Chasing the Green Fairy
When the topic of my favorite wormwood infused spirit comes to light, I find it difficult not to wax poetic. I trust you will stay open-minded as I plummet into effete prose regarding this mythical nectar. This is one of life's niceties that truly deserves some pretentious exposition.
Absinthe. The Green Fairy. La Fée Verte. The drink that inspired the creative and corrupt minds of men like van Gogh, Verlaine, Rimbaud, Toulouse-Lautrec, Wilde, and many more. The cloudy, peridot ambrosia that turned the Rive Gauche on its head and provoked the heady gluttony of the Belle Époque.
Absinthe is a drink blurred into fanciful controversy by the passage of time, the giddy distortion of facts by bohemian artists too happy to promote its "mind-altering" properties, and an ever jealous wine industry. Thus it is of vital importance that we get down to the facts so that you cease claiming you're "tripping balls" when some handlebar-mustachioed bartender with neck tattoos lights a sugar cube on fire and ruins a perfectly good glass of absinthe in a farcical ceremony derived to fleece you of extra tip money (been there, done that to my abashed shame).
What is Absinthe?
Absinthe really is nothing more than a strong distilled spirit mixed with botanicals. In layman's terms, it's sexy gin. The botanicals (aka herbs and plants) are added to a very high-proof neutral spirit and macerated (soaked) for around a day, then the mixture is distilled. What is left is a delicious, clear absinthe. However, to achieve that verdant-hued brew that you commonly associated with classic absinthe, the distilled mixture must again be macerated with botanicals. After the absinthe has reached that lush green color, it is proofed down with water so your liver can sustain more than a single drink.
There are typically three primary botanicals: grande wormwood, anise, and florence fennel. These are often referred to as the "holy trinity" and it is to them that I say my prayers each evening before bed. There are many other herbs and botanicals that can be added as well, including: petite wormwood, melissa (the herb, not the girl who bullied you in middle school), hyssop, peppermint, angelica, and more. Absinthe does not have sugar (it's a liquor, not a liqueur), artificial flavorings (it's supposed to taste refined and subtle, not like you're stuffing your gullet with black licorice jelly beans), or artificial coloring (if it's the color of mouthwash, don't drink it.... [not sure why that even has to be said]).
Easy peasy, right? Wrong. Wait, no. Right. Just don't go trying to make this yourself. We've all seen "make your own gin" kits where you throw some dried herbs into a bottle of Zvedka and call it "Tanker-A" or some other groan-inducing gin pun. The same cannot be done with absinthe. If you do, you'll wind up with extra bitter, greenish vodka. That's it. Not absinthe, just the unfortunate consequences of your idiot actions. Leave it to the professionals. Spend the money on a good absinthe and thank me later.
Styles of Absinthe
When you picture absinthe, chances are the image that comes to mind is that of the milky jade cocktail served in a goblet with a strange spoon on top (if you're picturing a monkey clapping cymbals instead, I advise you to seek immediate medical attention or a box of crayons). Yet there are actually three distinct styles of absinthe: 1) verte / green, 2) blanche / white / la Bleue, and 3) rouge / red.
Absinthe Preparation
Once you've decided on your absinthe of choice, it's time to prepare yourself a glass. This is not as easy as just pouring it into a glass and swigging away. Absinthe is a pompous drink and it's preparation matches its showy nature. It requires a veritable ritual to prepare a proper glass of absinthe. (Don't pour it into a shot glass, light it on fire, then knock it back... I uh made that mistake once. Repeat, ONCE.)
Absinthe must be mixed with ice cold water in order to become drinkable (or added to a cocktail). First add some absinthe to your chosen glass (I'm not going to lecture you on appropriate pours here, I'm just going to assume you're pouring somewhere around 1-3 ounces, not a full pint).
