liberated from the sfgate.com:
Alameda distiller helps make absinthe legitimate again
Stacy Finz, Chronicle Staff Writer
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
.
It was the drink of choice for 19th century painters, poets and writers.
Vincent van Gogh sliced off his ear while sipping it, Edgar Degas and Pablo Picasso painted it, French poet Paul Verlaine cursed it as he lay dying in his bed.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
.
It was the drink of choice for 19th century painters, poets and writers.
Vincent van Gogh sliced off his ear while sipping it, Edgar Degas and Pablo Picasso painted it, French poet Paul Verlaine cursed it as he lay dying in his bed.
For nearly 100 years, the United States and many other nations banned it.
Absinthe. "It leads straight to the madhouse or the courthouse," declared Henri Schmidt, a French druggist urging his own countrymen to outlaw the green liquid in the early 1900s, which they did.
Now it seems that no one can remember exactly why it was prohibited. Some say it was the chemical thujone found in the herb wormwood, used to make absinthe, that affects the brain. Others say it was a plot by the wine industry to put the popular spirit out of business. And there are those who believe it was a case of baseless hysteria, not unlike "Reefer Madness," the 1936 propaganda film about marijuana.
Earlier this year, a lone Washington, D.C., lawyer took on the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau in an attempt to lift the ban. After some legal wrangling, the agency agreed - with some limits.
Last week, St. George Spirits of Alameda received the news that, after seven applications, the federal agency had approved its label, the final obstacle before going to market. On Monday, the small artisan distillery sold its token first bottle, becoming the only American company since 1912 to sell absinthe in the United States. Then the staff took a moment to celebrate.
"We made champagne and absinthe cocktails, which rapidly degenerated into just sipping absinthe out of the bottle with crazy straws," said Lance Winters, a 42-year-old master distiller at the seven-employee company.
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For 11 years Winters experimented, adding a little of this and little of that. No matter how close he came to perfection, each new batch had to be dumped down the drain to comply with federal dictate. But come Dec. 21, St. George will begin selling 3,600 bottles of its Absinthe Verte. That's too few to distribute to big chains, so for now the company will offer it at its Alameda tasting room and at limited liquor stores for $75 for a 750 ml bottle.
The 25-year-old company, started by Jorg Rupf, a German distiller who moved to the Bay Area to attend law school, is most known for its Hangar One vodka, but it also makes single-malt whiskey, grappa and a number of eau de vies.
From the beginning, absinthe was Winter's baby. The brewer-turned-distiller liked the challenge of blending his grape-based brandy with locally grown herbs like wormwood, absinthe's most important - and controversial - ingredient, plus tarragon, basil and mint.
Winters also uses anise and fennel.
"Absinthe is really complex," he said. "There are a lot of powerful botanical ingredients all fighting for dominance. So you strive for balance."
St. George will compete with three other absinthe distillers - the Swiss Kubler, French Lucid and the Brazilian Absinto Camargo. All have begun importing the licorice-flavored spirit into the United States in recent months. It was the Kubler distillery that hired attorney Robert Lehrman to end the prohibition, while Lucid was the brainchild of Ted Breaux, a New Orleans chemist who reverse-engineered an old bottle of absinthe to devise his formula. He worked with a French distillery to reproduce it. All have paved the way for U.S. distillers to sell their own perfected versions of the drink, which are likely to hit the shelves soon.
Lehrman said Yves Kubler, who produces a few hundred thousand bottles of absinthe a year, saw a real market for the spirit here and was eager to tap into it. So in 2000, Lehrman started making inquiries of federal regulators only to determine that the fight would be a tough one.
"When something has been banned since 1912, it's hard to get it undone," he said.
But Lehrman persevered. Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau officials said they were willing to accept absinthe formulas that fall under the U.S. Food and Drug Administration regulations that the drink contain no more than 10 parts per million of the chemical thujone, but the word absinthe on the bottle's label had to be small and used with a qualifier like St. George's Verte or Kubler's Swiss Absinthe Superieure.
