The happy hour trend seems to be in decline. Between cemeteries of crusts and inevitable table-buffet relay races, here's what we will not miss
There was a moment, roughly between the end of the 90s and the dawn of the new millennium, in which in Italy the expression "happy hour”Was more popular than Madonna and Alessandro Del Piero put together. And no, the homonymous song signed by Ligabue – released well after, in summer 2006 – was not the reason for this explosion of fame. The truth is that a disproportionate percentage of Italian bars – starting from the regions of the North West and then ramping up, as they say, from Trieste downwards – had decided to abandon their traditional formula ofappetizer, made of chips, olives and some canapés to accompany, to launch into overflowing buffets set up in a hurry from 18 onwards. The happy hour, in fact, interpreted according to a very peculiar tricolor key: if in fact in the British countries this formula indicates a sort of "happy hour" after work in which to toast with alcohol & co. at reduced prices, in our part it has been interpreted as an opportunity to throw oneself unheardly on stacks of cheap food, engulfing overpriced cocktails, often equally mediocre. A sort of "all you can eat" ante litteram, one could say, otherwise Italianized with the very Milanese – and most hated – term "apericena".
The good news? Two decades later, the happy hour epidemic seems to be finally heading towards a conclusion. Low-cost wedding banquets without any caloric and nutritional logic are gradually being replaced new types of aperitif, more cared for, more sought after, or even simpler. Which certainly are not enough to feed an adult man for the next 72 hours, but which serve exclusively for what they are: an aperitif, in fact. Obviously, before the total eclipse of the phenomenon in question, we will have to wait a little longer, but we – with the glasses in the sky and hope in the heart – have decided to start writing the epitaph in advance: remembering all the 5 happy hour things that we will not miss.
The corner of vegetables
Each buffet of every happy hour in Italy has always been open – and continues to open – like this: with a sort of little corner of sadness in a healty-like key dominated by the usual 5 or 6 vegetables of sorts. Legendary is the jar that holds whole bunches of carrots and celery, shredded and put there, in the hope that someone will want to pinzimonio with a generic (definitely-non-extra virgin) olive oil from the discount store. A little further on, the tray of grilled aubergines, usually followed by that of potatoes and boiled carrots. With plenty of parsley, of course, ready to slip on the sides of the incisors as a script to give us an unforgettable smile.
The assault on pizza
Pizza is still pizza, even when it comes to happy hour. Every self-respecting restaurant knows well that it will have to churn out trays on trays to try to put a brake on the voracity of its customers. And it doesn't matter that the pizza in question is actually just a mass of not properly cooked pasta topped with a generic tomato sauce and an even more generic stringy cheese with complexes like "wannabe mozzarella": within a few minutes on the pan nothing will remain. Except for the usual funeral crust cemetery, which were excluded from the passage of tomato & cheese during the preparation phase and therefore destined to be snubbed until the end.
Super standard desserts
During happy hour, dessert has always been a bit like this, a false addition without art or part of a food offer that is not in itself particularly overflowing with creativity. Yes, because the average Italian aperitif menu usually includes at the end of its gastronomic itinerary: a) a tiramisu paler than a photophobic Siberian; b) a chocolate swivel arriving from the best industrial breakfasts; c) a range of standard tarts with apricot jam flavor and preservatives. "Less is more" comment designers and interior designers when the excess of details undermines the overall harmony of something. A very valid lesson even for a buffet.
The relay table-buffet
The happy hour ritual, as it was conceived by the ancient pagan gods of the binge, tends to sacrifice human relationships in favor of the most ravenous survival instinct. Normally we take possession of the table after waiting for psychological pressure on previous occupants by any means possible. Once seated, there is only one imperative: no one can abandon their chair until ordering. Total silence and fixed head on the menu, so as not to risk being caught unprepared by the arrival of the waitress: the very real danger is that of «Review later, which normally translates into an abundant quarter of an hour of extra waiting. Once you have overcome this obstacle, then you can start the relay table-buffet, probably the most hateful part ever. Someone remains to keep the place, the others throw themselves on slices of pizza and cold pasta. Then the first, patient martyrs, set out to conquer what remains on the trays, but only to find that in the meantime the others have already finished their saucers and are ready for a second expedition. Only after completing the third cycle back and forth are you finally ready to sit all together and indulge in a pinch of conversation. Provided that there is no new group behind you, determined to take over the table by applying psychological pressure.
The microscopic saucer
In the beginning it was the regular plastic plate with an attached fork ready to break on the most beautiful. Then the owners of the restaurants realized the uncontrollable voracity of their customers: and so a little to demotivate the bottomless stomachs, a little to try to contain waste, he arrived, the microscopic saucer. With a diameter of about fifteen centimeters, suitable to contain a total of 5 penne with meat sauce, 22 grams of rice salad, a breadstick and half a frankfurter. Today it is he, in his version compostable (quiet, Greta) the king of our local happy hours. Of course, in the meantime, homo happyhourus has evolved into an architect, and today he manages to build on those 7.5 x 7.5 x 3 and 14 buildings of five or six floors, with foundations of vegetable omelettes and focaccia rooftop with the olives. But this, frankly, is pure and simple natural evolution.
This recipe has already been read 190 times!