Next, add cold water slowly. Let me clarify that. SLOWLY. Don't dump water into the absinthe. This is a time-honored ritual that requires finesse and grace. When you dump water in like some soft-skulled buffoon, you disgrace the generations of vagrant poets who drunkenly fucked around in Paris. The best way to add water is with an absinthe fountain. But because I'm not a billionaire, and neither are you (presumably), I don't own a dedicated absinthe fountain. You know what I use? A yogurt cup with a hole in the bottom. Yup. That's it. Easy, cheap, and effective (there's a joke in here about how I like my women...). It's up to you to figure out the best way for you to drip cold water into your absinthe. Hell, just put the faucet on drip and you're gold. You'll want a ratio of 1:3 to 1:5 absinthe to water (split the diff and call it 1:4). Too little water and it will be too strong; too much water and you've bungled the whole thing into a watery mess. As the water drips into the absinthe, you will notice it goes from a clear green to the archetypal opalescence. This cloudiness is called the louche. (That's an "L" in there for you giggling juveniles) or Ouzo effect. The water being added brings out the non-water soluble parts, the essential oils (not the pyramid scheme ones), resulting in a milkiness of the liquid.
You also have the option of adding sugar. Typically a sugar cube is placed on a flat slotted spoon which is balanced on the glass. The water drips through the sugar cube into the absinthe, dissolving the sugar and sweetening the absinthe. Again, do not light the sugar cube on fire at any point. This is a faux pas derived from the perverse mind of some presumably Czech bartender. While it may look cool, it destroys all the delicate flavors that you're there to savor. It's the equivalent of adding some Coke to your Macallan 18. Sure you can drink it that way if you like, but if you do it front of me I will choke you out with your own hands. Also if you start lighting flames near glasses of 60-75% alcohol, don't be surprised when you end up looking like an unmasked Deadpool.
To thoroughly enjoy your glass of absinthe, it may help to learn a bit of its dark history. A bit of its thrilling past will serve to intensify the enjoyment.
The Infamous Absinthe Ban
One of absinthe's greatest draws is its controversy. For many, absinthe is some mythological concoction with legendary psychedelic properties and a history of being banned worldwide for that reason. If you believe this, I don't blame you. Anti-absinthe propaganda (*adjusts tin foil hat*) has long been circulated and the myths behind the spirit are wildly entertaining and provide a sense of mystery to the neophyte. But they are false. Absinthe was banned primarily for three reasons: 1) its alleged hallucinogenic properties, 2) a misplaced connection to debauchery, and 3) its popularity.
1. Absinthe does not have any hallucinogenic properties. The chemical in it, that comes originally from the wormwood, thujone, is not a psychedelic despite early claims as such. All studies involving thujone have not only found it to not have any significantly mind-altering properties, but any effects that one may suffer from it would require incredibly high doses of the compound. Thus if you're drinking absinthe, by the time you reached "dangerous" levels of thujone, you'd be long dead from alcohol consumption. What absinthe does offer is a slightly different drunkenness. It is a lucid and aware drunk that differs from other alcohol-induced intoxications. On the scale of best "drunks" I would rate it among the top alongside Champagne-drunkenness and red wine-drunkenness (far removed from Smirnoff Ice-drunkenness)
2. The lechery often associated with absinthe is severely disproportionate. The licentious and erratic behavior of many of its famous drinkers (Paul Verlaine, Arthur Rimbaud, Vincent van Gogh) derived not from their heavy consumption of absinthe, but rather from their already having bats in the belfry. The other deranged drinkers, such as Jean Lanfrey (a Swiss farmer who murdered his pregnant wife and kids), were alcoholics already suffering delirium tremens. (spoiler alert: drinking a lot of any strong alcohol all the time is not going to do wonders for your psyche). But the moral decay associated with absinthe was primarily propagated by psychiatrist Valentin Magnan (Doctor Tightwad himself), who decried the high levels of alcohol consumption in France with particular focus on absinthe, and the jealous wine industry, which brings me to my next point...
3. Absinthe's popularity was arguably one of the factors of its fall from grace. In the mid-1800s, France, as well as much of Europe, suffered a blight (the Great French Wine Blight) due to a grape eating aphid that ruined vineyards around the continent. In the nearly two decades that the blight lasted, France lost 40% of its vineyards. The wine industry was shambled. In the resulting alcohol vacuum (an invention that I am working on a patent for), absinthe, already rising in popularity, found its niche and skyrocketed to fame. As the wine industry recovered (Big Wine), it did not take favorably to its newfound rival. The smear campaign produced by a partnership between the French wine industry and the growing temperance movement (enemy of my enemy is my friend) was brutal. Absinthe went from being the draught of the patrician to the pollutant of the working class. No longer did it inspire art, it inspired bouts of lecherous lunacy. Bans spread worldwide and absinthe vanished.
