DECEMBER 2019/JANUARY 2020Above, clockwise from
bottom left: the entrance
to La Valote Martin
distillery, which dries
wormwood in its attic;
absinthe spoons; just-
picked wormwood at
Distillerie Guy. Opposite:
an absinthe fountainToulouse-Lautrec, and a host of other bohemian artists
and writers active in Paris. Even in places where it
wasn’t banned, absinthe has always been something
of a daring novelty—an edgy ingredient in cocktails
like the Sazerac and Corpse Reviver No. 2 or a flaming
shot knocked back by fearless hell-raisers.
But this trip to absinthe’s heartland on the French-
Swiss border has convinced me that the drink’s
notoriety is undeserved. Here you find the good stuff:
a refreshing spirit distilled with up to 10 botanicals—
including aniseed, mint, and lemon balm—to disguise
the bitter taste of the key ingredient, wormwood.
With an alcohol content typically ranging from 50
to 60 percent, absinthe isn’t for the fainthearted, but
in moderation it can be enjoyed just like any other
spirit. Traditionally, it’s served à la Parisienne—an
elaborate ritual centered around an absinthe fountain
(a large, ornate jar with spigots, resting on a stand).
From this, ice-cold water is dripped through a sugar
lump perched on a slotted spoon lying on the rim of
a glass of absinthe. The moment the water is added,
the spirit turns cloudy, like pastis.
Although seldom encountered in the region’s
watering holes, the sugar-and-spoon ceremony is
a big part of the experience at the bars and tasting
rooms of local absinthe distilleries. Yet for all the
industry’s fondness for nostalgia, it’s also looking to
the future, and is enjoying a renaissance not unlike
the gin revolution in the United Kingdom. Dozens
of small, family-run distilleries are blending their
botanicals in the traditional absinthe areas of
Switzerland and France.
My journey begins in Pontarlier, a laid-back town
at the foot of the Jura Mountains in eastern France.
Its ties with absinthe are strong, and by all accounts
the town was once awash with the stuff. By the end
of the 19th century, there were 25 distilleries in and
around Pontarlier producing absinthe and providing
a living for some 3,000 of the town’s 8,000-odd inhab-
itants. Today, at the Pontarlier Museum, a whole floor
is given over to the drink. According to the museum’s
cultural liaison officer, Elise Berthelot, absinthe’s pop-
ularity didn’t go down well with people in the wine
trade, especially as the local vineyards were suffer-
ing from an insect blight that was pushing prices up.
Absinthe’s consumption was soon being vigorously
campaigned against by the church and the authorities.
Chilling posters from this time—also on display—made
it clear that the Green Fairy would spell certain doom
for all who dared to consume it.
“The ‘dangerous’ ingredient was thought to be the
thujone [a toxic compound] in the wormwood plant.
Their ‘proof ’ was found by injecting it into mice’s
brains; however, this obviously isn’t how humans
consume it,” explains Berthelot, rolling her eyes.
When, in 1904, a Swiss laborer killed his family after
drinking absinthe, it was the last straw. Switzerland
banned it and over the next decade many other coun-
tries followed suit, including France and the U.S. (the
ban was reversed in 2007).
While most absinthe distilleries were forced to
close, some—like Distillerie Guy, in Pontarlier (run
by the Guy family for five generations)—survived by
diversifying into other aniseed-flavored aperitifs such
as pastis. These days, the family is bringing absinthe
back to life at its buzzing distillery where gleaming
copper stills are admired by the numerous visitors on
their way into the tasting room for a sample.
Over lunch with Fabrice Hérard, who heads up the
French part of the Route de l’Absinthe (a Franco-Swiss