The Negroni

Every man has his own idea of what a Negroni should be.
Some prefer it sharp and lean, others rich and brooding. Like a man’s taste in women, there’s no right answer, just what stirs something in you.

For me, it’s this:

Monkey 47. Aromatic. Complicated in all the right ways.
Antica Formula. Sweet, dark, laced with old-world charm.
Campari. Bitter, bold, and entirely non-negotiable.

Equal parts. Stirred over ice. Poured in a razor thin glass. One slice of orange. Served over a single cube that melts just slow enough to make the moment last.

Image captured on Olympus OM-4 using Kodak Gold 200 film. Negroni enjoyed at Belmond Splendido Mare, Portofino.

It’s the kind of drink that lingers on your tongue, in your mood, in the corner of a late-night conversation. It asks for nothing but presence. You don’t scroll while sipping this. You sit. You taste. You remember where you are.

There are many ways to build a Negroni.
This one just happens to be mine.

It might sound strange to certain people. Being this specific about a drink. But the truth is, the details matter. They always have. How something feels in the hand, the way it catches light, the rhythm it creates when it touches the table. The right kind of gin. The ice sets the pace. Melting just slow enough to remind you this isn’t meant to be rushed. These things don’t happen by accident.

And when enough of those choices stack up, they stop being just details. They become a point of view. A way of being. A reflection of what you value, and what you’ll never compromise on.

You can tell a lot about a man by how he orders a drink. Whether he knows what he wants. Whether he asks for it with certainty. Whether he notices the garnish, or cares how it’s stirred. A drink, like a watch or a car or a word not wasted, says something.

That’s what Candori is, too. Not loud. Not for everyone. But intentional in every cut, every curve, every choice. A bracelet, yes. But more than that, a quiet signal. Of taste. Of belonging. Of the belief that luxury isn’t about showing off. It’s about showing up, as yourself.

Because when you know what you stand for, the rest becomes simple.
Equal parts. Stirred over ice. Poured in a razor thin glass. One slice of orange. Served over a single cube that melts just slow enough to make the moment last.