After a very long hiatus, The Cigar Journal is back.  And to celebrate, I shall review an exotic drink called absinthe.

Absinthe is the French word for wormwood, an herb (Artemisia absinthium) which contains a complex of psychoactive alkaloids, the most controversial of which is called thujone.  The beverage called absinthe is a distilled liquor containing wormwood as well as two additional herbal essences, namely fennel and anise.

Highly popular amongst the bohemian set in late-19th- and early-20th-Century France, the notoriously green-colored, allegedly hallucinogenic beverage acquired the nickname la fée verte, meaning the green fairy.  In 1915 absinthe was banned nearly worldwide due to its psychoactive effects, upon which blame was placed for various violent and criminal acts allegedly committed under its influence.  However, due to more accurate scientific inquiry in recent times, the ban has been lifted (or at least modified) across the globe, to allow the production and sale of absinthe once again -- except, that is, in the United States, where absinthe (like Cuban cigars) is still illegal and will probably continue to be so.

While some turn-of-the-century absinthe preparations may have contained as much as 350 mg/kg of the active ingredient, thujone, the European Union currently limits thujone content to a mere 10 mg/kg.  Therefore a lively debate exists today between those who claim that modern absinthe will have no psychoactive effect, and others who swear that they have experienced these effects firsthand. 

Absinthe with traditional perforated spoon and sugar cube

Since I now spend half my life in Germany, I have access to a modern version of this renowned fin de siècle bohemian elixir.  So I decided to see for myself.  I purchased a midrange (in both cost and alcoholic content) bottle of genuine French absinthe with the brand name of Absente, produced by a distiller in Provence, France.  At this point I must caution you: you may find a beverage by this name and from this distiller (and with almost identical packaging) for sale in the United States.  However, this US-only version is not true absinthe -- if it were, the merchant who sells it would be taken away in handcuffs for doing so.   The American-release Absente is actually a faux-absinthe, containing no true wormwood (and therefore, absolutely no thujone).  In its place, the distiller adds so-called "southern wormwood," an inoccuous but similarly-flavored herb which is more properly named southernwood.  The true, European absinthe of this brand will have a silver cap as well as the word absinthe above the white label.

A bitter drink of extremely high alcoholic content, absinthe is rarely consumed neat.  The spirit is customarily diluted 3:1 to 5:1 with cold water, and its characteristic bitterness is masked with sugar.  The process is highly ritualized by absinthe aficionados; custom dictates that a sugar cube be used, together with a perforated absinthe spoon (see above).  There are two ways to get the sugar into the drink: by slowly (!) pouring or dripping cold water over the cube until it dissolves, or, by setting the cube on fire to caramelize it.  I decided to try both methods.

As I dripped cold water through the sugar cube, I observed that the originally-clear absinthe became ever more cloudy.  This clouding is known as louching, and is caused by the fact that certain compounds in absinthe are not as soluble in water as they are in alcohol, and therefore precipitate out as water is introduced.  Aficionados judge the quality of absinthe by its tendency to louch -- mine louched perfectly, even leaving a thin layer of clear absinthe atop the louched portion after the cube had thoroughly melted.  At this point, one continues to dilute with water (quickly, now) until the desired strength is achieved (I targeted 5:1), and the beverage is stirred with the spoon.  The absinthe cocktail is now ready to drink!

From the moment I opened the bottle, the aroma of anise had filled the room.  The beverage in its prepared state still had an anisey aroma, but much more subdued and subtle now.  The cocktail's flavor was also dominated by anise, but it was far more refined than that of the various anise liqueurs which most of us have experienced.  It was elegant and neutral, not strong and not at all bitter.  The flavor profile was soft and quite complex; the quality and variety of herbs certainly contributed to making the taste quite interesting.  Body was light and thin.  While the beverage seemed surprisingly almost non-alcoholic in its softness, I did notice a powerful numbing of my tongue -- I understand that this is due to the anise extracts rather than the wormwood.  I took my time and enjoyed this new and fascinating experience.  Shortly after finishing the beverage I noticed a very slight alcohol buzz -- very slight.

Deciding that I enjoyed my absinthe and that I was not feeling excessive alcohol, I readied a second ounce for my trial of the flaming sugar cube process.  I used a Bic lighter (shame on me); unfortunately I did not have a torch, as airline passengers are no longer permitted to carry them overseas, even in checked luggage.  The cube did not burn well.  After several minutes and three burnt fingers, all I managed was to slightly melt the outer layers of the cube.  I decided to cut bait and revert to the dilution process with a fresh cube.  It pays to be patient; the cube takes a while to begin its disintegration, but once it starts, it doesn't take long.

My second glass of absinthe was similar to the first, perhaps less tongue-numbing.  I decided that my chosen 5:1 water/spirit formula was probably too dilute for this midrange brand ("only" 110 proof); a 3:1 or 4:1 ratio would give the cocktail more body and a fuller flavor.

After forty minutes and the equivalent alcoholic content of two glasses of wine, I felt almost no alcohol effect.  Wormwood tends to counteract some of the neurochemical effects of alcohol, stimulating certain pathways which alcohol inhibits [read more].  This effect causes loyal absinthe fans to describe the experience as a "wide-awake-" or "lucid buzz."  So I decided I would try a third sample -- this time, neat, to evaluate the spirit in its pure state.

The aroma was strong and dominated by anise and alcohol.  Color was yellow-green, not as deep green as I had anticipated.  Body was medium to full (I had expected it to be fuller).  The flavor was also not nearly as bitter as reports had prompted me to believe.  Contrary to its reputation as being undrinkable straight, I found my neat absinthe to be quite palatable.  It had a full but not overpowering anise flavor, with hints of almonds and fermenting white wine on the finish.  Its heftiness demanded a macho cigar -- so I selected, cut and lit a full-bodied Joya de Nicaragua Antaño 1970.  This splendid smoke did not overpower the absinthe; it was a surprisingly refreshing combination.

After finishing this third round, I felt a bit of an alcoholic effect but not much at all.  I decided to take a walk and do some grocery shopping.  After having been out for an hour I started back; it was only then that the full alcoholic buzz hit me.  My liver must have metabolized and eliminated the thujone more quickly than the alcohol, finally enabling me to feel the full effect of the latter.  My return home was a bit less coordinated than the outward leg of my journey.

So what about the alleged psychoactive effect of absinthe?  Did I experience any hallucinations?  Did I see the renowned green fairy?

At first I didn't experience anything.  But sometime during the third round I did notice slight visual and audio distortion, which lasted only about ten minutes.  As I was writing my notes I noticed that the proportions of my hand had changed -- first long and thin, then squat and broad, as if someone were alternately stretching the vertical and horizontal dimensions in Photoshop.  A few minutes later as I continued to write, it seemed as if the flat surface of the paper had taken on a 3-D texture.  The fibers of the paper seemed to have depth, much like grass matted down after a flood.  And the ink seemed to follow the contours of the fibers, giving my seemingly-flat letters considerable depth.  A few minutes later upon finishing my absinthe, I was enjoying my cigar while watching an André Rieu performance on TV.  Suddenly it seemed as if the music had also taken on a sort of 3-D texture.  It was as if the instruments had moved away from each other, giving the music depth.  Did these visual and auditory distortions merely come from a placebo effect, or were they perhaps simply due to the power of suggestion?  I can't say for sure, but the experience did seem real to me, albeit mild and short-lived.

Absinthe is a delightful and unique beverage with a distinct subcultural mystique surrounding it.  It is an experience which I consider to be highly recommended.  If you ever find yourself outside the United States, put absinthe next to Cuban cigars and Havana Club rum on your list of forbidden treats upon which to indulge.
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An interesting video: Forbidden Fruit: The Absinthe Drinker.  A retired neurosurgeon explains the myths behind the green fairy and what draws him to this forbidden fruit.