It was a sticky night in the Berkshires when I found myself at Ombra, a tapas-inspired restaurant in Lenox. I had just come from an oppressively hot summer party at the Norman Rockwell Museum, and instead of ordering the usual crisp rosé or predictable Aperol spritz, I noticed multiple patrons around me drinking something different: an amber liquid, over ice, garnished with orange slices and, to my confusion, an olive.
Color me ignorant, but I had never thought of vermouth as something to be enjoyed on its own. It was the thing you barely—and I mean barely—added to a martini, or the thing you left to collect dust on your bar shelf for years on end. But my partner, recalling some vermouth he sampled in Barcelona, insisted we order a round. I followed suit. That first sip of chilled vermouth was herbal, barely sweet, enjoyably bitter, and instantly refreshing. I chalked it up to the restaurant’s Spanish-leaning influences, and didn’t think of vermouth again for a few weeks.
Then, a month later when I found myself in Montréal for a wedding, I went for dinner at Restaurant Beba, an old friend’s establishment that I always try to visit when I’m in town. On the drinks list: vermouth and olives. Now, my attention piqued, I started noticing vermouth on menus everywhere—not merely as a microdosed addition to a martini, nor as the thing we found in our grandparents’ liquor cabinets, but as the star of its own show. According to Pablo Schor, who runs the bar at Beba, the addition was about a nostalgic nod to family roots, not chasing trends. He recalled how his Argentine relatives would drink “vermouth batido” shaken with citrus and poured over ice at Sunday gatherings. “Guests light up when they see vermouth and olives on our menu,” he says. “It taps into nostalgia and also feels fresh.”
Fresh being the operative word. Vermouth, once semi-forgotten and relegated to supporting roles, is suddenly the star. At the newly opened Dom’s Taverna in Santa Barbara, California, house vermouth made in Barcelona exclusively for the restaurant is poured over ice and served with pintxos. At Bar Siesta in Los Angeles, owner Heather Sperling introduces diners to vermouth flights with snacks like croquetas or cherry-vermouth sorbet. “It’s so delicious and approachable that I think if someone tries it once, they can easily become a convert,” she says.
And though it feels suddenly trendy, vermouth is anything but new. It’s an aromatized wine made by macerating or distilling botanicals in a neutral white wine base, which is then fortified with additional distilled spirits, and sometimes sweetened with a hint of sugar. The specific, often proprietary combination of botanicals and fortification determines the vermouth’s style—which can range from extra-dry to sweet. Think of it as the gin of wines, aromatized with botanicals to capture its creator’s vision as well as its inherent terroir.
Italian house Martini has been making the stuff for more than 160 years, and has long linked the drink with glamour—the brand has counted actors Timothée Chalamet and Jonathan Bailey amongst its recent campaigns. Meanwhile, smaller producers are leaning into heritage and craft. Near Venice, Poli’s namesake family has revived a 1930s recipe, producing a Bianco with elderflower and galangal and a Rosso with Merlot, rhubarb, and vanilla. Smaller producers are popping up everywhere, too, whether it’s Klocke Estate in Hudson, New York, Uncouth Vermouth in the Finger Lakes, or Lo-Fi Aperitifs out of Napa.
Their timing couldn’t be better. The global vermouth market, valued at $7.1 billion in 2023, is on track to exceed $9.6 billion within the decade. Aperitifs are surging in popularity, too. According to the Bacardi Cocktail Trends Report 2025, “spritz” is ranked among the top three bar orders for 2025. In Spain, “La Hora del Vermut” is a cultural ritual that invites slowing down, socializing, and having a small bite before lunch. While daytime drinking hasn’t gone quite as mainstream in America, the growth of a lower-ABV drink like vermouth feels aligned with larger cultural conversations around wellness, decreased indulgence, and mindful drinking. Vermouth fits that profile perfectly.
Maybe that’s why the drink has gained traction across both institutional and emerging restaurants from the Berkshires to Montréal, California, and New York City. Eleven Madison Park now serves a house-made (zero-proof) vermouth as part of its tasting menu, changing with the seasons—apricot in summer, citrus in winter. The new Park Rose at the Hotel Park Ave NYC will feature a vermouth bar cart service that makes the rounds tableside, offering flights and spritzes. And when Ziggy’s Roman Café opens in Dumbo this fall—from Igor Hadzismajlovic, cofounder of iconic cocktail bar Employees Only, alongside his wife Helen Zhang—vermouth will not only feature prominently on the menu, but also be incorporated into its espresso martini.
“Our beverage program at Ziggy’s will embrace aperitif culture, and we’ll be offering a range of Italian and Spanish vermouths for these types of casual pours,” said Zhang. “But adding it to our espresso martini makes the drink more rounded and sippable, while adding additional, more complex layers of flavor.”
Vermouth slots neatly into the current cultural moment: one where the zero-proof mocktail trend has started to responsibly swing the other direction, towards lower-proof, intentional beverages with personality. It’s accessible, too, with most bottles under $30, which makes it approachable to experiment with at home. Serve it on the rocks with an orange wedge and an olive, or splash it into an espresso martini for added depth. In no time, that old bottle of vermouth collecting dust on your bar cart will be front and center—back where it belongs.