Lehrman said thujone in mass quantities "is bad stuff," but small amounts are found in a number of herbs, ingredients and materials, including sage and cedar, and are considered fairly harmless. More notable is absinthe's high alcohol content, typically 120 proof or more, about 50 percent higher than vodka and whiskey.
"Look, absinthe is bad the way Jack Daniels is bad, the way Skyy Vodka is bad," says Lehrman. "The worst component is the alcohol. If you drink too much, something bad will happen."
But in 1905 the Swiss government was convinced that it was absinthe alone that turned a law-abiding citizen into a homicidal maniac. After Jean Lanfray, a 31-year-old laborer, killed his pregnant wife and two children, the Swiss government banned the spirit. Although Lanfray had sampled a bottle of absinthe before breakfast that morning,
officials failed to take into consideration that he had also consumed Creme de Menthe, cognac and soda, more than six glasses of wine and a cup of coffee laced with brandy, says Barnaby Conrad III, the San Francisco author of "Absinthe: History in a Bottle"
(Chronicle Books, 1988; the publisher is not affiliated with this newspaper).
Conrad, an artist and journalist who traced the downfall of absinthe in his book, says the drink became synonymous with the degeneration of the world's most famous bohemians, from Van Gogh's infamous ear cutting to Verlaine's debaucherous sprees of sex and rage.
Even Oscar Wilde was quoted as saying "After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see things as they are not. Finally you see things as they really are, which is the most horrible thing in the world."
But Conrad says absinthe was probably the least of these artists' problems.
"Van Gogh suffered from schizophrenia, a disease that went way back in his family, and
Verlaine was a raging alcoholic," he said.
The author believes that absinthe merely became the scapegoat of politicians. Its controversy was probably fueled by the wine industry, which was threatened by the popularity of absinthe.
But the mystique of the famous liquid only adds to its allure, says Conrad, who has sold more of his books in the last five years than in the first 15 of its existence. Many young enthusiasts entranced by its folklore have tried ordering absinthe on the Internet, hoping not to get caught. Some modern-day moonshiners even tried distilling it at home.
"It's the forbidden fruit factor," says the author.
And that, he says, will certainly help sales.
"Just because you drink absinthe doesn't mean you're going to become a creative genius," Conrad warns. "But it will tickle your imagination as it tickles your brain cells."
Why the mystique?
Modern absinthe got its start as a medical elixir in the late 18th century but became immensely popular as a drink in the mid-1800s, especially among the avant-garde.
Edgar Degas created his famous painting "L'absinthe" of a woman sitting in front of a glass of absinthe, and Pablo Picasso painted "The Absinthe Drinker" during his blue period. Ernest Hemingway is said to have been a consummate absinthe drinker and was known to have a glass or two before running with the bulls.
Freelance writer C. contributed to this report. E-mail Stacy Finz at sfinz@sfchronicle.com.
For 11 years Winters experimented, adding a little of this and little of that. No matter how close he came to perfection, each new batch had to be dumped down the drain to comply with federal dictate. But come Dec. 21, St. George will begin selling 3,600 bottles of its Absinthe Verte. That's too few to distribute to big chains, so for now the company will offer it at its Alameda tasting room and at limited liquor stores for $75 for a 750 ml bottle.
The 25-year-old company, started by Jorg Rupf, a German distiller who moved to the Bay Area to attend law school, is most known for its Hangar One vodka, but it also makes single-malt whiskey, grappa and a number of eau de vies.
From the beginning, absinthe was Winter's baby. The brewer-turned-distiller liked the challenge of blending his grape-based brandy with locally grown herbs like wormwood, absinthe's most important - and controversial - ingredient, plus tarragon, basil and mint.
Winters also uses anise and fennel.
"Absinthe is really complex," he said. "There are a lot of powerful botanical ingredients all fighting for dominance. So you strive for balance."
