Green Fairy

The waiter put a small but heavy glass in front of me. There was a measure of a chartreuse or crème de menthe like liquid in it. He placed a small, flat stainless spoon like a small pie-server over the glass, and set a carafe of chilled water next to the glass. A moment later, a small dish of sugar lumps sat next to the glass. He withdrew. I looked at the label of the bottle he poured the liquid from. It's Swiss. Odd that the first glass of absinthe I have is from the first country to make it illegal back in the day. This is the real, true absinthe-with the northern wormwood and all. So.

I extract a sugar lump, place it on the spoon, and pick up the carafe of water. The idea is to pour slowly the water over the sugar lump, letting it dissolve into the green liquid below-the liquid turns a green opalescent color, which has a specific word to describe it; this is the absinthe's "louche". It only happens when real anise has been used in the production. It's an appropriate word, considering absinthe's historical use among artists, bohemians, and the leisured classes. Mind? Absinthe was consumed by everybody. Like whisky wasn't just about the cowboys.

The sugar dissolves. The last crystals sweep in a cloud into the glass, so a couple stirs of the now opaque liquid. I have a glass of the Green Fairy. La Fée Verte. The aroma is that of licorice Allsorts, the resemblance is to green milk. A taste, and the licorice spreads over my tongue-the volatile elements waft into my nose and fill my mind with pictures of candy counters, the painting of the Bar at the Follies Bergere by Manet…Toulouse Lautrec crossing his eyes at the camera, and shocking dances like the Can Can. There's something in with the anise. Some slight sharpness, some small metal. I swallow almost reflexively, and the liquid slides down and spreads. There is a warmth, the alcohol of 110-proof spirits making its presence felt.

So why am I drinking this substance? A link with history- the opportunity to have something forbidden by the law of the country I live in. It was forbidden here in France as well, but the French have relaxed that law now- if people choose to drink absinthe, then let them do so and work out their own damnation. The French can occasionally be grown up about things- not their race policies, but certainly their drinking ones.

I wait for the bang. There is no bang. There is a buzz, or perhaps hum. Kylie Minogue fails to appear. Pity. I grin. But I always grin. So far this has been nothing but a strong drink. I finish the glass. The waiter shimmers into being next to me. "Un autre, s'il vous plait." "Oui Monsieur". And in a moment, a second glass, another sugar lump, another louche. Another drink.

And I realize I'm having the clearest humming buzz of my life. There isn't precisely an aura around things, I'm not hallucinating anything, but in drinking terms, I'm in a comfortable licorice-flavored armchair. The flavors are growing on me. I can see why the time after work but before dinner was referred to as "The Green Hour." Everybody drank this stuff, until a horrible set of murders took place- never mind that the murderer had been drinking brandy, beer and marc since he had been awake, he blamed it on the glass of absinthe, and so did the early temperance society. The fairy's death knell was sounded as the premier drink of the people.

In a few months, the beginning of the campaign to make absinthe demonized-like rum or beer in a later day-was in full war cry. It was blamed for everything. Nancy Reagan would have felt right at home. It became illegal in country after country.

At the end of my second glass, and a small bowl of olives that came with it, I begin to understand. People need demons. A Green Fairy doesn't stand a chance against the squad that needs convenient villains. As the liberal, so the Fée Verte. And an era came to a close.

Of course, the myths grew, the powers ascribed to the drink grew. Precisely because it was forbidden. The illicit return of the Fairy in unmarked bottles-some with dangerous levels of wormwood, some with metholated alcohol, some with other poisons added…all added to the terrible myth of absinthe. Oh, there were the legitimate substitutes- Pernod, once the primiere producer of absinthe, came out with the pastis we drink now, and others-chartreuse, Campari, and so on.

And now? Absinthe is back. 110-proof, but with most versions now having the gentler southern wormwood used in them. The levels carefully controlled. The fairy has to be on her best behavior, or the door may close again.

My absinthe glass empty yet again, I paid my tab. Stood up, and walked out the door. I may have had difficulty with putting on my scarf, and perhaps the hat was at a rakish angle, and I may have had moments of navigational uncertainty, but it didn't matter. I was walking with my old friend Toulouse-and he knew this wonderful café. Everything was glowing very faintly with a green opal glow. And I strolled into the Paris night laughing about Can Can dancers, pretty green girls with wings, and Toulouse's latest adventures.