them. It covers everything from light, sweet aperitif-style expressions to intensely bitter, pitch-dark digestifs that straight up taste like the forest floor (in the best possible way). What ties them together is their botanical backbone: a blend of herbs, roots, and botanicals — gentian, rhubarb, angelica, wormwood, citrus peel, alpine herbs, and dozens more — steeped, macerated, or distilled, then sweetened just enough to balance the bitterness.
It’s not for everyone, but it’s layered, aromatic, and indeed complex.
Traditionally, it's consumed in two ways: as an aperitivo, a way to open the appetite before a meal, or as a digestivo, a way to settle things after it. Either way, the ritual matters just as much as the drink. Amaro is a signal that you're not in a hurry. The table still has life in it.
Why it's having a moment right now
A few things are converging at once.
The first is the broader shift toward drinking with more intention. As more people cut back on alcohol, there's been a real hunger for complex beverages that aren’t too plain, sweet, childish, or on-the-nose (seltzers, sodas, juice…).
The second is that bitter flavors have finally arrived in the American palate. A generation raised on craft beer, single-origin coffee, and natural wine has been trained to appreciate things that “push back” a little. The same drinker who seeks out an IPA with 70 IBUs is absolutely ready for a proper amaro.
The third is that the aperitivo moment — spritz culture, the golden hour drink, the pre-dinner ritual — has fully crossed the Atlantic. It's no longer a thing you do in Italy and wish you could replicate at home. It's just something people do now.
Put all of that together, and you have a category that's perfectly positioned: rich in heritage, endlessly variable in flavor, and built for exactly the kind of considered, occasion-driven drinking that more and more people are after.
The bittersweet case for going non-alcoholic
Here's what makes the non-alcoholic amaro story particularly interesting: of all the spirits categories to replicate without alcohol, amaro is perhaps the most naturally suited to the challenge.
The reason is simple. In traditional amaro, the alcohol is the carrier, not the star. The star is always the botanicals — the gentian root, the citrus oils, the alpine herbs, the bitter bark. Those flavors come from nature. They don't need alcohol to exist. They need attention, craft, and a real commitment to the botanical blend.
Which means that a non-alcoholic amaro, done well, doesn't have to give anything up.
How to drink it
Amaro, alcoholic or not, is forgiving about occasion and unforgiving about serving temperature. Always chill it. A cold pour over a single large ice cube, with a strip of orange peel to open up the aromatics, is the classic move (and technically the right one).
Before dinner, go lighter and longer — a splash of amaro over ice, topped with sparkling water, is also delightful. After dinner, skip the dilution and pour it neat. A proper nightcap.
