At 6pm, something comes over me: a need to shake off the day and cleanse myself of screen time. The ritual begins with a playlist. I make a new one on a monthly basis and there’s usually one on rotation, so that goes on the speaker. I soften the lights in my living room (the IKEA dimmer switch has been a game changer – things people in their mid-30s say), ready for act three of my day, and I exit the room closing the door behind me.
The little lamp in my bathroom gets switched on, a candle is lit (currently: Malin + Goetz Cannabis), the waterproof speaker is hung on the shower head and I make sure the water temperature is at a scolding 52º (yes, seriously). The 6pm shower lasts approximately 10 minutes and it’s a small and strange pleasure that marks the end of my day.
Of course most people pour themselves a drink.
This also happens after I let the hot water sew my skin back together, as it sometimes feels like the day cracks me open. It’s the reason why I always have a spare ziplock bag of ice ready to be crushed with a rolling pin wrapped in a tea towel (I can’t always be trusted to refill my ice trays) and a newly-acquired sparkling water maker. And yes, usually a bottle of Mother Root in the fridge.
Sometimes this ritual gets pushed forward to 4pm, when the act of rinsing the day off and sipping something strong feels a little more illicit and endlessly more exciting. Sometimes it comes without the shower because that would be pretty inappropriate when at the office.
The timing is loose, just as it should be – to make time feel more elastic after the rigidity of the working day. The first time I experienced aperitivo hour, it lasted from 6pm until the sky turned an inky blue, the clamour of Milan’s grand canal our only soundtrack. I was 20 years old and not au fait with the Italian tradition - what a delight it was to be greeted with plates of food when I’d only ordered a spritz (probably the first time I’d uttered the word out loud).
I watched boards filled with folds of mortadella and other perfectly pink cured meats, buttery cheeses and fluffy pieces of focaccia, all come out one by one. Years later I find myself under the same inky Italian sky after hours of sipping sbagliatos with the dictionary definition of a crush, talking about why the ritual of marking the end of the day feels not just luxurious but essential.
It’s different for everyone. The hour shifts depending on the season, the drink changes depending on the mood; you might share the ritual with friends or keep it to yourself because it’s that sacred. Sometimes it gets lost in the chaos of life, and later is remembered when it feels absolutely necessary.
As I write this, the greyish January skies are started to darken and I can feel the itch to sit under hot water and drink something cold. I’m sure you’re feeling it too; so I hope you find yourself a moment (sometimes an hour is honestly unrealistic) to sip something delicious and escape the day.
Words by Cat Sarsfield
