Absinthe is a distilled spirit made with a variety of herbs, defined by its anise-forward flavor and its slightly bitter wormwood note. Its character is herbal and slightly sweet. Most absinthe is pale green in color, its pigment derived from herbs, but some absinthe is colorless. And still others are colored artificially. (For a full description of the three types of absinthe, see the Absinthe Buying Guide later in this chapter.)
Absinthe is bottled at a high strength—60 to 68 percent alcohol by volume—and designed to be tempered with water and enjoyed as an aperitif or mixed into cocktails. (Learn how to prepare a traditional glass of absinthe.) When water is added, it reacts with the anise and fennel oils and the absinthe shows its louche, transforming into an opalescent, milky white color. It’s a marvelous metamorphosis, and it’s easy to see why this peculiar drink attracted such mystique in its time. It was like magic.
Absinthe was born in the eighteenth century in western Switzerland and was first produced on a large scale in eastern France, all of its early life centered near the Franco-Swiss border. Like many herbal spirits, it was conceived as a folk remedy—a tonic designed to cure a variety of ailments. It became known as la fée verte, the green fairy, and by the mid-nineteenth century, Europe was entranced. This green goddess was favored, famously, by French writers and painters, becoming notoriously linked to the Parisian artistic class. But its reach wasn’t limited to artists. Absinthe flowed like wine during the decadent, high-living Belle Époque—beautiful era—that started in the 1890s and partied hard until the First World War. With French wine production devastated by widespread vineyard disease, and some absinthe brands available cheaply due to new methods of mass production and a switch to inferior ingredients, la fée verte reigned. It’s said that in the 1890s, absinthe was served in as many as 30,000 cafés in Paris alone.
Bartenders took notice of this robust spirit. Just a dash of absinthe in a cocktail could deliver a vibrant bouquet of herbal flavors, at once bitter and sweet, and a bigger dose lent cocktails a savory wallop and an otherworldly opalescence. In 1930, bartender Harry Craddock listed more than 100 absinthe cocktails in his Savoy Cocktail Book, which chronicled the drinks served at London’s Savoy Hotel in the glam ’20s.
But the party was ending. Absinthe was all but dried up. By 1915, it had been banned in the United States, France, Switzerland, Holland, Belgium, and Brazil. It was deemed poisonous and blamed for widespread alcoholism, mental and physical illnesses, suicides, murders, and the general debauchery of the hard-drinking artistic set. (It was infamously pinned for making Van Gogh slice off part of his ear.)
Governments, teetotalers, and lobbyists for the struggling French wine industry pointed at wormwood, one of the key herbs used to make absinthe. In high doses, wormwood sent lab animals into convulsions. But recent research has let absinthe off the hook, it never contained dangerous amounts of thujone, the potentially harmful chemical compound present in wormwood. A common anecdote among contemporary absinthe enthusiasts is that if a person actually wanted to experience thujone-induced convulsions from drinking absinthe, he would have to drink so much that he would surely die of alcohol poisoning first.
Like any booze that’s available on the cheap, absinthe was favored by binge drinkers, which didn’t help its image. What’s worse is that the cheapest brands were colored artificially with crude, dangerous chemicals. Researchers have since discovered that if people were getting sick and going crazy from absinthe, the culprit was probably these additives. But at the time, absinthe took the hit in the public’s eye. Absinthe was burned at the stake and pronounced dead, but it was really just taking a ninety-year nap. (And, in fact, it lived on in Spain, where it continued to be produced legally to little fanfare, and in Switzerland, where moonshiners disguised the infamous green spirit by making it colorless.) In 2000, legal absinthe production resumed in France, and in 2005, Switzerland lifted its ban. Two years later, New Orleans–born chemist and absinthe historian Ted Breaux released Lucid in the United States—the first absinthe available legally in that country in almost a century. The word on the street was that the ban had been lifted, but, in fact, it remained in place. Rather, Breaux and his colleagues had found a loophole of sorts. The wording of the law, which had originally banned absinthe by name, had been modified and generalized over the years, eventually prohibiting any beverages or foods with more than 10 ppm of thujone, without specifying absinthe. Breaux and his colleagues tested vintage bottlings of pre-ban absinthe and found that they came in under the mark—they contained far less thujone than was previously thought. Premium contemporary absinthes, which are nearly identical to premium pre-ban absinthes, also contain only trace amounts of thujone. Turns out absinthe is as legal as turkey stuffing, which can also include trace amounts of thujone if it’s made with the common ingredient sage.
The green fairy is back, and the cocktail-prone are celebrating in the way they do best—with a dash here and a few generous drops there. Absinthe has been reunited with its old mates rye whiskey, brandy, gin, rum, vermouth, violet liqueur, and Bénédictine. And it’s made some new friends, like premium tequila, fresh strawberries, and liqueurs of elderflower and ginger. This book is filled with fantastic recipes—both classic and contemporary cocktails—from some of the best bartenders in the craft, representing the top bars in the United States and Europe. Before you start mixing, here’s a guide to buying authentic absinthe, and tips on getting a taste for the emerald muse without spending too much green.
