An aperitif originally bottled by the Pernod family in the French city of Pontarlier in 1805, absinthe is extremist by nature. In addition to pure alcohol and the aniseed, absinthe contains wormwood, an herb containing the drug thujone, whose properties had already been nixed for medical use by mid-19th-century doctors for the excellent reason that it caused convulsions in lab animals. But in Paris, where absinthe could be purchased for less than a third of the cost of a loaf of bread, the stuff's popularity rose—especially among writers and artists. Playwrights Oscar Wilde and Alfred Jarry were devotees. Poets Paul Marie Verlaine and Arthur Rimbaud's tempestuous relationship was fueled by it; Verlaine shot Rimbaud in the wrist while tanked on the stuff, while Vincent Van Gogh (who painted Still Life With Absinthe in 1887, the same year Toulouse-Lautrec portrayed him sitting with a glass of it) is rumored to have famously cut off his own ear while under its influence.
Incidents like that—as well as that of Jean Lanfray, who in 1905 shot his wife and daughter to death while drunk on absinthe, among other things—helped lead to a moral panic that caused a public backlash against the beverage. It was banned from Belgium in 1905; Holland followed suit five years later. In the U.S., absinthe was smote a good five years before the 18th Amendment, which led to prohibition, was passed.
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If Seattle has an absinthe underground, it's a fractious one—which figures, given the secretive nature of the product. Few of the people I interviewed knew each other, and opinions vary wildly over the "proper" way to enjoy it. "There is an element of the ritual that is practical—diluting it to a point where it's palatable—but beyond that I think any ritual that you come up with that has meaning to you is the ritual you should be engaging in," says Mitchell. "I don't believe in re-creating something just for the sake of that's how it has always been done. I think it's about making it your own."
Hiram, a purist, disagrees; for him, there are correct and incorrect procedures. "People still haven't been informed as to what authentic absinthe is," he says. "And you can't really blame them. I spend way too much time online correcting people—I take it way too personally. But the Wormwood Society is incredibly eclectic—it's got a little bit of everybody. We're getting the folks [who have] tried the homemade stuff and it's not all it's cracked up to be, and then they're like, 'Oh my gosh, people are still making the real thing in France, and this is the stuff that's being made a hundred years ago—how can I get in on this?' Those are the folks that we're beginning to attract."
Authentic or not, absinthe isn't going anywhere anytime soon. In fact, Mitchell claims to have an absinthe cocktail, "The Babs," named after her at the bar of London's Notting Hill Arts Club. "I don't know if it's a cocktail I would create for myself—it kinda tastes like a melted mint-chocolate-chip ice-cream cone. But," she says, "it's on the permanent drink menu." Could Seattle aficionados contribute to a broader absinthe revival? As Starbucks devotees will note, it wouldn't be the first time the city has helped make an addictive European beverage popular.
mmatos@seattleweekly.com
With additional reporting by Daphne Carr. For more information on the Wormwood Society, go to www.wormwoodsociety.org.
