Berlin, Friedrichshain, an Italian restaurant: “An Aperol Spritz, please.” I opened the card to point to the number. Aperol number 58. Pause. Underneath it the number 59. “You have Limoncello Spritz?” I asked the waiter. He nodded. And I ordered the limoncello spritz.
But since then, for a week now, I can’t find it anywhere, the Limoncello Spritz. Not in a bar. Not in a restaurant. Not a pub. Nowhere. Everywhere only the Aperol Spritz.
The Aperol Spritz was the drink of the summer for years. He even survived the Corona crisis. They drank it in Munich, Frankfurt or Hamburg. Also to go. But now the Aperol Spritz has undergone the only sensible evolution. It became Limoncello Spritz. That’s what they say.
The “Zeit”, for example, writes that the Limoncello Spritz is the drink of the summer. The “Stern” reports on the new summer drink. It’s all about the taste of fresh lemons and sparkling Prosecco. I get it. I feel it. A week ago I drank it out of curiosity. Today I want to know: Is the Limoncello Spritz really the hyped drink of the summer? Can I find him right away? I go in search of the Limoncello Spritz.
As the name suggests, the Limoncello Spritz is a creation that combines the popular Italian lemon liqueur with Prosecco to create a fruity, sparkling drink. The lemon liqueur (“Limoncello” means “lemon”) is traditionally produced around the Gulf of Naples, on the Sorrento Peninsula, along the Amalfi Coast and on Ischia, Capri and Procida.
“Do you have limoncello spritz?”
I am meeting a friend at the Kottbusser Tor. Complete hustle and bustle all around us: buyers are shopping. deal dealer. beggar begging Italian weather.
“I want to have a limoncello spritz. Today,” I tell him.
He replies, “Why limoncello now?”
“Since I drank limoncello, I just can’t drink anything else.”
At the first bar. We’re sitting outside at a bus stop. The buses stop in front of our tables. The exhaust gases in our lungs. On a bus, a well-known dating site advertises “Find your match today.” I just want to find my limoncello. “Do you have Limoncello Spritz?” I ask the waiter. He says no. But offers Aperol Spritz. I accept and order.
Aperol Spritz is now the most popular cocktail after Gin & Tonic. Like beer, Aperol Spritz has little alcohol, is refreshing and quenches thirst. In addition, the drink is much more visually appealing when served in a beautiful wine glass. The Aperol Spritz is the Cadillac of cocktails. And yet the limoncello should overtake the Aperol Spritz. Especially in Berlin. The city of hype. Everything would be better with a limoncello, but an Aperol will do, too. Here and there. We move on. Looking for the limoncello in Berlin.
Dolce Vita in the German Vita
During the Corona crisis, the Aperol Spritz was an object of longing for travel. To Italy. To Spain. To Portugal. For the long nights on the Italian beaches. The corona restrictions prevented everything. The solution: Aperol Spritz.
The drink promised the Dolce Vita in the German Vita. Suddenly the worst German corner pub became Venice, Milan or Barcelona. The average citizen, he had the southern attitude to life in his hands. But what now? What remains after all the years of Mediterranean longing?
We’re sitting in a queer bar. I think I know that this bar has this one Limoncello Spritz on the menu. I manifest within myself and order. Another rejection. Only aperole. Aperole Spritz. I can’t hear that name anymore. The bartender tells me the cocktail is too sweet for Germany. How can that be? The country that has a chocolate museum in almost every city can’t tolerate sugar in alcohol? Never.
The Limoncello Spritz is the logical consequence of the Aperol Spritz. he is cuter It tastes like real summer love. Aperol Spritz represents feigned wealth. For restrictions. It represents a time when we had to hold back. Limoncello, however, is the drink for optimistic realists. Sweet, drunk quickly, but honest. Another Aperol is on our table. No limoncello spritz.
“Aperol Spritz is drunk too inflationary these days”
I’m starting to lose my nerve. My friend is going home. The search for the Limoncello Spritz also takes him along. “Aperol Spritz is being drunk too inflationary these days,” he notes. And goes. Another friend sent me photos of Limoncello Spritz. From Turkey. I get jealous and imagine myself sipping limoncello spritz on the beach in his place. Reality: In front of me is an Aperol Spritz.
I remember my time with the drink. When we had just met. Before the Corona crisis. I was a student then. 24 years old. I couldn’t stop drinking it. Sweet. So beautiful. On the balcony. At sea. Somewhere in town. On the toilet in a club toilet. Delicious. I even dedicated a Spotify playlist to the drink with a friend. It was called “Aperol Witz”. (Follow her. She is very good). Aperol, that was my aesthetic marvel. A firework. A taste explosion.
It looks so pretty with its orange in the glass. The color reminds me of the perfect sunset. The sun is setting over Berlin. I try to swing from bar to bar. In this urban jungle. Looking for the Limoncello Spritz. I can not find him. He is nowhere to be seen. Berlin doesn’t know him. Maybe I should rename my playlist to “Limoncello Joke”? I swipe through my playlist. Tap Can’t Get You out of My Head. Around one o’clock in the morning. I’m sitting in the subway. Next to me a drunk Russian.
“Do you have five euros left, Bratan?”
Flat cap, beer and lots of missing teeth: A musician from Vladivostok. Fresh out of prison. He was in Germany for two months. He’s a criminal traveler. He lived in Tel Aviv, in Shanghai, in Seoul. And in their prisons. He was thrown out of every country. So far he has only been able to stay in Germany. I get off. he with me He tells me about his wife’s stories, about his girlfriend who is cheating on him in Hamburg, about his job as an auxiliary policeman in St. Petersburg, about his travels. From his YouTube channel about travelling. About his eternal search for the new.
“What are you looking for, Artur?” He comes very close to me. Dangerously close.
“Limoncello Spritz,” I reply.
“Found?”
“No.”
“I was just in a gay bar. There was the stuff.”
“Thanks. Goodbye.”
“Do you have five euros left, Bratan?”
I have and I share. The only thing I don’t have is a limoncello spritz. Only the green on the traffic islands reminds me of the drink I thought should be everywhere. But it wasn’t. Nowhere. The hype apparently does not always determine the offer. Sometimes journalists write up phenomena that don’t really exist. Nevertheless, the appeal: Dear reader, where can I find a good Limoncello Spritz in Berlin? Please write it in the comments.