Mixology as a Cultural Act – Part 1
• Stories • No comments
In conversation with Fulvio Piccinino
In today’s mixology scene, complexity is often mistaken for technicality, and creativity reduced to a matter of algorithms. But there are those who continue to look to the history of drinking for a more human approach – for direction, for meaning. Fulvio Piccinino – bartender, author, educator, and cultural ambassador – is one of those voices.
Born in 1967, Piccinino began his career in education before turning his focus to the historical and cultural study of Italian drinking traditions. He has authored seven books on vermouth, grappa, gin, bitters, and amari; founded the platform Saperebere.com; worked with leading spirits brands; and teaches courses officially recognized by the Piedmont Region. Through his work, he invites us to see the glass as a cultural instrument – a space for storytelling, identity, and thought.
We spoke with him about grappa, polibibite, but also about method, education, and the future of the craft.
Where does your fascination with Futurist mixology come from? What first drew you to those wildly unconventional recipes?
It goes back quite a long way. In 1986, the Venice Biennale hosted an exhibition called Futurismo e Futurismi. In Turin, along the main road that ran through my neighborhood, there was a billboard featuring Dynamism of a Dog on a Leash. I was captivated – especially because at the time, Futurism was barely touched on in school. The movement’s association with Fascism had led to a sort of censorship, both in textbooks and among teachers.
Maybe it was the allure of the forbidden, or maybe the anarchic spirit of its founders – who, in 1909, were anything but Fascists – that sparked my curiosity. I was 19, and I went to Venice alone. What I discovered was an extraordinary world of color and radical creativity. On my way out, I bought the exhibition catalogue – still in my library today, worn from overuse – along with The Futurist Cookbook by Marinetti and Fillìa.
At the time, even though I was studying to be a primary school teacher, I loved cooking and mixing drinks for house parties. I discovered this world of improbable combinations that, once tested, often turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. Life eventually led me to work as a sales manager for a major beer multinational. The book was shelved – metaphorically and literally.
But when I later opened my own bar in Bergamo, I remembered Futurist mixology and dug it back out. I brought back drinks like Giostra d’Alcol, Avanvera, Rosa Bianca, and paired them with the famous Dolce Forte and Traidue tramezzini. The project evolved when I moved to London, where, one Valentine’s Day, I served the Rigeneratore to amused reactions all around. When I returned to Turin in 2005, I launched Aperitivo in Technicolor: reinterpreting Futurist ideas through polibibite, food, and music, with a rotating color theme every month.
In your book, you describe the bartender – or “mixer” – as a creative and cultural figure. In your view, is something missing from that role today in Italy?
Everything moves in cycles. My book came out in 2017, and it was the culmination of all the knowledge I’d been sharing in the bar world since 2005 – especially after 2009, when the centenary of Futurism’s founding sparked themed events that evolved into full-blown masterclasses around Italy.
Ten years ago, most bartenders were studying, attending classes and masterclasses. We talked about classic mixology. Everyone knew who Jerry Thomas and Henry Johnson were. In Italy, there was a rediscovery of local products and territory – a conscious choice that echoed, in a way, the self-sufficiency the Futurists were forced to adopt under the regime.
Today that world is in deep crisis – or rather, it has all but disappeared. Technical creativity has taken its place: go into a bar now and you’ll hear about absolute acids, cocktail decolorization, and minimalist drinks stripped of garnish, often transparent. Bartenders are reading books on rotovaps and ultrasonic cavitators, learning exactly how many seconds it takes for a cocktail to dilute, and what density their ice should have.
There’s a kind of homogenization happening. In the ’90s, cocktails were all blue or green thanks to the success (and marketing budgets) of two particular liqueurs, and the bar world played with flair – inspired by movies like Cocktail or Coyote Ugly. Then came a return to the classics: serious books on cocktails and spirits, deep dives into raw materials and production techniques, regulation studies, and even memorizing sugarcane biotypes for rum or naming a dozen agave varieties for mezcal.
But everything changes. And rightly so. Everything flows.
You’ve helped train new generations of bartenders. In your view, what does it really take to work behind the bar today?
And I’m still doing it. I run three certified courses each year for the Region, covering product knowledge, the history of mixology, basic mixing, and a few advanced techniques. These are post-diploma courses, so most participants come from hospitality and tourism schools.
What I notice is that having information so easily available has flattened people’s curiosity. When I ask, “Have you ever visited a distillery? Or been to a famous historic bar?” the answer is often: “Never.” For me, the essential qualities for working behind the bar are curiosity and the ability to reinterpret what you learn – otherwise, in a few years, we’ll be left with nothing but taps pouring ready-made cocktails.
How important is it for a mixologist to know the history of drinking?
Well, I’ve written seven historical books – on vermouth, gin, amari, bitters, grappa, brandy, Saperebere, and Futurist Mixology, not to mention a detour into beekeeping – so of course, I think it’s fundamental! It’s essential both for engaging with customers (if they’re curious about what they’re drinking) and for building a deeper awareness of your craft.
