Reversible Errors: Review - Absinthe Odyssey 2009

I was raised to choose the cheapest brand of whatever I need and, regardless of quality, force myself to enjoy it.  Accordingly, in many areas (e.g., wine, wheat bread, spackling, etc.) I've failed to develop a sophisticated palate.  In one area, however, I have endeavored to remedy this problem: absinthe.

A few caveats are in order here.  First of all, absinthe is legal in the United States.  Second of all, the absinthe that is legal in the United States most assuredly is the real, wormwood-containing deal.  There are absinthe-flavored wormwood-free products out there (most notably Absente), but genuine absinthe has been legal here since 2007-or rather, the FDA allows for the manufacture and/or importation of certain (but many) brands of genuine absinthe.  Or something like that.  Anyway, you can get your hands on a lot of different brands of the stuff these days.  Finally, the amount of wormwood present in a properly-distilled absinthe is barely a trace amount, meaning that it won't make you go blind (despite what the guy at the liquor store told me a few weeks ago); it also will not make you hallucinate, contrary to popular lore.

Now, in order to properly evaluate a given brand of absinthe, the presentation must be taken into account.  In my view, there are three aspects to presentation: preparation, venue, and camaraderie.  Proper absinthe preparation consists of placing a sugar cube on a slotted spoon over the mouth of the absinthe glass (a flared glass with a bulb at the bottom), pouring absinthe over the sugar until the glass's bulb is filled, and then using a special absinthe fountain to slowly drip cold water over the remaining sugar.  This process opens up the absinthe's flavors and results in a cloudy consistency.

In terms of venue, there are plenty of options for absinthe consumption.  Right here in the District, for instance, you can enjoy a glass at Gibson (the unmarked cocktail bar next to Marvin) or DC9 (I am not kidding.  I saw it up there over the bar last semester).  The best venue options, however, are to be found in New Orleans, specifically in the French Quarter, which was, before absinthe was banned, the heart of American absinthe culture.  Since 2007, several establishments in the Quarter have made a specialty out of serving absinthe; I bring three to your attention momentarily.

Proper camaraderie involves drinking absinthe with your friends, old and new.

And this brings me to Absinthe Odyssey 2009.  There I was, in New Orleans.  It was a Wednesday in late December.  It was the early evening.  From the 17th floor of the Holiday Inn on Royal Street, I reminisced about a Friday in late December 2008 when I ventured forth to Jean Lafitte's Old Absinthe House and sampled three different absinthes.  That was a good time, but it was also a loud time, because the House is on Bourbon Street.  Even so, I had rather enjoyed that evening, but I had promptly forgotten the names of the three different absinthes I had tried.  I liked the first one the best, though.

Anyway, I had spent the first part of the week threatening to engage in a similar evening, this time prepared to take notes and to venture further afield than Bourbon Street.  I had located two other absinthe houses a few days before, and I was determined to see what they had to offer.  It was 6:17 pm.  The weather was inclement.  I had a slight sinus headache.  Conditions were perfect.  I sent a dispatch to Rushab, a man as interested in comparing absinthe notes as I, and, accompanied by Mikhail and Valerie, we sallied forth into the pouring rain.

Thus began Absinthe Odyssey 2009.

The first stop on the tour (there were ultimately two) was at a small bar in an alley quite literally in the shadow of St. Louis Cathedral (the big church on Jackson Square).  The name: Tony Seville's Pirate's Alley Café and Olde Absinthe House.  Remember how your third grade teacher told you not to judge a book by its cover?  The name of this bar does not accurately represent its contents.  True, one of the bartenders was sort of dressed like a pirate, but apart from that, the overall feel was that of a local hangout.  TSPACOAH could only fit about 15 people comfortably, but everyone was pretty friendly.  Moreover, unlike Jean Lafitte's Old Absinthe House, TSPACOAH actually used its absinthe fountain during preparation.  Point, TSPACOAH.

