Everything you know about absinthe is wrong

For the past decade and a half, Breaux has been actively tearing down these myths. He has become a rock star in the absinthe community for his own high-quality artisanal line of absinthe, Jade Liqueurs (produced in France), and his obsessive analysis of pre-ban absinthe samples, which led to the crucial discovery that the most controversial element in absinthe -- thujone, a component of the bitter medicinal herb wormwood -- was there only in trace amounts, well under the legal limit for thujone in this country.

Earlier this year, the American government lifted its ban on absinthe. The first entrant into the market is Lucid, distributed by New York-based Viridian Spirits and currently enjoying the highest profile. Part of that is due to the man hired to collaborate on the product -- none other than Breaux, who developed Lucid at a distillery in Saumur, France. I've heard snide comments about the bottle design -- a pair of cat's eyes meant to evoke Théophile-Alexandre Steinlen's Le Chat Noir poster art, an homage to a Montmartre cabaret, though it mostly reminds me of Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Cats" -- but I haven't heard gripes about the drink. Lucid is a solid absinthe. And so far, a popular one.

"We've sold thousands more cases than expected," says Jared Gurfein, president of Viridian Spirits. "There is a huge interest in absinthe. Unbelievable."

And, Breaux adds, "there is nothing neutered or modified about it. This is the same absinthe they drank 100 years ago."

(Actually, a few bloggers might argue this point. Not surprisingly, absinthe has an intense online community, where discussions of, say, thujone content spiral off into gigantic threads.)

Lance Winters became interested in absinthe after working five years as a moonshiner. Recently, his St. George Absinthe Vert was cleared for sale. "Absinthe is the pinnacle of the distiller's art form," he says. "It exemplifies all the things that are difficult to do but beautiful when achieved. The anise, the wormwood, the fennel-- these are three very powerful ingredients, aromatically and flavor-wise. It's like getting a whole bunch of strong voices in one room and getting them to harmonize." At times, it can go terribly wrong. There has certainly been no shortage of nasty absinthe over the years. But, as Winters says, "when it works, it can give you goosebumps."

St. George has a more robust flavor than Lucid, which is admittedly toned down for an American market. It has an herbal, earthy bouquet, and packs such a wallop that it almost makes my tongue feel numb, like a potent bleu cheese. Another absinthe cleared for distribution is Kübler, a Swiss absinthe. (Kübler lobbied extensively to get the U.S. absinthe ban repealed.) As an Absinthe Blanc, or clear absinthe, Kübler may lack the flair of the green-yellow louche, but perhaps audiences will eventually forgo the drama and settle for flavor.

"There's an expansion in people's minds about what spirits are all about," says Winters. "We saw this take place with wine, where people went from just ordering any chablis or burgundy to actually knowing the differences between grapes. We saw this in the craft brewing revolution, which took us from these horrible, bland, mass-produced beers to people making beers with these insane peaks and flavors."

But what happens to an illicit drink when it is robbed of its illicitness? Part of what gave absinthe so much power -- in the mind, if not the marketplace -- was its lore and illegality. Like opium, absinthe conjures exotic images of romantic destruction; unlike opium, absinthe isn't actually dangerous. A great many people have learned about absinthe through films, where it is a stand-in for lawlnessness and vice. "Moulin Rouge," "From Hell," "Murder by Numbers," and the frat-boy midnight movie "Eurotrip" all featured absinthe as a trippy narrative device--at the very least, an opulent set piece. But the drink's place in pop culture is perhaps best encapsulated by "Bram Stoker's Dracula," directed by Francis Ford Coppola (who also happens to be a vintner), where history's bloodthirsty count sips from a green bottle marked "SIN." So dangerous. So lavish. So goth.

In fact, goth high priest Marilyn Manson is marketing his own red absinthe -- Mansinthe (!) -- currently available online. This could hardly be considered a good sign, especially for those who don't want the drink's rich historical and literary history to be lost in the hype of another bourgie trend.

Michelle Nolan is a bartender at Pravda, a bar in New Orleans' French Quarter that sells absinthe. "There are three types of customers who come in here looking for it," she says. "The first is the frat guy, who maybe saw Johnny Depp drink it in a movie. They ask for shots of absinthe, and nine out of 10 times we don't serve them, because you really don't want to shoot a drink that costs $20. It's like taking a shot of Remy Martin. The second type is literary -- their favorite author wrote about it; they want to know if there really is a muse. And the third is connoisseurs, for whom cost is no object. But they like sitting at the bar and talking about this drink they know everything about." A recent fourth addition might be people who read about it in a magazine. Because there has been no shortage of those stories recently.

Evidence of its current chic can be found at Employees Only -- a charming roaring '20s-style bar in New York's West Village -- where a handsome Serbian bartender named Dushan Zaric (who also co-owns the bar) makes a variety of absinthe cocktails for me. And, much as I do like straight absinthe, I find these mixed drinks easier to sip socially; they demand a little less of my attention. There is my favorite, the Billionaire Cocktail -- 107-proof bourbon, homemade absinthe bitters, lemon juice and homemade grenadine. There is absinthe and champagne, crisp and effervescent, a drink reputed to be a favorite of Ernest Hemingway's. It's hard to imagine absinthe could ever be the next vodka and Red Bull, but if people caught on to how good these drinks taste, it might be more than a mere trend.

Nobody's predicting a drink once fabled for inducing madness will take over the glitzy table-service clubs of L.A. anytime soon. But you know what? If that happened, I would totally start watching "The Hills" again.

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