Still Life with Absinthe:

The Tipple Of Choice For fin-de-siecle Decadents Tempts A New Generation

Called the cocaine of the 19th century, absinthe was so central to that
era's artistic life that it appeared in the paintings of masters ranging
from Van Gogh to Picasso, and in the writings of such luminaries as Oscar
Wilde and Emile Zola. No wonder it piques the fantasies of today's
explorers, especially those who travel to Czechoslovakia, Spain, and other
parts of Europe where it can still be sampled. Be forewarned, however:
Despite its renewed celebrity status as Nine Inch Nails singer Trent
Reznor's "perfect drug," the stuff can be nasty, and its active ingredient,
wormwood, even nastier. (Last September, a leading U.S. medical journal
reported renal failure in a man who drank essential oil of wormwood.)

In this piece from The Idler (Winter, 1997), Black Box Recorder musician
and writer John Moore describes his flirtation with the Green Fairy.

One winter, studying the bottles in a Prague bar, I noticed a particularly
inviting one filled with emerald green liquid that looked like it could
inflict damage. It was absinthe. I knew a little about absinthe but, like
most people, I thought it had been banned and was gone forever. Before
taking a sip, I studied it. Its scent was pungent and alcoholic, its color
spectacular. It seemed to catch the light and looked quite unnatural. The
first mouthful exploded on my tongue and vaporized up through my nostrils.
I had to swallow it quickly. I could feel its intense heat running down my
throat, burning its way into my stomach. What little taste there was, was
dry and bitter, tinged with aniseed. It had a real afterburn. I felt like
it had been injected, not swallowed. There was no gradual seeping into the
bloodstream -- this was the bloodstream. Armed with a glass of water, I
finished it, then ordered another glass. A friendship had begun. I soon
learned how to drink absinthe properly. Of course, you can drink it neat
(preferable for the first glass, otherwise you miss out on the burn), but
the best way is to add sugar and dilute it with water. This gives drinking
absinthe a ritualistic feel, like using intravenous drugs. Both involve
spoons, fire, and patience: similar means to a not completely dissimilar end.

Pour the absinthe into a glass (narrow is best, because it reduces
evaporation). Fill the spoon with sugar, then dip it into the absinthe.
Once the sugar is soaked, light it and hold it over the glass until it
melts into the absinthe, which catches fire; this is when you add the
water. Sometimes it is difficult to put out the fire; you may have to blow
on it. Absinthe's effects are different from those of standard drinks. I am
not sure whether this is due to the ingredients or the fact that the
alcohol is twice the strength of most other spirits (70 percent by volume).
Drinking absinthe has a relaxing effect -- the first few glasses, at least.
It is very warming, perfect for a hip flask on a winter's day. As far as I
can remember, I have never had hallucinations while drinking it, but it
does produce vivid dreams, invariably surreal and obscene. The drink is
made by soaking dried wormwood (Artemisia absinthium, still found in health
food shops and used to kill intestinal parasites) in ethyl alcohol, along
with herbs to hide the bitter taste. Aniseed is the dominant flavor,
although fennel, hyssop, and lemon balm are also used. The Oxford English
Dictionary describes wormwood as "an emblem of what is bitter and grievous
to the soul"; in Russian, it is chernobyl. Found everywhere, it is native
to Asia and Europe, where it grows along what is said to be the path the
exiled serpent took from Eden.

Absinthe is commonly believed to cause hallucinations, convulsions,
degenerate behavior, and even brain damage. Modern research has shown that
w ormwood releases a chemical called thujone, which has a molecular
structure similar to that of marijuana's active component. It isn't clear
whether the thujone in absinthe is sufficient to cause such severe effects,
however. It is far more likely that alcohol is the culprit.

Although it makes a brief appearance in Greek and Roman history, absinthe
didn't become popular until the end of the 18th century. It is said that a
French physician living in Switzerland, Pierre Ordinaire, invented it in
1792, but it's more likely that he was the first to market it. The drink
was popularized by another Frenchman, Henri-Louis Pernod, who built a small
distillery in Val de Travers, Switzerland, in 1805, then the Pernod Fils
factory at Pontarlier, France. The business grew steadily. In the war with
Algeria, absinthe was given as a malaria preventative to French troops, who
developed a taste for it that survived their return home. Successive
failures of the grape harvests in the late 1800s also fueled its
popularity: As wine prices went up, absinthe prices came down until they
were well within the reach of the hoi polloi. Millions of liters of la Fee
Verte (the Green Fairy), as it was affectionately called, were consumed
each year. Exported everywhere, it became the drink of choice for artists
and artisans alike. Eventually, the voices of dissent, especially those of
priests and vintners, made themselves heard. Temperance leagues formed, and
the press launched a moral crusade, reporting absinthe-related crimes and
creating conspiracy theories. Left-wingers said it robbed the working class
of dignity, while right-wingers denounced it because libertines drank it.
Some claimed it was a Jewish plot to destroy France; one distillery even
marketed a brand called "Anti-Jewish Absinthe."

By 1900, medical evidence was beginning to tip the scales. The imminence of
war led to a panic over poor health: The average Frenchman's chest was two
inches smaller than the average German's, and the asylums were full of
people whose mental conditions were attributed to absinthe. In 1905, when
Swiss farmer Jean Lanfray shot his entire family after a heavy day's
drinking, the story made headlines all over Europe, proclaiming him "un
absinthiste." (He had also consumed several bottles of wine, brandy, and
creme de menthe, but that was ignored.) That did it; the bans began.
Belgium was first, in 1905, then Switzerland in 1908, the United States in
1912, and, two weeks after the outbreak of war, France in 1914. In 1990,
Randomil Hill, a Czech distiller, began to produce absinthe legally again.
The drink is also available in Portugal and parts of Spain, and is gaining
an ever-widening following.

Along with the palette knife and pen, absinthe was essential to the
19th-century sensual explorer's toolkit. Whether it worked for or against
creativity is debatable, but one cannot deny that the legacy of work these
old soaks left behind is among the finest of all time. Like the Italian
Renaissance, the age of absinthe drew a map for the future. You may want to
check out some lively Net sites on the subject before imbibing, or, if
you've already done the dirty deed, you can participate in an online survey
conducted by the University of California, San Francisco, Drug Dependence
Research Center. As researchers Matthew Baggott and Dr. John Mendelson
point out, "Little is known about absinthe's effects in humans. Research
from the early part of the century is difficult to interpret, and no modern
research has been carried out."

At least not yet. Cheers

Checked-by: Richard Lake