The Cocktail That Changed My Mind About Fernet-Branca

My Fernet problem, and yours.

This week’s newsletter is about Fernet — why you should like it, and how to learn if you don’t. But it’s also about good cocktail bartenders and the value they provide. 

When it comes to taste in cocktails, I always try to maintain a sense of openness and neutrality. Not all cocktails are good, and not all bottles of booze are delicious. But drinks and bottles that people like probably contain some sort of good idea. In the end, I might not like something, but I always endeavor to, at the very least, understand why other people do. 

For the longest time, Fernet-Branca was my white whale, my unsolved cocktail mystery, my booze case that stubbornly refused to close. The drink has long had a cult following, especially amongst cocktail aficionados, to the point where shots of Fernet were sometimes referred to as a “bartender’s handshake.” Drinking Fernet meant you were someone of sophisticated taste. You got it, when others didn’t. 

This reputation has persisted for years, to the point where it’s a sort of stock reference point. For example, in Sloane Crosley’s delightful new novel, Cult Classic, the female protagonist suddenly begins to run into all of her dude exes in a certain neighborhood of New York. Inevitably, there’s a Fernet Guy, which I probably don’t even have to explain, but the deal is that he’s reading a book by himself at a bar and drinking Fernet straight and…yeah. That’s really all you need to know about him. Fernet Guy is the guy who drinks Fernet straight and goes to a bar to read a book by himself. 

Well, I didn’t get it. And not for lack of trying either. I tried Fernet-Branca straight. I drank it in cocktails. When I saw Fernet drinks on the menu at well-regarded bars, I ordered them, hoping to become part of the in-the-know. 

And every single time, I came to the same conclusion: Fernet tasted like menthol cigarettes washed down with root beer. And not in a good way. 

I simply could not understand what people enjoyed about this stuff. I felt betrayed and confused. It wasn’t like I didn’t like bitter things. I drink far more coffee than is reasonable. Every other “difficult” amaro tasted pretty delicious to me. Remember: I’m someone who puts Cynar in everything. Surely, if all these experienced boozehounds and cocktail enthusiasts were into Fernet, there must be something I was missing. 

And yet. The one bottle of Fernet I purchased sat two-thirds full on my shelf. Mostly I gave up my search. But from time to time, if I was at a cocktail bar and was particularly impressed with the bartender’s drinks, and things didn’t seem to be too busy, I would explain my dilemma: I don’t understand the appeal of Fernet. What’s a drink that showcases it for someone who is skeptical? 

Most of the time, I got some version of a Toronto — whiskey drink with a hint of Fernet — that still came across as too minty fresh for my taste. (More on the Toronto in a future newsletter.) 

But a few years ago, at a local bar not too far from my house, I explained myself, and the barkeep, who I know to be a well-read cocktail nerd type, served me a drink I’d never heard of, and probably would have passed over had I encountered the recipe because, well, it had Fernet-Branca in it.

It was a strange-looking drink that mixed pineapple juice with the honey-scotch Drambuie, plus lime, bitters, club soda, and a hint of Fernet-Branca. Not only was it delicious, it was delicious because of the presence of Fernet, which lent its outspoken menthol-herbal flavor to a weird and delightful medley. 

And then, almost in an instant, I got it. Like a switch had been flipped. Like I was Keanu Reeves in The Matrix, except instead of suddenly knowing kung-fu, I understood why people liked Fernet. It still tasted like menthol cigarettes washed down with root beer…but in a good way. 

With one well-chosen drink, the barkeep had solved my Fernet problem. 

A single cocktail opened up my understanding of the bottle, and helped me appreciate other Fernet drinks that were previously closed off to me. A bartender knew the right drink to respond to my incredibly odd, bordering on bad-customer request: Essentially I’d asked him to serve me something I’d like with an ingredient I knew full well I didn’t. But he had a cocktail library in his head, not only of his own drinks, but of drinks by other bartenders. And he pulled the right drink off of his mental shelf — a recipe I probably would have ignored had I come across it on my own because, well, I was pretty sure I didn’t like Fernet. 

Point is: Bartenders are good! They know drinks you don’t know. They can aid in experimentation that can help you overcome your aversion to certain flavors and ingredients. 

I obviously can’t guarantee that this drink will transform your appreciation of Fernet-Branca in the same way it did mine. But if you, like me, have an issue with Fernet — and I know both from reading the comments and from the general resistance to Fernet I encounter amongst even seasoned cocktail types — I think it’s the best drink to solve your Fernet problem too. 

The Wide World of Fernet

So, before we get to the drinks, let’s talk a little bit about Fernet. Fernet is common used as shorthand for Fernet-Branca: Most any time you hear someone say “Fernet,” that’s what they are referring to. 

But Fernet is actually an entire category of amaro, a broad range of bitter liqueurs that tend to have a few shared qualities: