GULPS FROM THE UNDERGROUND
Absinthe, the outlawed drink of poets and painters, is enjoying a resurgence in L.A.
By Ian A. Young
As I'm standing alone in the Westside Pavilion, all I can think about is my parents telling me to never accept candy from a stranger.
This is the "neutral location," where I'm about to meet someone I found on the Internet. In personal-ad terms, he's supposed to be an SWM, Tall/Blond/Athletic. He tells me that, as long as I don't mention his name, he'll let me taste his collection of absinthe.
Absinthe, by the way, is back. It's illegal, but there's more absinthe available now than in the past 100 years - with just a few mouse clicks and a credit card, you can have a bottle delivered to your doorstep. The licorice-flavored, opalescent green liqueur is made with a handful of herbs and, at up to 170 proof, it packs a punch and has been known to induce druglike effects of perceived lucidity and spatial ambiguity, traits usually associated with weed or ecstasy, not alcohol. It inspired Picasso, Wilde, and Hemingway to paint, write, and get violent - Van Gogh's ear was most likely a victim of an absinthe binge - and Johnny Depp, Marilyn Manson, and Eminem are some of Hollywood's enthusiastic absintheurs. The U.S. banned it in 1912 (seven years before Prohibition), and France - where the people declared "Absinthe: It is death!" - banned it three years later.
Death or not, I've made my way to the downstairs entrance of Barnes & Noble, our agreed-upon meeting place. A few minutes later, John (not his real name) arrives. He is, in fact, Tall/Blond/Athletic. After a quick introduction, he leads me down the escalator.
At the Fee Verte website (Feeverte.net), absinthe isn't just a drink - it's a lifestyle, an obsession. Its members are a colorful bunch including "Tabraeux," a bodybuilder and chemist, "Louched Liver," a 45-year-old kitchen manager, and "Don Walsh," a Vietnam vet who distills his own absinthe and runs an S&M dungeon - and hundreds more. This site was where I posted a message asking for interviews. The response was varied, as most people are paranoid about an absinthe crackdown, but one of the members e-mailed me. That's how I met John.
John drives out of the parking lot, and a few blocks later I realize I have no idea where we are. Yes, I'm a bit panicked. I make a note to buy pepper spray next time I'm at Ralphs. (If there is a next time.) But, before I know it, John's parking the car. Inside his place, I immediately notice a dozen bottles surrounding two pizza boxes on a small wood dining table. There's a couch, a TV, the usual Swedish-made living room furniture. No interrogation chair, no strange leather or metal spiky things, no gang of misfit absinthe-addicts itching for ultra-violence.
"Would you like to have some pizza before we start, so you don't pass out from drinking?"
As we eat, I look at the bottles. I recognize the Swiss La Bleue, a clear absinthe that's one of the most expensive. A few days earlier, I had talked with Betina, a self-proclaimed "absinthe smuggler" who sells one-liter bottles of La Bleue for $200 online.
Two pieces of mushroom and pepperoni pizza down the hatch. I'm ready to start.
"You can either drink from this $3 glass, or you can go with my most historical, expensive antique glass," John says.
He's referring to the absinthe drinking ritual, which involves a slotted spoon placed over a special glass that's filled with a "dose" of absinthe. A sugar cube is placed on the spoon, and cold water is dripped over the sugar, dissolving it into the drink. As the water mixes with the liqueur, the absinthe "louches," a French term meaning "to become unclear." A green absinthe louches white, a clear one cloudy.
I decide to forego the potential of breaking something valuable and opt for the $3 glass. John describes the bottles in front of us: Sebor from the Czech Republic, the red-tinted Serpis, Spanish Segarra, Mari Mayans, the Japanese Hermes - he goes on and on. First up is La Bleue. John opens the bottle innocuously labeled "Betina's Natural Remedies" and fills my glass with the clear liqueur. I add water, and it turns murky.
Oscar Wilde wrote: "The first stage is like ordinary drinking, the second when you begin to see monstrous and cruel things, but if you can persevere you will enter upon the third stage where you see things that you want to see, wonderful curious things."
I take my first sip. It tastes refreshing, a strong anise flavor, a bit thin yet still sweet. It fills my mouth and nostrils with a rich bouquet of flavors. I ask John about absinthe's legality in the U.S.
"Nobody with a shred of common sense has any fear that the government is going to crack down on absinthe," he says. "I don't think the FDA cares, and I don't think the DEA has a clue."
Up next is Mari Mayans, and then the mythical Japanese Hermes. There are subtle differences, but they all remind me of black licorice. John explains the infamous "secondary effects." It already takes a lot of effort to pay attention at this point.
"Feeling pumped or particularly talkative are two things. But it doesn't make you see things," he notes. "There's this notion that the other contents of the absinthe, the herbs, wormwood, do not allow you to fall into the kind of stupor that alcohol otherwise brings about."
"I get more clear-headed, more relaxed," Louched Liver wrote on the Fee Verte website. "And the fucking dreams, man! I used to only remember perhaps one dream every 3 or 4 months. Now, if I don't remember at least one vivid dream each night, I feel cheated."
By now I've finished the Hermes, plus Segarra and Serpis. I'm definitely not sober, but I have yet to see cruel things or wonderful things. I don't feel much like writing poetry, either.
"Absinthe doesn't bring you any closer to being a poet," John says. "If you feel the purported effects and you don't like staggering drunkenness, then it's better than drinking tequila. In the end, it comes down to being a good drink."
Next is Absente, a legal "absinthe substitute" that doesn't contain wormwood, the herb often credited for explaining the "secondary effects." After that is La Fée, which was the official absinthe for the movie From Hell. As I drink, John talks about something interesting, but the details flutter by. I look at my notes and ask the next question on my list, mostly to avoid awkward silences. I don't remember what he said. I don't remember what my question was, either.
Absinthe's resurgence has birthed a rich underground network of enthusiasts and sellers, but that doesn't mean it's any easier to get invited to gatherings or drinking parties. A few restaurants and clubs in L.A. now serve Absente (Boardner's Bar Sinister in Hollywood is infamous for it), but if you want a glass of Swiss La Bleue you'll probably have to order it online yourself.
We decide the La Fée is my last glass. I don't feel drunk, but the walls are melting into each other. I get into John's car, and he drives me back to Westside Pavilion.
In the end, I didn't feel like writing poetry or cutting off my ear. But absinthe's delicious history and sinister allure filled my senses with desire, curiosity, a hunger for the unknown. I indulged in the forbidden fruit! I flirted with death! That's a taste I'll never forget.Published: 06/23/2005
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