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I remember the night I first stepped into L’Antiquario. Who would have thought?
Tucked away in Chiaia, it was nestled in what was once an antique shop. The sensation of entering a time capsule hit you the moment you caught sight of the old Martini bottles displayed in the window. Pushing through the wooden door, I was drawn into an era when crafting cocktails was an art form. It’s no wonder L’Antiquario was named among the World’s 50 Best Bars in 2022.
I arrived on a late Saturday afternoon and bided my time across the street, awaiting their opening. Young men in jeans and t-shirts were shuttling buckets of ice through a side entrance – the very same individuals who, minutes later, would don crisp white uniforms, reminiscent of those worn by doctors. These uniforms said more than anything else in that snug bar: they signaled to patrons that a team of professionals was ready to provide exceptional care.
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I took my place at the bar, of course. The preparations were still underway: lemons being sliced, oranges peeled, strawberries chopped. The lighting here was a tad brighter than in the rest of the establishment, showcasing the extensive array of bottles that lined the shelves behind it. Two bartenders, surrounded by their trade tools – shakers, strainers, and an assortment of garnishes – were getting ready for the night. The bar’s countertop gleamed under the soft illumination of unique pink-hued lamps suspended above.
The space around me radiated an aura of intimate elegance. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, a palette of deep reds and browns enveloping the room. A plush red velvet bench hugged the wall near the entrance, inviting guests to its embrace. The walls boasted vintage-style wallpaper and framed pictures, infusing the space with character and whispers of history. In one corner sat a grand piano, hinting at nights brimming with melody and camaraderie
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I was there to meet the mastermind, Alex Frezza. You know how it goes: a friend of a friend has a way in, and soon you’re shaking hands with the creator himself. I anticipated a night of shared stories and insider winks – a connection spun not just from shared British heritage but from a mutual obsession with details and a deep-seated love for everything Neapolitan. But Alex, the orchestrator of this symphony of senses, was a shadow that evening, having entrusted L’Antiquario to his staff’s more than capable hands.
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Left to the company of strangers soon turned confidants, I surrendered to the experience. With each cocktail served – a gesture of hospitality and a testament to the craft – the absence of Frezza mattered less and less. The drinks were narratives in themselves, tales distilled into glasses, eloquent with flavors and textures that spoke of places I’d never seen but remembered and times long passed. A citrus twist here echoed a summer’s day on the island of Capri; a bittersweet blend there whispered of old, smoke-filled jazz clubs; the bubbles of a French 75 burst like my bohemian days in Paris as an aspiring writer.
As the night unfolded, each sip became a conversation. The bar’s intimate confines turned into stages where each cocktail was protagonist and we, the patrons, eager audience to a performance repeated yet always unique. In the end, the Antiquario didn’t just serve drinks; it served memories, mixed with a flair that only true aficionados of the craft could conjure. And when I finally stepped out into the cool night air, the taste lingering on my palate was not just one of spirits and spices, but of a story waiting to be told. That’s really all I have to say, and truly, it’s more than enough.
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