It was a sticky night in the Berkshires when I found myself at Ombra, a tapas-inspired restaurant in Lenox. I had just come from an oppressively hot summer party at the Norman Rockwell Museum, and instead of ordering the usual crisp rosé or predictable Aperol spritz, I noticed multiple patrons around me drinking something different: an amber liquid, over ice, garnished with orange slices and, to my confusion, an olive.

Color me ignorant, but I had never thought of vermouth as something to be enjoyed on its own. It was the thing you barely—and I mean barely—added to a martini, or the thing you left to collect dust on your bar shelf for years on end. But my partner, recalling some vermouth he sampled in Barcelona, insisted we order a round. I followed suit. That first sip of chilled vermouth was herbal, barely sweet, enjoyably bitter, and instantly refreshing. I chalked it up to the restaurant’s Spanish-leaning influences, and didn’t think of vermouth again for a few weeks.

Then, a month later when I found myself in Montréal for a wedding, I went for dinner at Restaurant Beba, an old friend’s establishment that I always try to visit when I’m in town. On the drinks list: vermouth and olives. Now, my attention piqued, I started noticing vermouth on menus everywhere—not merely as a microdosed addition to a martini, nor as the thing we found in our grandparents’ liquor cabinets, but as the star of its own show. According to Pablo Schor, who runs the bar at Beba, the addition was about a nostalgic nod to family roots, not chasing trends. He recalled how his Argentine relatives would drink “vermouth batido” shaken with citrus and poured over ice at Sunday gatherings. “Guests light up when they see vermouth and olives on our menu,” he says. “It taps into nostalgia and also feels fresh.”

Fresh being the operative word. Vermouth, once semi-forgotten and relegated to supporting roles, is suddenly the star. At the newly opened Dom’s Taverna in Santa Barbara, California, house vermouth made in Barcelona exclusively for the restaurant is poured over ice and served with pintxos. At Bar Siesta in Los Angeles, owner Heather Sperling introduces diners to vermouth flights with snacks like croquetas or cherry-vermouth sorbet. “It’s so delicious and approachable that I think if someone tries it once, they can easily become a convert,” she says.