There are two types of premium absinthe: verte (green) and blanche (colorless). Most fall into the first category, possessing a natural pale green hue, but there are good examples of the blanche category, too. There’s a third category, usually inferior in quality, which is not distilled with herbs but rather mixed with herbal oils before bottling (see Compounded Absinthe).
This guide reflects the brands available in the United States at the time of this writing. The contemporary absinthe category is growing fast, so some of these brands may change or cease production, and certainly new brands will become available. You can keep up to date by visiting the Web sites listed in the Resources section in the back of this book, or by talking with your favorite local spirits purveyor or bartender.
This is absinthe in its most classic form. In the best examples, a base spirit derived from grapes, grain, or beets is infused and distilled with herbs, including green anise, wormwood, fennel, and other botanicals like hyssop and melissa. It’s then infused again with more herbs, picking up additional flavors and aromas as well as its pale green color. These absinthes are dynamic and multidimensional, blooming on the palate with a bright, sweet burst of anise and other herbs, anchored by a spine of peppery, tannic wormwood.
There are several excellent artisanal brands made domestically, which are good for sipping in the traditional manner or mixing in cocktails. Delaware Phoenix (upstate New York) makes two delicate absinthes, the floral, grassy Meadow of Love and the lush Walton Waters; Leopold Brothers (Denver) is sweet, spicy, and bright; Marteau (Portland, Oregon) is elegant and well-balanced, yet assertive, and performs well in cocktails; Pacifique (Seattle) is well-rounded and subtle, made according to a nineteenth-century French recipe; St. George (San Francisco) is deeply herbal with a hint of fruit; Sirène (Chicago) is crisp and complex, designed for cocktails; and Vieux Carré (Philadelphia) is soulful, spicy, and packaged in a handsome square bottle.
Good European-made brands with distribution channels in the United States include Duplais (Switzerland), a punchy offering with a bitter wormwood edge; Lucid (France), which led the U.S. absinthe revival, is mild in flavor, approachable, and widely available; Mansinthe (Switzerland), a lively formula created by gothcore musician Marilyn Manson; Nouvelle-Orléans (France), a light, floral tribute to New Orleans and its long love affair with absinthe; Obsello (Spain), a unique, bold-flavored absinthe, with rich, nutty characteristics and a supple body; and Vieux Pontarlier (France), a bright, grassy, classical absinthe made in a nineteenth-century distillery.
There are many coveted European absinthe brands that aren’t regularly distributed in the United States but are obtainable online. For a list of Web sites that specialize in overseas absinthe, see the Resources section.
Colorless absinthe was termed la bleue in post-ban Switzerland. It was moonshine, distilled secretly and circulated right under the noses of unsuspecting officials, who would have expected absinthe to be the usual green color. Premium offerings are distilled with the same herbs found in absinthe verte and bottled while the product is still clear, skipping the coloration step. Recommended brands include La Clandestine, a Swiss product based on an illicit 1935 recipe and produced in the village where absinthe is said to have originated; and Kübler, another Swiss product, which has been made by one family since 1863 and, at under $50 a bottle, is one of the better values in the absinthe category.
Also called “oil mixes,” these products consist of a neutral base spirit that has been infused with essential oils or whole herbs, with no additional distillation. Though this method existed in absinthe’s pre-ban heyday, it was—and is—usually inferior to distilled absinthe. Ideally, compounded absinthe would be made with high-quality, steam-distilled essential oils and colored naturally with herbs, but that’s seldom the case. Unfortunately, even though oil mixes are cheaper and easier to make, they’re not always priced lower than well-made absinthe—some bottles cost $75 or more. Be wary of these products, as they often claim to be premium or extra-special in some way and rarely advertise the fact that they’re not distilled. If a label says something like “neutral base spirit with natural flavors added” or lists artificial colors, check with a trusted source before you spend money on a bottle. Some experts believe it’s possible to make a compounded absinthe that’s better than decent, and at the time of this writing at least one producer is fixing to do so. For now, the most notable example is Pernod Absinthe, which is omnipresent in cocktail bars around the world but is colored artificially and is not as complex or assertive as most herb-distilled absinthes.
At $40 to $90 a bottle, absinthe prices can be hard to swallow. Consider, however, that absinthe is no more expensive than premium tequila or scotch and that, because it’s traditionally diluted with four or five parts water in the glass, or added to cocktails in mere dashes, a bottle can last a long time. Even so, there are ways to maximize the money you spend on absinthe. One is to shop wisely, to make sure you’re buying a quality product and not wasting your precious cash on fancy packaging. With absinthe, price does not necessarily indicate quality. There are some good absinthes available for $50 or less and some inferior brands that are priced considerably higher. A little research can save you a lot of money. Take note of the recommendations in this book, read product reviews online (see a list of good sites in the Resources section of this book), join an absinthe forum, or talk to a knowledgeable bartender or spirits seller before you buy. Another way to save is to go in on a bottle with a group of friends and get together to celebrate l’heure verte. This way everyone gets a taste for a fraction of the cost of a bottle. Do this once a month and before long you’ll be an expert. Cocktails are another great way to maximize your enjoyment of a bottle of absinthe. Many of the recipes in this book call for only a few drops or a fraction of an ounce of absinthe—a little goes a long way. You could work your way through all fifty recipes with a single bottle of absinthe.