If you spend enough time around Campari, the iconic Amaro that everyone I talk to knows, you eventually realize something important: the Negroni isn’t the destination—it’s a “gateway drug.”

A recent article in Esquire, “The 14 Best Campari Cocktails, According to Experts,” by Brad Japhe (published January 23, 2026), reminded me just how elastic Campari can be when it’s allowed to roam beyond its most famous forms. It’s a smart, well-reported piece, and it sent me back to a familiar question I often ask myself at the bar. For the recipes get the article here Esquire -14 Best Campari Cocktails

Which of these would I actually drink—and why? I cover eight, the article 14!

So rather than revisiting the classic Negroni, the Boulevardier, or the Sbagliato (well-trodden ground here), I pulled out the Campari cocktails from Japhe’s list that genuinely expand the conversation—each for a different reason.

Old Pal

Why I reach for this: First I just love the name, This is Campari stripped of softness. Dry vermouth instead of sweet, rye instead of bourbon, lemon instead of orange. It’s lean, bracing, and unapologetic. I reach for an Old Pal when I want bitterness to be the point, not the garnish. It’s aperitivo with a straight spine—less charm, more clarity—and I like that about it.

I often play with red, dry and sweet white vermouth, generally have at least 8 varieties in my fridge. Which by the way, a reminder, always keep your vermouth chilled. It’s wine based so will spoil.

La Esquina Roja

Why I’d happily order this: This isn’t something I’d be likely to build at home, but I’d absolutely say yes to it across a bar. Campari plays a supporting role here, brightened by raspberry, lime, and bubbles. It’s festive without being frivolous, fruit-forward without losing its edge. This is Campari in a social mood—loud room, late hour, good company.

The Jungle Bird

Why this works better than it should. On paper, Campari and pineapple still feel like an argument waiting to happen. In the glass, the Jungle Bird proves otherwise. I don’t crave this drink, and I don’t often seek it out—but every time I have one, I’m reminded how well bitterness can anchor sweetness when the structure is sound. Respect where respect is due.

San Remo Cocktail

Why this surprised me. This one can sneaks up on you. Between sweet vermouth, bourbon, citrus, and St-Germain, the ingredient list feels busy, almost indulgent. And yet Campari keeps everything in check, providing a bitter backbone that prevents the drink from drifting into cocktail-dinner territory. It’s likely to be refreshing, balanced, and quietly stronger than it lets on. A pleasant surprise.

Bitter French

Why this earns its place. Born from a historical “mistake,” the Bitter French embraces both gin and sparkling wine—and in doing so, corrects the record rather than apologizing for it. Campari ties the whole thing together, keeping the drink bright but grounded. This is one of those cocktails that understands its own lineage, and improves on it thoughtfully. Canon-worthy.

Anything French I do love!

Milanese Gin & Tonic

Why I’d actually make this, This is the one I pour. Campari, tonic, and a proper London dry gin make immediate sense together—quinine meeting quinine-adjacent bitterness, citrus framing everything neatly. It’s simple, repeatable, and dangerously easy to turn into a habit. No ceremony. No overthinking. Just a very civilized way to drink Campari on a regular basis.

I do love a great g&T and this one takes that to the next level.

8 Amaro Sazerac

Why I admire this more than I crave it, This is less a cocktail than a declaration. Campari sits among a full parliament of amari—Averna, Fernet, Cynar, Aperol, and more—each contributing its voice. I admire the ambition, the balance, the sheer bitter conviction of it all. Do I make this at home? Probably not. Do I respect it immensely? Absolutely.

Café Negroni

Why this isn’t really for me Coffee and Campari make intellectual sense. I understand the appeal. I even enjoy a sip. But when I want coffee, I want coffee. When I want Campari, I want Campari. This one lives in the overlap—and while I’m glad it exists, it’s not where my own instincts lead me. And that’s okay. And my coffee is from 7:00 to 10:00 AM, Campari 7:00 to10:00 PM

Final Sip

What Japhe’s article gets exactly right—and why it works as inspiration rather than instruction—is the reminder that Campari isn’t a one-drink ingredient. It’s a language.

The Negroni teaches you the grammar.
Everything else is vocabulary.

Some of these I make.
Some I order.
Some I simply admire from a respectful distance.

And that, to me, is the real pleasure of Campari: not mastery, but relationship.

With thanks to Brad Japhe and Esquire for the spark.