Resurgence
It wasn't until the second millennia that the world saw absinthe rise back to its spot on the pedestal. The year 2007 saw the American ban on absinthe lifted for the first time since 1912, with St. George being the first distillery to produce the first legal absinthe in the States in nearly a century (another good reason to give them a taste). France fully lifted their prohibitions on absinthe (and absinthe-like spirits) in 2011. Since then, absinthe has slowly been climbing its way back into blue-blooded hearts worldwide.
While this has been a boon for those desiring to transport themselves to the Belle Époque (without the use of a quartz-fueled, crotch-assaulting time machine compliments of your estranged Uncle Rico), it has led to a swathe of fake absinthes and poor imitations designed to hoodwink the gullible. The modern absintheur must remain vigilant in their search for good and proper absinthe. I hope this post will inspire you to join me in my adoration of that strange emerald potion and to begin your own journey experiencing the opulence of France's Beautiful Epoch.
Before I leave you, I must tell you the story of one of my favorite absinthe cocktails. Be forewarned, I wrote this after drinking a few glasses of absinthe.
Death in the Afternoon
The "Death in the Afternoon" cocktail is the most brilliant, the most hedonistic, the most impious of all cocktails (in my humble opinion). Derived from the ultra virile mind of Ernest Hemingway (a mind that would later paint the ceiling of an Idaho kitchen), the Death in the Afternoon is a simple yet wickedly dangerous cocktail made of two simple ingredients: absinthe and Champagne. Both being the chosen intoxicant of the veritable poète maudit, this union of unadulterated libertinism defies all preconceptions of what makes a good cocktail. By combining two intensely decadent drinks into a singular mixture, one forgoes all mixological convention and enters a realm of sheer excess the likes of which have not been seen since the Rococo era.
Ernest famously described the drink for a cocktail book of drinks from famous authors:
"Pour one jigger absinthe into a Champagne glass. Add iced Champagne until it attains the proper opalescent milkiness. Drink three to five of these slowly."
It should go without saying that if you are foolish enough to imbibe three to five of these, your liver may very well pull a Hemingway itself. I personally have made it through two in a single sitting and as you can see I cna sitll wirte preftectly wlell......
The first time I tried this cocktail was, apropos enough, in France. I was in Bordeaux, visiting with a gentleman whom I became acquainted with while on study abroad. While I was to be there for a week and he for just a few days, we spent the first half of the trip together sharing an AirBnB (said accommodation revealed itself to have a single double bed). We quickly became good friends, discovering a mutual love of fine wines, strong cheeses, and Stan Getz. Most of the days of our trip ended with us consuming copious amounts of Merlot and Cuban cigars while dancing to bossa nova into the wee hours of the morning.
We had gone out one afternoon with the intention of finding good absinthe (a few nights before we had been severely disappointed by the selection near us). Up until this point in my life, I had had little contact with absinthe while my newly found dear friend was a self-professed connoisseur. After some searching we came upon a small cafe that claimed to have absinthe in abundance. Parched for wormwood, we eagerly made our way there. Upon arrival we made our way inside to an outdated and cramped space with bar area crowded with various amaros and liqueurs. Nervously we piped up with unsure Bonjour?'s. Before the swarthy man stumbling around in the back could answer us, three men carrying boxes burst through the door.
"BUONGIORNO!" "BUONGIORNO!"
"EY CAFE? AH SI, CAFE!"
Operatic Italian began ringing through the little bar, cries of hello and calls for espresso were quickly answered while we stood wide-eyed, our wine-soaked neurons firing in random order in a vain attempt to discern what was happening before us. Fortunately one of the Italians paid us notice and inquired what we would be drinking. A quick browse of their absinthe selection (no where near as abundant as previously thought) led us to aimlessly select a bottle whose label we could not read. Goblets of emerald were poured, louched, and given to us while we made our way outside to sit in the warm French sun. Crostini, cured ham, strong mustard, and pickles miraculously found their way to our table. While I do not remember the exact contents of our conversation, I am near certain that it was wholly pretentious and self-indulgent. When we had finished our glasses, my friend explained that we simply had to have Death in the Afternoons. His explanation of the drink only served to further widen my eyes. Making our way back into the den of espresso-addled Italians, we found our aloof bartender. In what devolved into a comedy of miscommunications, we were finally able to explain the simple procedure of making our desired drinks.
Absinthe. Oui, that one. No, not the goblet. The Champagne flute. Oui, yes, that glass. Champagne. Hm yes, that sparkling wine will do. Okay, now the absinthe. Yes, in the glass. Yes, the Champagne glass. Now the wine. Yes, with the absinthe. *queue an intensely hesitant Italian shaking his hands in disbelief and refusal as we gesture to pour the wine onto the absinthe* Trust us. Ah yes, perfect. Death in the Afternoon. Now you know a new drink. *bitter looks of disapproval as we stride away victoriously*
We returned to our table to drink, far away from the judging gaze of our server.
The first sip exploded with decadent flavor. Sweet, sparkling wine mixed with heavy, anise-flavored liquor. Tongue dancing in confused ecstasy. Stomach unready for the swift punch of vivid flavor. Mind releasing steam in attempt to catch up to body.
Truly the drink of the profligate.
(Technically you can make this cocktail with a pastis or faux absinthe. However, if you do, be aware of the judgement that I will pass upon you. Which admittedly doesn't carry a ton of weight.)
Absinthe Sites
For detailed information on absinthe and reviews, check out The Wormwood Society.
To order absinthe online, check out Absinthes.com.
Absinthe. The Green Fairy. La Fée Verte. The drink that inspired the creative and corrupt minds of men like van Gogh, Verlaine, Rimbaud, Toulouse-Lautrec, Wilde, and many more. The cloudy, peridot ambrosia that turned the Rive Gauche on its head and provoked the heady gluttony of the Belle Époque.
Absinthe is a drink blurred into fanciful controversy by the passage of time, the giddy distortion of facts by bohemian artists too happy to promote its "mind-altering" properties, and an ever jealous wine industry. Thus it is of vital importance that we get down to the facts so that you cease claiming you're "tripping balls" when some handlebar-mustachioed bartender with neck tattoos lights a sugar cube on fire and ruins a perfectly good glass of absinthe in a farcical ceremony derived to fleece you of extra tip money (been there, done that to my abashed shame).
What is Absinthe?
Absinthe really is nothing more than a strong distilled spirit mixed with botanicals. In layman's terms, it's sexy gin. The botanicals (aka herbs and plants) are added to a very high-proof neutral spirit and macerated (soaked) for around a day, then the mixture is distilled. What is left is a delicious, clear absinthe. However, to achieve that verdant-hued brew that you commonly associated with classic absinthe, the distilled mixture must again be macerated with botanicals. After the absinthe has reached that lush green color, it is proofed down with water so your liver can sustain more than a single drink.
There are typically three primary botanicals: grande wormwood, anise, and florence fennel. These are often referred to as the "holy trinity" and it is to them that I say my prayers each evening before bed. There are many other herbs and botanicals that can be added as well, including: petite wormwood, melissa (the herb, not the girl who bullied you in middle school), hyssop, peppermint, angelica, and more. Absinthe does not have sugar (it's a liquor, not a liqueur), artificial flavorings (it's supposed to taste refined and subtle, not like you're stuffing your gullet with black licorice jelly beans), or artificial coloring (if it's the color of mouthwash, don't drink it.... [not sure why that even has to be said]).
Easy peasy, right? Wrong. Wait, no. Right. Just don't go trying to make this yourself. We've all seen "make your own gin" kits where you throw some dried herbs into a bottle of Zvedka and call it "Tanker-A" or some other groan-inducing gin pun. The same cannot be done with absinthe. If you do, you'll wind up with extra bitter, greenish vodka. That's it. Not absinthe, just the unfortunate consequences of your idiot actions. Leave it to the professionals. Spend the money on a good absinthe and thank me later.
Styles of Absinthe
When you picture absinthe, chances are the image that comes to mind is that of the milky jade cocktail served in a goblet with a strange spoon on top (if you're picturing a monkey clapping cymbals instead, I advise you to seek immediate medical attention or a box of crayons). Yet there are actually three distinct styles of absinthe: 1) verte / green, 2) blanche / white / la Bleue, and 3) rouge / red.
- Verte, or green, absinthe is the most recognizable and most popular style. This style is the result of the second maceration step in the distillation process. When the additional botanicals are added and heated, the finished product is that classic viridian-tinged liquid (if left for a significant amount of time, the color will begin to become more peridot as the result of the chlorophyll oxidizing or something science-y like that; this is a good sign as it means the absinthe is naturally colored). Some common beginner vertes would be St. George, Lucid, Pernod, and Vieux Pontarlier. Where you live may determine the most immediately available absinthe.
- Blanche, or white, absinthe is, like I said above, the product of a single maceration and distillation. These absinthes tend towards the sweeter side (in my personal experience) and more popular in Switzerland (the birthplace of absinthe). Kübler is a common Swiss absinthe (and one of the best "bang for your buck" absinthes) that I would recommend. If you're interested in trying one of my personal favorites, I would argue spending the extra money on a bottle of La Clandestine is far more worth it.
- Rouge, or red, absinthe is one that I have yet to try, but desperately look forward to. These are naturally colored with botanicals such as rose, saffron, or hibiscus. While not extraordinarily popular, they seem to have found a niche in the community of absinthe drinkers.
- Absenta, Spanish absinthe. Not one that I can speak about through personal experience, but they seem to have decent reviews among the connoisseurs. Perhaps once I've found and tried one, I shall write an update.
- Everything else. If it's spelled "absinth," if it's labeled as "Czech" or "Bohemian," if it advertises "high levels of thujone," don't drink it. I think we've developed a strong enough relationship that I can ask you to trust me on this one. These are the neon-green, licorice flavored bathtub absinthes that will wreak havoc on your innards. You will not "trip" drinking these (except maybe down some stairs). Just.... just don't.
Absinthe Preparation
Once you've decided on your absinthe of choice, it's time to prepare yourself a glass. This is not as easy as just pouring it into a glass and swigging away. Absinthe is a pompous drink and it's preparation matches its showy nature. It requires a veritable ritual to prepare a proper glass of absinthe. (Don't pour it into a shot glass, light it on fire, then knock it back... I uh made that mistake once. Repeat, ONCE.)
Absinthe must be mixed with ice cold water in order to become drinkable (or added to a cocktail). First add some absinthe to your chosen glass (I'm not going to lecture you on appropriate pours here, I'm just going to assume you're pouring somewhere around 1-3 ounces, not a full pint).
Next, add cold water slowly. Let me clarify that. SLOWLY. Don't dump water into the absinthe. This is a time-honored ritual that requires finesse and grace. When you dump water in like some soft-skulled buffoon, you disgrace the generations of vagrant poets who drunkenly fucked around in Paris. The best way to add water is with an absinthe fountain. But because I'm not a billionaire, and neither are you (presumably), I don't own a dedicated absinthe fountain. You know what I use? A yogurt cup with a hole in the bottom. Yup. That's it. Easy, cheap, and effective (there's a joke in here about how I like my women...). It's up to you to figure out the best way for you to drip cold water into your absinthe. Hell, just put the faucet on drip and you're gold. You'll want a ratio of 1:3 to 1:5 absinthe to water (split the diff and call it 1:4). Too little water and it will be too strong; too much water and you've bungled the whole thing into a watery mess. As the water drips into the absinthe, you will notice it goes from a clear green to the archetypal opalescence. This cloudiness is called the louche. (That's an "L" in there for you giggling juveniles) or Ouzo effect. The water being added brings out the non-water soluble parts, the essential oils (not the pyramid scheme ones), resulting in a milkiness of the liquid.
You also have the option of adding sugar. Typically a sugar cube is placed on a flat slotted spoon which is balanced on the glass. The water drips through the sugar cube into the absinthe, dissolving the sugar and sweetening the absinthe. Again, do not light the sugar cube on fire at any point. This is a faux pas derived from the perverse mind of some presumably Czech bartender. While it may look cool, it destroys all the delicate flavors that you're there to savor. It's the equivalent of adding some Coke to your Macallan 18. Sure you can drink it that way if you like, but if you do it front of me I will choke you out with your own hands. Also if you start lighting flames near glasses of 60-75% alcohol, don't be surprised when you end up looking like an unmasked Deadpool.