St. George will compete with three other absinthe distillers - the Swiss Kubler, French Lucid and the Brazilian Absinto Camargo. All have begun importing the licorice-flavored spirit into the United States in recent months. It was the Kubler distillery that hired attorney Robert Lehrman to end the prohibition, while Lucid was the brainchild of Ted Breaux, a New Orleans chemist who reverse-engineered an old bottle of absinthe to devise his formula. He worked with a French distillery to reproduce it. All have paved the way for U.S. distillers to sell their own perfected versions of the drink, which are likely to hit the shelves soon.
Lehrman said Yves Kubler, who produces a few hundred thousand bottles of absinthe a year, saw a real market for the spirit here and was eager to tap into it. So in 2000, Lehrman started making inquiries of federal regulators only to determine that the fight would be a tough one.
"When something has been banned since 1912, it's hard to get it undone," he said.
But Lehrman persevered. Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau officials said they were willing to accept absinthe formulas that fall under the U.S. Food and Drug Administration regulations that the drink contain no more than 10 parts per million of the chemical thujone, but the word absinthe on the bottle's label had to be small and used with a qualifier like St. George's Verte or Kubler's Swiss Absinthe Superieure.
Lehrman said thujone in mass quantities "is bad stuff," but small amounts are found in a number of herbs, ingredients and materials, including sage and cedar, and are considered fairly harmless. More notable is absinthe's high alcohol content, typically 120 proof or more, about 50 percent higher than vodka and whiskey.
"Look, absinthe is bad the way Jack Daniels is bad, the way Skyy Vodka is bad," says Lehrman. "The worst component is the alcohol. If you drink too much, something bad will happen."
But in 1905 the Swiss government was convinced that it was absinthe alone that turned a law-abiding citizen into a homicidal maniac. After Jean Lanfray, a 31-year-old laborer, killed his pregnant wife and two children, the Swiss government banned the spirit. Although Lanfray had sampled a bottle of absinthe before breakfast that morning,
officials failed to take into consideration that he had also consumed Creme de Menthe, cognac and soda, more than six glasses of wine and a cup of coffee laced with brandy, says Barnaby Conrad III, the San Francisco author of "Absinthe: History in a Bottle"
(Chronicle Books, 1988; the publisher is not affiliated with this newspaper).
Conrad, an artist and journalist who traced the downfall of absinthe in his book, says the drink became synonymous with the degeneration of the world's most famous bohemians, from Van Gogh's infamous ear cutting to Verlaine's debaucherous sprees of sex and rage.
Even Oscar Wilde was quoted as saying "After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see things as they are not. Finally you see things as they really are, which is the most horrible thing in the world."
But Conrad says absinthe was probably the least of these artists' problems.
"Van Gogh suffered from schizophrenia, a disease that went way back in his family, and
Verlaine was a raging alcoholic," he said.
The author believes that absinthe merely became the scapegoat of politicians. Its controversy was probably fueled by the wine industry, which was threatened by the popularity of absinthe.
But the mystique of the famous liquid only adds to its allure, says Conrad, who has sold more of his books in the last five years than in the first 15 of its existence. Many young enthusiasts entranced by its folklore have tried ordering absinthe on the Internet, hoping not to get caught. Some modern-day moonshiners even tried distilling it at home.
"It's the forbidden fruit factor," says the author.
And that, he says, will certainly help sales.
"Just because you drink absinthe doesn't mean you're going to become a creative genius," Conrad warns. "But it will tickle your imagination as it tickles your brain cells."
Why the mystique?
Modern absinthe got its start as a medical elixir in the late 18th century but became immensely popular as a drink in the mid-1800s, especially among the avant-garde.
Edgar Degas created his famous painting "L'absinthe" of a woman sitting in front of a glass of absinthe, and Pablo Picasso painted "The Absinthe Drinker" during his blue period. Ernest Hemingway is said to have been a consummate absinthe drinker and was known to have a glass or two before running with the bulls.
Freelance writer C. contributed to this report. E-mail Stacy Finz at sfinz@sfchronicle.com.
