| |
 There's
something deliciously decadent about its name, redolent of late night
cafes thick with the smoke of Gaulois es and dense with artists and
poets, none of whom look entirely awake. The green glow from the glasses
of the foolhardy who drink it straight contrasting with the opalescent
cloudiness of those who value their brain cells a tad more highly.
Oscar Wilde was a fan, as was Van Gogh, Verlaine, Degas, Lautrec and
Hemingway. It was absinthe.
Long since
outlawed in the US, absinthe is newly fashionable in Europe where
it's legal in the Czech Republic, Spain, Portugal and the UK. In
America it has become a feature of trendy parties and nightspots,
bottles smuggled in and drunk with the kind of frisson that only
comes from the illegal and the dangerous.
How on earth
did this drink get such a reputation? And why was it outlawed?
 First,
the name. Absinthe gets it name from one of its ingredients, artemisia
absinthum, better known as wormwood. Wormwood has been known
for thousands of years (the earliest reference is from Ancient Egypt)
and was valued for its medicinal qualities. The Romans used it to
get rid of intestinal worms, hence its name, and it was also thought
to be effective against epilepsy, gout, headaches and kidney stones.
Along with other herbs, it was scattered among the rushes inside
houses where it was thought to keep insects at bay, it was also
used to discourage insect pests in the garden, though the plant
tends to leech its bitter oil into the soil which effectively discourages
other plants as well. It's bitterness was legendary, the Bible references
it several times, perhaps most famously in Proverbs (5:3-4), "For
the lips of an adulteress drop as an honeycomb, and her mouth is
smoother that oil: But her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a
two edged sword."
And is it
bitter? Let's put it this way, put one ounce of extract of wormwood
in over 540 gallons of water and you'll be pursing your lips with
the taste.
 It
was its medicinal properties, however, that first led to its infusion
in alchohol along with a variety of other herbs (to try to make
it more palatable). The first person associated with it is a Dr.
Ordinaire, who sold a wormwood tonic in the late eighteenth century.
By 1805, Henri-Louis Pernod had established a factory in Pontarlier,
France using a recipe that his father-in-law, Major Dubied, had
purchased from two sisters. At this point, absinthe was an expensive
tonic, not a recreational tipple.
All that changed
in the 1840s when French troops fighting in Algeria were given rations
of absinthe, along with their usual ration of water. The absinthe
was intended as a fever-preventive, but the soldiers came home with
a real appreciation for their medicine. Of course part of its appeal
certainly lay in its alcohol content: most absinthes are between
100 and 140 proof. Another reason for their ardor may well have
been thujone, a chemical present in many plants, but especially
concentrated in wormwood. Thujone is a neurotoxin that first creates
a feeling of euphoria and then (once enough has been drunk) hallucinations.
It has also been connected to seizure and psychosis, and is regarded
by many as a factor in Van Gogh's mental illness (mental illness
ran in his family, but his addiction to absinthe certainly wouldn't
have helped).
 The
drink remained expensive however, until the philoxera outbreak that
decimated vineyards the world over reduced the amount of available
wine in France. Absinthe makers turned to grain alcohol, the price
of absinthe plummeted and it became the drink of the people. The
cocktail hour became known as l'heure vert (the green hour) as enormous
numbers of French men and women drank their absinthe before dinner.
And those numbers continued to grow. In 1874 French consumption
of absinthe totaled 700,000 liters a year; by 1910 they were knocking
back 36 million litres.
Its appeal
seemed magical and it inevitably aroused the suspicion of the establishment.
For one thing, like many drugs, absinthe drinking had its own ritual.
Absinthe drunk neat was impossibly bitter (it has been compared
to drinking Windex), so sugar and water were usually added. A special
spoon was developed with slots in the flattened bowl, a sugar cube
sat on the spoon and then water was drizzled into the liquor. The
final ratio was usually around one part absinthe to five parts water.
The water changed the absinthe from bright green to a cloudy yellow
called opaline (which was another name for the drink). Another method,
popular in the Czech Republic today (and even more redolent of the
drug culture), is to soak a spoonful of sugar in pure absinthe then
set it alight. As the alcohol burns off, the sugar caramelizes.
The sugar is then stirred into the glass of water and more absinthe
is added. In New Orleans, where the drink was also exceedingly popular,
you can still see the fountain used to drip water into the glasses
at the Old Absinthe House bar on Bourbon Street.
 The
bad reputation of the drink grew in the early years of the century
as it became associated with psychotic behavior and violence. Of
course, the fact that many cheaper absinthes had their green color
enhanced with such items as copper certainly wouldn't have helped,
and we really don't know what caused the problems, or even if the
problems can be directly attributed to the drink at all. Still,
a couple of widely publicized, and very gruesome, murders were laid
at the feet of absinthe and popular opinion began to rise against
it. It took the First World War to really eradicate the drink, as
French experts opined that it weakened their forces and was therefore
anti-patriotic. They joined the US, which had outlawed absinthe
in 1912.
According
to those who were around at the time, it continued to be available
in the US until prohibition, and there are many who diligently manufacture
it in home stills today. The recent case of a man who tried taking
pure extract of wormwood and wound up in hospital with seizures
and acute renal failure should stand as a warning to any considering
that route, however.
Still, the
drink continues to have its charms. Those who like it, freely admit
that they can't stand the taste, and swear that the narcotic effects
are overrated. Perhaps they imagine themselves at the fin de siecle
Moulin Rouge, sharing a glass with Lautrec and Degas, and discussing
Verlaine or Wilde's Salome.
Or maybe they're
just nuts.
|
|