To thoroughly enjoy your glass of absinthe, it may help to learn a bit of its dark history. A bit of its thrilling past will serve to intensify the enjoyment.
The Infamous Absinthe Ban
One of absinthe's greatest draws is its controversy. For many, absinthe is some mythological concoction with legendary psychedelic properties and a history of being banned worldwide for that reason. If you believe this, I don't blame you. Anti-absinthe propaganda (*adjusts tin foil hat*) has long been circulated and the myths behind the spirit are wildly entertaining and provide a sense of mystery to the neophyte. But they are false. Absinthe was banned primarily for three reasons: 1) its alleged hallucinogenic properties, 2) a misplaced connection to debauchery, and 3) its popularity.
1. Absinthe does not have any hallucinogenic properties. The chemical in it, that comes originally from the wormwood, thujone, is not a psychedelic despite early claims as such. All studies involving thujone have not only found it to not have any significantly mind-altering properties, but any effects that one may suffer from it would require incredibly high doses of the compound. Thus if you're drinking absinthe, by the time you reached "dangerous" levels of thujone, you'd be long dead from alcohol consumption. What absinthe does offer is a slightly different drunkenness. It is a lucid and aware drunk that differs from other alcohol-induced intoxications. On the scale of best "drunks" I would rate it among the top alongside Champagne-drunkenness and red wine-drunkenness (far removed from Smirnoff Ice-drunkenness)
2. The lechery often associated with absinthe is severely disproportionate. The licentious and erratic behavior of many of its famous drinkers (Paul Verlaine, Arthur Rimbaud, Vincent van Gogh) derived not from their heavy consumption of absinthe, but rather from their already having bats in the belfry. The other deranged drinkers, such as Jean Lanfrey (a Swiss farmer who murdered his pregnant wife and kids), were alcoholics already suffering delirium tremens. (spoiler alert: drinking a lot of any strong alcohol all the time is not going to do wonders for your psyche). But the moral decay associated with absinthe was primarily propagated by psychiatrist Valentin Magnan (Doctor Tightwad himself), who decried the high levels of alcohol consumption in France with particular focus on absinthe, and the jealous wine industry, which brings me to my next point...
3. Absinthe's popularity was arguably one of the factors of its fall from grace. In the mid-1800s, France, as well as much of Europe, suffered a blight (the Great French Wine Blight) due to a grape eating aphid that ruined vineyards around the continent. In the nearly two decades that the blight lasted, France lost 40% of its vineyards. The wine industry was shambled. In the resulting alcohol vacuum (an invention that I am working on a patent for), absinthe, already rising in popularity, found its niche and skyrocketed to fame. As the wine industry recovered (Big Wine), it did not take favorably to its newfound rival. The smear campaign produced by a partnership between the French wine industry and the growing temperance movement (enemy of my enemy is my friend) was brutal. Absinthe went from being the draught of the patrician to the pollutant of the working class. No longer did it inspire art, it inspired bouts of lecherous lunacy. Bans spread worldwide and absinthe vanished.
Resurgence
It wasn't until the second millennia that the world saw absinthe rise back to its spot on the pedestal. The year 2007 saw the American ban on absinthe lifted for the first time since 1912, with St. George being the first distillery to produce the first legal absinthe in the States in nearly a century (another good reason to give them a taste). France fully lifted their prohibitions on absinthe (and absinthe-like spirits) in 2011. Since then, absinthe has slowly been climbing its way back into blue-blooded hearts worldwide.
While this has been a boon for those desiring to transport themselves to the Belle Époque (without the use of a quartz-fueled, crotch-assaulting time machine compliments of your estranged Uncle Rico), it has led to a swathe of fake absinthes and poor imitations designed to hoodwink the gullible. The modern absintheur must remain vigilant in their search for good and proper absinthe. I hope this post will inspire you to join me in my adoration of that strange emerald potion and to begin your own journey experiencing the opulence of France's Beautiful Epoch.
Before I leave you, I must tell you the story of one of my favorite absinthe cocktails. Be forewarned, I wrote this after drinking a few glasses of absinthe.
