On the last evening of a memorable week in Paris, trusting instinct and serendipity to determine where I would go and what I would do, I set out to find an appropriate place for supper. Sure enough, I not only found the perfect bistro, but also gained an insight into the history and ritual of drinking absinthe.
A mellow September evening stroll had taken me away from the busy Île de la Cité with its great cathedral of Notre Dame in search of a less touristy vibe. Crossing the bridge onto the quiet, charming and predominantly pedestrian Île St Louis I spotted someone vacating a little table in front of an attractive bistro that was clearly popular. It was still too early to eat so I decided to savour an aperitif and watch the world go by. To my surprise the carte des cocktails included absinthe, a strong alcoholic drink which I thought had been banned for more than a century. In my mind it was associated it with the bohemian, artistic, literary and naughty underside of 19th century Paris. Naturally I ordered a glass.
The “Green Fairy”
It turns out that for most of my life I was correct about the stuff being banned. Much of Europe outlawed it early in the 20th Century, and while Canada never instituted a national ban, provincial liquor commissions simply didn’t sell it. It was only approved for sale in Canada just 19 years ago, in 2007, although even now not all provinces sell it.
Absinthe is an aromatic spirit with very high alcohol content (anywhere from 50-75%), flavoured with botanicals. It was invented in Switzerland in 1792 by a doctor looking for a palatable way to consume wormwood, which was believed to have powerful therapeutic properties. Henri-Louis Pernod, began producing it in France in the early 1800s and it soon became a favorite apéritif among the aristocracy.
As prices dropped it became popular with the bohemian avant garde who believed that absinthe enhanced alertness, awareness and creativity. Many credited what they called La Fée Verte (the Green Fairy) as an artistic muse. Literary absintheurs included French writers like Baudelaire, Gaugin, Rimbaud, and de Maupassant, as well as expats like Oscar Wilde (“A glass of absinthe is as poetical as anything in the world. What difference is there between a glass of absinthe and a sunset”) and Ernest Hemingway (characteristically, “Got tight on absinthe last night. Did knife tricks”). Painters too, like Van Gogh, Toulouse-Lautrec and Manet drank it and painted about it.
In time absinthe became so cheap that even the poor and homeless could afford to indulge. In late 19th century Paris, five o’clock in the afternoon became known as l’heure verte (the green hour) because of its colour. Despite its popularity, many in authority became convinced that it was hallucinogenic, and that “absinthism” was cause of a wide range of mental illnesses and social problems. France banned it in 1915. That led to creation of pastis as an alternative, with much lower alcohol content and no wormwood.
Rehabilitation and Ritual
We now know that absinthe didn’t have the hallucinogenic properties attributed to it by flawed science and ideological bias, and that it is safe if drunk responsibly, as long as the amount of a compound of wormwood called thujone is kept very small. Responsibly is the key, given the high alcohol content. Which is why the traditional absinthe ritual is so central to its enjoyment.
Sitting at the terrasse of Café Saint-Régis that evening I had expected the waiter to just deliver a glass of the stuff, but he first brought out a glass reservoir of iced water with two small taps. Then he brought the glass containing the emerald green absinthe, placing a special slotted spoon with a sugar cube on it over the rim. The idea is to let water from the “fountain” drip slowly onto the sugar cube so that it dissolves gradually into the drink, creating what is known as the louche, a milky-green colour, while releasing the scent of the botanicals.
Time spent savouring the experience not only heightened the pleasure but also sparked a conversation with two young ladies at a neighbouring table who, although local, had never seen this before. The drink was delicious and did what an apéritif is supposed to do, preparing the taste buds for the memorable, leisurely meal which followed.
The next day I would be catching a train to Bayonne en route to walking part of the Camino de Santiago – the Way of Saint James – into Spain. On my way back to the hotel that evening I turned a corner to be greeted by a magnificent sunset behind the traditional Parisian starting point for the Camino, the Tour St Jacques.
Looking back on the moment, I can see Oscar Wilde’s point.
The quote in the title is by the witty American author Ethel Mumford (1878 – 1940).
The feature picture is a poster by Leonetto Cappiello (1900), in the public domain from Wikimedia Commons .
