Recently at Cafe Mado in Prospect Heights, before a dinner of fries and a Caesar salad that was one-third dressing and one-third cheese, I drank an aperitif that I can’t stop thinking about. It was straw-toned and slightly hazy, and a sip revealed a drink that was as vibrantly citrusy as it was mellow and earthy. The medium-bodied liquid, prickled with a light frizzante, and emitted a dried floral fragrance upon swirling its thin-stemmed wineglass. I had the same thought as my dining partner, who tried my drink and said, “I thought it was wine.”
