Known as the fée verte, or the green fairy (for its emerald colour), who was famously enchanted and enslaved by her lovers, Absinthe is a drink with a sensational history.
Jenny Woolf traces the story of Absinthe through its seductive Parisian past to its potent existence today.
Invented in the 1790s, it is an aromatic concoction of wormwood, fennel and other herbs. At over 70% proof, it was originally seen as a medicine, and in the 1840s it was issued to French soldiers overseas to help protect them against malaria. Around 1860, it hit the boulevards, and its medicinal qualities were forgotten as it quickly became one of the trendiest drinks ever. Absinthe production soared and, before long, it became France’s unofficial national drink.
But there is a dark side to this success story. Drunkenness increased rapidly—at one point three litres of pure absinthe were drunk per inhabitant, per year in Marseilles. After a series of horrifying murders blamed on “Absinthe madness”, the drink was banned in 1915, and only became available again in France in 1988.
Even though it is legal again now, it’s not always easy to find a bar that serves it. As Philippe Oudin, manager of Paris’s Hotel Royal Fromentin, points out, the “slow, careful ritual of preparing Absinthe” isn’t always practical in a busy bar; but his hotel, on the edge of Montmartre, enthusiastically keeps up the old tradition. The Royal Fromentin is now an oasis of respectability, but it was once a scandalous anti-clerical club called the Don Juan. Here, punters gathered to drink Absinthe and watch girls dance in the “flames of hell”, emerging scantily clad from the gigantic carved fireplace, that still dominates la salle.
Toulouse Lautrec lived just down the corner, explains Oudin, as did Jane Avril, La Goule and the painter’s other racy friends. And, like Voltaire, Manet, Degas, Gaugin, Van Gogh, Rimbaud, James Joyce, Hemingway, Picasso and other café habitués, Lautrec was an Absinthe fan. “He had his walking stick adapted to hold a little flask of Absinthe, and he drank it undiluted— sometimes mixing it with cognac. He called this little cocktail 'The Earthquake!’” he says.
Although Absinthe was a particularly French drink, foreigners also fell under its spell.
Oscar Wilde, exiled from London, grew to love cheap Absinthe and he described its semi-magical appeal in vivid terms: “The first stage is like ordinary drinking, during the second you begin to see monstrous and cruel things, but if you can persevere you enter in upon the third stage where you see things that you want to see—wonderful curious things”.
We now know that the Absinthe of Oscar’s time often contained poisons which provoked the exciting hallucinations. Wormwood contains thujone, which can cause ill effects in high doses: but unscrupulous manufacturers also added meths, coloured gasoline, antimony chloride or copper sulphate. Cheap Absinthe could be nasty stuff indeed.
The Procope claims to be the oldest café in the world. Dating from 1664, certainly everyone from Napoleon downwards seems to have gone there. One of its famous Absinthe-drinking patrons—arguably one of the most tragic—was the gifted poet Paul Verlaine. In his final days Verlaine became a well known figure in the Procope, nursing glass after glass. But today, dinner or a drink at the Procope is a cheerful affair and the place has a fantastic buzz on a Saturday night. It’s colourfully done out in gilt, red, plush, chandeliers, mirrors, pictures and quaint objets d’art—which, of course, include glittering Absinthe “fountains”.
The “fountain” offers the most popular way to drink Absinthe. It is a large glass bowl on a metal stand, often elaborately decorated, with four extremely tiny taps set into the glass at right angles. It’s filled with a mixture of water and ice, and a couple of fingers of Absinthe are poured into the glass—or you can use a special glass, which contains a bulb at the bottom of the bowl to measure the right amount. Then, a special slotted spoon is placed over the glass, and a sugar cube laid on top. A fountain tap is opened to drip water quickly onto the cube, gradually melting it so that the sugary liquid runs into and sweetens the astringent liqueur. As the water hits the liquid, it turns a cloudy green.
It takes time, but during the process the beautiful aroma is gradually released.
When ready, the taste is similar to Pernod.
The modern version has a lower alcohol content than the traditional one— although at around 40% or 50% it still packs a potent punch. Aficionados all have their favourite varieties, ranging in colour from the traditional deep emerald, through yellow to the bright red “Serpis” variety favoured by Marilyn Manson.
So popular has Absinthe become, that Paris has now opened its first “Absinthe boutique”. Aptly named “Vert d’Absinthe”, it’s an intriguingly cluttered little shop, with the knowledgable owner, Luc-Santiago Rodriguez usually available to offer a tasting. Since in France the drink is generally labelled “Versinthe”, he’ll probably tell you to look out for the words “Aromatisés à la plante d’Absinthe” on the label.
For those with a serious interest in the historical and cultural background of Absinthe, there is only one place to go; Marie-Claude Delahaye’s curious little haunt in Auvers-sur-Oise, on the outskirts of Paris. Mme Delahaye, a biochemist, is a world expert on Absinthe. She purchased an antique Absinthe spoon in a flea-market 25 years ago, and immediately became obsessed with the subject: “The Absinthe fairy must have visited my crib.”
Eventually, she bought a small house for her Absinthe collection. Not entirely coincidentally, Auvers-sur-Oise is where the Absinthe-drinking Van Gogh spent his last days and finally killed himself—though there is no hint of any such furies or passions in Mme Delahaye’s trim
establishment. In its small garden, immaculately pleached trees preside over raked beds in which she grows Absinthe herbs. Visitors can examine her collections, from the pierced spoon used in Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula, to a full sized Absinthe bar.
She admits to being pleased that many items in her collection, bought for a song, are now worth serious money. But she doesn’t want Absinthe to become too popular.
“Once it is sold in every supermarket, it’ll stop being special,” she says. “It needs to have its ritual and mystique…”
“Let’s keep the mystery and magic,” she adds. “Because we don’t want the Absinthe fairy to fly away.”
