What it looks like
An aperitivo with sushi.
What it really is
The final evolutionary stage of the Milanese aperitivo.
At some point, someone must have decided that paying €20 for a cocktail was simply too straightforward. The price needed a story. Enter sushi.
Not necessarily good. Not necessarily Japanese. Not necessarily identifiable. But arranged with enormous confidence on a black plate.
Aperisushi is where Milan combines three of its greatest passions: drinking something unnecessarily expensive, eating almost nothing, and making both feel like an experience.
How it works
You book for 7:30 p.m. At 7:47 a cocktail arrives containing at least one of the following: burnt rosemary, cucumber, pink peppercorns, an unidentified berry, or an ice cube the size of a studio flat in Porta Romana.
Price: €20.
Then four uramaki arrive. Not each. Four. The table studies them with the concentration of ceasefire negotiations in Geneva.
Then somebody says: “Guys, shall we order something to share?” That is when the real aperisushi begins.
The crucial detail
Under the table: €180 sneakers, €14 invisible socks and ten toes. Over the course of the evening, these will become the event’s main cultural content.
After the second cocktail, the four uramaki and everyone’s latest call updates, there is not much left to do. So you sit there. Looking at shoes. Yours. Theirs. Occasionally, directly at toes.
Milan is, after all, an extremely efficient city: it can turn doing absolutely fuck-all into something that requires a reservation.
Typical phrase
“Shall we do aperisushi?”
It does not mean: Do you fancy sushi? It means: Would you like to spend €46 without having dinner and go home with a vague sense of networking?
A note for foreigners
Do not make the mistake of arriving hungry. Aperisushi is not designed to feed you. It is designed for you to be there.
If at 10:15 p.m., on your way home, you suddenly need a kebab, congratulations: you have understood Milan.
The key
Aperisushi is not a meal. It is not even an aperitivo. It is a voluntary tax on social belonging, collected in gin, rice and salmon.
And the best part is that you go back the following Saturday. A new place has opened. It does fusion. Apparently it is insane.
