It was a birthday and a new knife that did it. In 2013, Khristian de la Torre was celebrating his 29th birthday at a bar in Mexico City, drinking gin and tonics with a friend who had gifted him a Japanese knife. He wanted to try it out, so he reached for a grapefruit and started cutting it into different shapes and sizes. A supremed segment dropped into his glass. The color shifted. The Salmoncito was born.
"Sometimes I receive emails asking permission to put it on their menus. I always say yes. It feels good, even when they change the recipe. No problema. Do whatever you feel with it."
— Khristian de la Torre, creator of the SalmoncitoThe Build
On paper, the Salmoncito looks like a product of international cocktail diplomacy. The gin is English. The Campari is Italian. The grapefruit and tonic are borderless. And yet the drink feels unmistakably Mexican — a highball aperitivo that sits somewhere between a Paloma and a Negroni, built for long afternoons and easy conversation. It is served in a highball glass, built directly over ice, topped with tonic, and finished with a supremed grapefruit wedge lodged between the cubes like a little salmon swimming upstream.
The drink carries three distinct kinds of bitterness simultaneously: the quinine of the tonic, the herbal Italian bitterness of Campari, and the natural tartness of fresh grapefruit. None overwhelms the others. It is, as Mexico City bartender Pepe Reyes describes it, a natural bitterness — not an invasive one.
An Outlier in Mexican Aperitivo Culture
Mexico's aperitivo tradition leans on tequila, mezcal, micheladas, acidity, smokiness. Bitterness, in the Campari sense, is not native to that vocabulary. The Salmoncito is an anomaly — a bitter drink that landed in a culture not built for bitter drinks and somehow became a modern classic anyway. Part of its success is structural: it's easy to make, easy to drink, easy to sell, and the color alone stops people mid-conversation.
Many consider it as authentically Mexican as the Paloma or Margarita despite its internationally sourced ingredients — proof that a cocktail's identity is as much about where it was born and how it's drunk as what's in the glass.
The Name
Salmoncito translates loosely to "little salmon." The name has two sources working together. The first is the drink's color — a vivid salmon pink that the Campari and grapefruit produce together. The second, and more literal, is the garnish: a supremed grapefruit segment nestled between ice cubes, which looks — if you're willing to squint slightly — like a small salmon picking its way upstream through rocks.
On the garnish
The supreme is the garnish, and the garnish is the point. To cut one: slice both ends off the grapefruit, stand it upright, and cut away all the rind. Then run a sharp paring knife along both sides of each membrane to pop out individual segments clean. Lodge one segment between the ice cubes. Express the grapefruit peel over the glass for its oils, then discard it.
On the gin
A classic London Dry is the right choice — juniper-forward and clean, without the floral or cucumber notes that would compete with the grapefruit. The gin provides structure and botanical depth, not personality. Tanqueray and Beefeater are both textbook here.
Known Variations
A Palm Springs take — Select Aperitivo for Campari, the tonic dropped, served up.
- 1 1/2 ozLondon Dry gin
- 1/3 ozSelect Aperitivo
- 1/3 ozGrapefruit juice
The Salmoncito with bubbles — sparkling wine added, festive and a little softer.
- 1 1/2 ozLondon Dry gin
- 1/3 ozCampari
- 2 ozSparkling wine
The Bottom Line
The Salmoncito proves that a modern classic doesn't need complexity to earn its place. Four ingredients, no shaker, one knife skill. The drink travels because it works everywhere — aperitivo hour, poolside, dinner preamble — and because the garnish gives people something to talk about before they've even tasted it. If you can supreme a grapefruit and pour a highball, you can make this.