Anyway, on that Wednesday night TSPACOAH had four absinthes available for purchase.  After careful deliberation, I tried all four.  First on the list was Lucid.  According to my handwritten notes (as in, I didn't have any paper so I wrote my notes on my hand), this was $10 a glass.  It was apropos that we began with Lucid, because it was the first authentic absinthe brand to be re-legalized in the U.S.  It had a pretty good kick to it, and it tasted like absinthe.  Next on the list was Obsello ($10), a Spanish absinthe.  A poster on the back wall of the bar informed patrons that it was apparently an award-winning absinthe.  Taste-wise, it seemed a bit less potent than the Lucid; this is likely due to the fact that Lucid is a higher proof than Obsello.  In Rushab's estimation, Obsello's taste was slightly "clearer," but we agreed this wasn't necessarily a good thing.  In any event, it tasted like absinthe.

At this point things were progressing nicely.  Several of our other comrades had joined us and were trying absinthe for the very first time; all parties involved seemed to be enjoying themselves, including the bartender, with whom I was having an animated discussion about her novel-in-progress, which had just found an interested publisher.  Good for her.

Feeling ambitious, Rushab and I decided to up the stakes and sample Nouvelle Orleans ($20).  This absinthe apparently is the fruit of the labors of one Ted Breaux, who was instrumental in getting Lucid legalized.  Or something like that.  Of all of the absinthes we sampled, this was probably my favorite.  Reference to various absinthe-related websites confirm that this is a highly-regarded brand, which gives me hope that I've developed some sophistication at this late date.  It tasted like absinthe.

It was now around about 8:30.  We were hungry.  But we were also determined to be thorough.  So we rounded out our time at TSPACOAH with a glass of what I thought was called Absenthe ($10).  But further research suggests that it was pretty probably Absente, the aforementioned absinthe substitute.  But I'm not sure.  Whatever it was, it tasted like absinthe.

We now reach the Absinthe Odyssey interlude.  Now is an excellent time to fix yourself a snack.

As for my doughty comrades, we took our supper at Coop's, a restaurant on Decatur Street that had exactly one waitperson serving an entire restaurant.  Finding a seat was sort of a free-for-all-you hung out on the street, and as soon as you saw an open table, you muscled your way through the doors and grabbed said table.  We were able to do so surprisingly quickly, given the size our group; perhaps it was dumb luck, but I think it was fate.  I had the Jambalaya Supreme, which is probably the most delicious thing I've ever eaten.  "Supreme" meant "rabbit and seafood."  I so totally ate Thumper.

Thus recharged, we made our way several doors up the street to Pravda.  With a name like that, you might think this would be something like our own Russia House.  That would be a fatal miscalculation on three counts.  First, Pravda does not have Russian food.  Second, Pravda has less velvet furniture than Russia House.  Lastly, Pravda does not specialize in vodka, ice queen bartenders, or shady characters hanging out by the kitchen.

Pravda does, however, specialize in absinthe.  Although I would rate TSPACOAH's ambience slightly ahead of Pravda's, the accoutrements at Pravda were entirely agreeable, and the absinthe preparation was on par with that of TSPACOAH.  Moreover, Pravda offered about two dozen absinthe varieties-easily the largest selection I've encountered anywhere.  After some careful conferring, Rushab and I decided that we should have a glass of Kübler ($15?  $13?  $17.50?).  This is one of the more famous absinthe varieties, and it is a fine example of the blanc (as opposed to verte) absinthe.  The main difference between blanc and verte absinthes would be that one is white, the other green.  But don't let my grasp of the obvious distract you-the Kübler tasted like absinthe.

It was now late in the evening, and my stamina was beginning to wane.  But there's something about even numbers, so Rushab and I decided to persevere and conclude with a glass of St. George ($20, maybe $25-the receipt is around here somewhere).  St. George is notable for two reasons: first, it is the first true absinthe to be manufactured in the United States since the lifting of the ban; second, it has a brandy base, giving it a bit of a yellowish color.  What with the brandy base, it had a bit of a brandy taste.  Underneath it all, however, it tasted like absinthe.

Thus fortified with an evening of experience and a hand covered in ink, I did what any self-respecting adult does at 11:30 on a weeknight: I went to a dingy piano bar and belted out "Walking in Memphis" with the pianist, a woman with a voice like Clint Eastwood.

Out of six glasses of absinthe, Absinthe Odyssey 2009 gets six.  Plus two bottles of Abita Amber.