Death in the Afternoon
The "Death in the Afternoon" cocktail is the most brilliant, the most hedonistic, the most impious of all cocktails (in my humble opinion). Derived from the ultra virile mind of Ernest Hemingway (a mind that would later paint the ceiling of an Idaho kitchen), the Death in the Afternoon is a simple yet wickedly dangerous cocktail made of two simple ingredients: absinthe and Champagne. Both being the chosen intoxicant of the veritable poète maudit, this union of unadulterated libertinism defies all preconceptions of what makes a good cocktail. By combining two intensely decadent drinks into a singular mixture, one forgoes all mixological convention and enters a realm of sheer excess the likes of which have not been seen since the Rococo era.
Ernest famously described the drink for a cocktail book of drinks from famous authors:
"Pour one jigger absinthe into a Champagne glass. Add iced Champagne until it attains the proper opalescent milkiness. Drink three to five of these slowly."
It should go without saying that if you are foolish enough to imbibe three to five of these, your liver may very well pull a Hemingway itself. I personally have made it through two in a single sitting and as you can see I cna sitll wirte preftectly wlell......
The first time I tried this cocktail was, apropos enough, in France. I was in Bordeaux, visiting with a gentleman whom I became acquainted with while on study abroad. While I was to be there for a week and he for just a few days, we spent the first half of the trip together sharing an AirBnB (said accommodation revealed itself to have a single double bed). We quickly became good friends, discovering a mutual love of fine wines, strong cheeses, and Stan Getz. Most of the days of our trip ended with us consuming copious amounts of Merlot and Cuban cigars while dancing to bossa nova into the wee hours of the morning.
We had gone out one afternoon with the intention of finding good absinthe (a few nights before we had been severely disappointed by the selection near us). Up until this point in my life, I had had little contact with absinthe while my newly found dear friend was a self-professed connoisseur. After some searching we came upon a small cafe that claimed to have absinthe in abundance. Parched for wormwood, we eagerly made our way there. Upon arrival we made our way inside to an outdated and cramped space with bar area crowded with various amaros and liqueurs. Nervously we piped up with unsure Bonjour?'s. Before the swarthy man stumbling around in the back could answer us, three men carrying boxes burst through the door.
"BUONGIORNO!" "BUONGIORNO!"
"EY CAFE? AH SI, CAFE!"
Operatic Italian began ringing through the little bar, cries of hello and calls for espresso were quickly answered while we stood wide-eyed, our wine-soaked neurons firing in random order in a vain attempt to discern what was happening before us. Fortunately one of the Italians paid us notice and inquired what we would be drinking. A quick browse of their absinthe selection (no where near as abundant as previously thought) led us to aimlessly select a bottle whose label we could not read. Goblets of emerald were poured, louched, and given to us while we made our way outside to sit in the warm French sun. Crostini, cured ham, strong mustard, and pickles miraculously found their way to our table. While I do not remember the exact contents of our conversation, I am near certain that it was wholly pretentious and self-indulgent. When we had finished our glasses, my friend explained that we simply had to have Death in the Afternoons. His explanation of the drink only served to further widen my eyes. Making our way back into the den of espresso-addled Italians, we found our aloof bartender. In what devolved into a comedy of miscommunications, we were finally able to explain the simple procedure of making our desired drinks.
Absinthe. Oui, that one. No, not the goblet. The Champagne flute. Oui, yes, that glass. Champagne. Hm yes, that sparkling wine will do. Okay, now the absinthe. Yes, in the glass. Yes, the Champagne glass. Now the wine. Yes, with the absinthe. *queue an intensely hesitant Italian shaking his hands in disbelief and refusal as we gesture to pour the wine onto the absinthe* Trust us. Ah yes, perfect. Death in the Afternoon. Now you know a new drink. *bitter looks of disapproval as we stride away victoriously*
We returned to our table to drink, far away from the judging gaze of our server.
The first sip exploded with decadent flavor. Sweet, sparkling wine mixed with heavy, anise-flavored liquor. Tongue dancing in confused ecstasy. Stomach unready for the swift punch of vivid flavor. Mind releasing steam in attempt to catch up to body.
Truly the drink of the profligate.
(Technically you can make this cocktail with a pastis or faux absinthe. However, if you do, be aware of the judgement that I will pass upon you. Which admittedly doesn't carry a ton of weight.)
Absinthe Sites
For detailed information on absinthe and reviews, check out The Wormwood Society.
To order absinthe online, check out Absinthes.com.
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