A Small Glass Before the Curtain: Rethinking the Pre-Dinner Drink
Photo: aperitivo spritz glasses on bar counter restaurant evening warm lighting, via www.nme.com
There is a particular kind of magic in the first drink of the evening. Not the second, and certainly not the third. The first. It arrives before the menu has been folded away, before the bread has been torn, before anyone has asked what everybody else is having. It is a small glass with a large job: to mark the border between the day and the night.
At Othello, we have come to think of this as the aperitivo hour. Not a happy hour with a stopwatch attached, and not a pit stop before the real business of dinner begins. More a deliberate pause. A moment when the table is not quite ready, but you are.
The five-minute problem
Most of us are guilty of rushing the first drink. You arrive at the restaurant still mentally in the office, or on the bus, or halfway through a group chat about who is running late. You order something cold and fizzy because it is easy. You drink it standing up, or while scrolling through emails, and then you sit down and wonder why the evening feels as though it started without you.
The aperitivo hour is the antidote to that. It asks you to treat the first sip as part of the performance, not an interval before it. In practical terms, that might mean arriving ten minutes early, leaving your phone in your bag, and letting the bar do what bars are good at: making you feel as though the night has begun properly.
It also helps that the drinks themselves are designed for this moment. The best aperitivi are low in alcohol, bitter enough to wake up the appetite, and refreshing enough to make you want to eat. They are not meant to knock you sideways. They are meant to sharpen the edges of the evening.
Venice, bitters and the art of the pause
The ritual has a long history in Venice, where the evening stroll and the small glass are practically a civic duty. The city's bacari have been serving spritzes, ombre and small plates for centuries, and the idea is simple: a little bitterness, a little sparkle, a little something to eat, and a good look at the world going by.
That Venetian habit has travelled well. In a modern UK dining room, it translates into a pre-dinner drink that is more about atmosphere than alcohol. A spritz made with a proper bitter aperitivo. A glass of fino sherry, bone-dry and faintly saline. A vermouth over ice with a strip of orange peel. Or, if you want to keep things bubbling, a crémant or an English sparkling wine that tastes of green apples and fresh bread.
The key is not to overcomplicate it. The aperitivo hour is not a cocktail competition. It is a mood. You want something that makes you sit up a little straighter, take a breath, and start looking forward to the meal ahead.
What to order when you are not in a hurry
text If you are new to the ritual, start with bitterness. A classic Americano, made with Campari, sweet vermouth and soda, is a fine place to begin. It is low in alcohol, long and refreshing, and it has just enough bite to make you realise you are hungry. A spritz is equally good, though it pays to ask for a decent prosecco and a bitter that has some character rather than a vague orange sweetness.
Sherry is another quiet hero. A dry fino or manzanilla is superb before dinner: cold, savoury, and strangely moreish. It goes beautifully with olives, almonds, or a few slices of cured ham. If you prefer wine, choose something with freshness rather than weight. A sparkling wine from England, a Loire Valley sauvignon, or a light-bodied red served cool will all do the job without crowding the meal ahead.
And if you are not drinking alcohol? The aperitivo hour should still belong to you. A good bitter lemon, a homemade shrub, or a zero-alcohol spritz can hit the same notes of bitterness and sparkle. The point is the pause, not the proof.
The table is ready when you are
There is a reason we like to serve the first drink before guests are seated. It gives the evening a gentle opening. You are not immediately confronted with a menu and a decision. You have a glass in your hand, a little something to nibble, and a few minutes to settle into the room.
It also changes the way the meal unfolds. When the first drink is unhurried, the rest of the evening tends to follow suit. You notice the bread. You talk about the wine. You order the pudding. You stay for coffee. The night stops feeling like a transaction and starts feeling like an occasion.
That is not a small thing. In a week full of rushing, a proper aperitivo is a small act of defiance. It says: this evening matters enough to begin it properly.
A ritual worth protecting
So next time you book a table, consider arriving a little early. Take the seat at the bar. Ask for something bitter and cold. Let the first sip do its work. The aperitivo hour is not a delay before dinner. It is the overture. And at Othello, we are rather fond of a good opening.
