est. 2007
The New Amateur to Absintheur:
Part 1
by Faye Coulman
Editor's Note: The following statements are solely the opinions of Ms. Coleman, and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Absinthe Review Network. There may be opinions expressed that you disagree with, as we have put no restrictions on her content. Our goal was to give an unbiased viewpoint of the transformation from a newcomer to a full-fledged absintheur, starting now. In any circumstance, realize that Faye is still relatively unfamiliar with the absinthe world and still learning, just like Brad was before her. It will be interesting to see how her current opinions may contrast with those she might have a year from now! But we'll make that comparison then; in the meantime, please enjoy the first entry of the new Amateur to Absintheur!
Enlightenment in Intoxication
Bewitching countless decades of dandies and degenerates, artists and alcoholics alike, my own personal preoccupation with the infamous emerald muse, absinthe, is one of enduring proportions.
My acquaintance with the liquor’s hypnotic green glare was initially prompted, obscurely enough, by the writings of 18th century Irish author, Oscar Wilde.
On his favoured chemical vice, Wilde remarked: “The first stage is like ordinary drinking, the second when you begin to see monstrous and cruel things, but if you persevere you will enter in upon the third stage where you see things that you want to see, wonderful curious things.”
Though unaccustomed to the
consumption of alcohol in even its feeblest of preparations, my
recollection of the first caustic sip remains, despite the passage of
seven years,
an
experience forever seared upon my mind. Served unceremoniously in a
shot glass dispensed by the near-dilapidated rock club I so often
frequented, the drink’s unassuming presentation rendered its taste
increasingly remarkable. The liquid fire contained within betrayed a
strange aroma of alcoholic ferocity and herbal exoticism. Beyond the
delicate products of distillation there seemed to emerge a darkness of
sorts. The recipe largely untainted by crass modernity, dusty centuries
of intoxication appeared to unfold before me.
Despite the legalisation of absinthe in the United Kingdom over ten years ago, the liquor itself has maintained much of the cult status it currently enjoys today. Many want to dismiss it with a sniff of ignorant revulsion, while others continue to believe that the drink remains outlawed in this country. Bedfellow to all things taboo, absinthe’s allure is not so far removed from that of a banned record or horror title. Much like absinthe consumption, the literary tradition of the macabre has also endured with its spirit of controversy intact. Louisiana-based mistress of the modern gothic, Poppy Z. Brite, illustrates this association particularly aptly with her acclaimed short story, “His Mouth Will Taste of Wormwood.”
“The absinthe cauterized my throat with its flavor,” she writes, “part pepper, part licorice, part rot.”
Hampered
by meagre finances and a habitual tendency toward the crudely alcoholic,
I later endured a smattering of eye-watering and garishly coloured
supermarket impostors. After a lengthy, poisonous quest for quality, my
appreciation for absinthe’s revered flavour emerged some years later
upon my purchase of a rather financially damaging brand of the French
variety, “Absente 55.” Ever faithful to its intoxicating ancestor,
“Grand Absinthe” (the original form notoriously banned in 1915) “Absente
55” deviates little from the original recipe.
A mystical, faintly alchemical distillation of wormwood, mugwort and green anise, “Absente 55’s” overwhelming aromatic complexity is truly a wonder to behold. Its perfume lavishly imbued with the herbal treasures of Provence, the sweet after-burn, present on the tongue and in the throat, grows in potency with each additional drop imbibed. My modest grasp of absinthe preparation, acquired from a dubious combination of wormwood-related horror and sketchy internet research, has nonetheless yielded some satisfying conclusions. Maintaining much of its viscosity, Absinthe 55 creates a cloudy, yet distinctly emerald louche upon the addition of ice water. While much of my creative energies are owed to this refreshing, French form of preparation, having since discovered the Czech method (as seen in Hollywood blockbuster, “From Hell”) I am reluctant to return to my former, watery experimentations. The delight of alcoholics and pyromaniacs alike, the Czech ritual entails the lighting of a liquor-drenched sugar cube above a glass of absinthe. Having witnessed, at length, the indigo flame’s mesmerising progress, the resulting taste is a caramelised, simmering delight.
A
distillation of dramatically different character, Swiss offering
Kübler, exudes anise-drenched
purity from first to last drop. Potent testament to the esteemed
Kübler dynasty, a strange
sense of clarity in intoxication is one of its most prominent
characteristics. Uncommonly fierce on the nose with a Pernod-like sting
utterly at odds with its lunar, pale blue louche, I was further
surprised by Kübler’s
entirely colourless appearance. Undertaking my first tremulous sip in
the small hours of the morning following a dour, anticlimactic birthday
celebration, this extensive tasting session did much to elevate my
spirits with its many beneficial (shall we say?) virtues. A sedate
affair by comparison to my previous fiery, carnivalesque antics with the
“Absente 55” I found myself profoundly submerged in introspection after
the fifth measure.
As my alcohol-addled musings intensified, I found myself caught in contemplation of the sad impermanence of the modern world. Amid its crude, minimalist principles linger but few surviving decadent delights. Surely the finest of these luxuriant traditions, absinthe is truly the essence of excess in all its bottled and stoppered green glory.
Published 9/28/2008