The first and last time I ever had Campari: I was at a graduate film student party in the East Village, chatting with some friends when a blondie Icelandic man with us caught my eye. He was definitely cute, but what really turned my crank was the glass of red fruity-looking goodness he was consuming.
"Mmmm... what on EARTH is that you're drinking?" I asked. (NOTE: Slurs omitted for reader comprehension.)
"Campari on the rocks," said he, over the lip of his glass.
"Oh? Is it good? It looks real yummy!"
"Yes, I have it all the time-- try it!"
I excitedly ordered my Campari on the rocks. I rubbed my hands together when the bartender placed a frosty ruby glass down on a drink mat. I raised it to my lips and closed my eyes, expecting to taste something like red Jellybabies.
It was like... parsley, but WORSE. To myself I screamed, "DON'T SWALLOW!!!!" but too late. The gag reflex activated; medulla oblongata had to do its thang.
I love drinking, you guys. Nowadays I only relish it in small doses... but Campari is a whole other breed of beverage that ought to go extinct. Times had to be real tough in 1860 for someone to come up with this twisted idea and to sell it to the masses. I wonder if it's the same dude who thought monkfish were fit for eating. Fancy that!