It was mysteriously dark and inviting. I watched as the last tremors of ripples eased to a glassy calm on the surface of the cobalt-colored liquid. I’d requested a local digestivo from the attentive waiter, something unique to the beautiful island of Sardinia. He smiled – Torno subito! A delicate glass filled with mirto was ceremoniously placed before me with assurances I would love this special herbal concoction. I did.
Amalfi has its limoncello, Lombardy has its amaretto, Emilia Romagna has its nocino, and certainly every region on the peninsula stakes a claim to having the best grappa. It would seem, however, that Sardinia is content to allow mirto to be not as known as its continental cousins, a bit of a mystery like so many of the island’s ancient secrets.
Derived from myrtle, an indigenous Mediterranean evergreen bush, the glossy dark berries have long been a revered part of Sardinia’s culture. The backstory is longer, however. Known evidence dates to the antiquity of Egyptian culture where it was considered good luck and used for décor during holidays. Ancient Middle Eastern cultures mention medicinal and symbolic use of myrtle, while ancient Roman soldiers adorned their heads with crowns of myrtle for vigor and protection. Mythology has its claim on myrtle, as well: Venus, we are told, enhanced her beauty and desirability with crowns of myrtle, while the plant’s leafy branches saved her from the wanton ways of a satyr. Greek and Roman cultures also employed myrtle for its medicinal and cosmetic uses, as well as utilizing ink and dye made from its leaves and berries.
Myrtle’s Mediterranean roots run deep and its imprint on cultures and importance are notable and remain so today.
No one knows exactly when the first myrtle berries found their way to Sardinian soil, and it doesn’t really matter. What is known is how perfect the climate is for the proliferation of this low-growing, aromatic bush. Found profusely across the island, myrtle berries are fully ripe by late fall into early winter. Delicate and of a beautifully glossy blue, they must be harvested by experienced hands; Like olive harvesting, a large comb-like device is run through the branches, detaching the berries as they fall into collection sheets placed beneath the bushes. The uses for the valued fruit (and other parts of the bush) are many – cooking, sweets, oils and extracts, cosmetics – but we’ll focus on the drinkable option for now.
Once harvested, the process of coaxing the berries into new life as a fragrant liquid begins. As it is with so much of Italian cuisine, simplicity and freshness are the two main ingredients that lead to a great product. The newly harvested berries are washed, then introduced into vats of ethyl alcohol to mingle for 40 to 60 days. Shortly before separating the berries from the infused liquid, maceration occurs to extract every bit of remaining organoleptic property. This mash is strained, and the resultant rocket fuel-like liquid — called prodotto di massa — is married to a simple syrup of water and sugar or honey, then set away to age. Unlike other infusion-based Italian liqueurs, the process of making mirto is controlled by the Associazione Produttori Liquore Mirto di Sardegna Tradizionale – Antica Liquoreria, so no arguing over timing or ratios is allowed, at least for commercial products. The aging process, however, is variable with some producers granting up to a year of rest before putting a bottle on the shelf. An alcohol content of 32% to 34% is the goal before the inky blue-black delight finds its way into the hands (and mouths) of appreciative admirers.
Sardinian mirto isn’t only for aiding after-dinner digestion, however. Fast becoming a major player in the cocktail culture, it is also favored as a base due to its aromatic, herby, bittersweet properties – not unlike a vermouth. Home cooks to chefs put myrtle berries and leaves to excellent use as a flavoring for meat, while the digestive itself is a staple in desserts such as gueffus, a Sardinian pastry of sugar and almonds flavored with mirto.
Like any plant and its fruit, slight variations exist due to changes in the elements such as rain or lack thereof, soil content, etc. It was a delightful experience to sample mirto throughout the island, noting differences in color, aroma, and strength. Many trattorias made their own, proudly presenting it as the owner would pause to gauge the response. Once home in Texas, I was eager to bring this experience under my own roof. Sadly, when quizzing clerks for availability, the common reply was “What? What exactly is that?”
But then again, it might not be such a bad thing that this Sardinian symbol doesn’t go too mainstream. Like Venus, a bit of goddess-like mystery is actually part of the appeal. Cin cin to Sardinian mirto.
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