The Green Hour
by Jeremy Gimbel

When I consume a green colored cocktail, I am overcome with a feeling of nostalgic posh-ness. No matter the variety, as I sip the solution my body shivers with a sense of bohemian charm. For me the hue is symbolic of a fascinating culture of thrills and excitement—the culture of Absinthe.

Opening the cap, a pungent aroma emanates from the bottle. As the scent wafts toward my nose, I am struck with the smell of licorice. The strength of the scent reminds me of Absinthe’s beginnings. The strong herbal liqueur contains wormwood, and was rejected as a one-shot cure for common ailments. Later, it reached its height of popularity in the late 19th and early 20th centuries in France. Recognized for its green colors and mystical hallucinogenic effects, Absinthe became known as the Green Fairy.

As I prepare to fill my glass, I go over the serving ritual in my head. Absinthe is not simply poured into a glass. Instead, a special, slotted spoon is placed over the top of the glass with a sugar cube in its bowl. I pour water over the cube, dissolving the sugar and diluting the Absinthe with the sweetened water. As the act is nearly complete, the mixture begins to swirl; the liquid becomes cloudy, and the color lightens.
Now the Absinthe is ready to drink. I bring the glass to my lips and take a first sip. The flavor is strong, and the effects follow shortly after. Despite its popularity and enjoyable feelings it brings, the drink was cited to lead to violent and crude behavior. A series on murders were blamed on Absinthe consumption, leading to a nearly worldwide ban which lasted for nearly a century.

During the height of its popularity, Absinthe was a common subject of art. A 1901 painting, Woman Drinking Absinthe, by Pablo Picasso, not surprisingly features the drink. As its bad reputation spread, artwork also began to reflect Absinthe’s reputation. A painting by Edgar Degas, L’Absinthe, shows a man and a woman with glasses of the green liqueur, both staring blankly into space with faces of deep sadness.

To this day, the United States prohibits Absinthe from entering the country, though the bans have been lifted in parts of Europe. The continued prohibition serves to maintain the secretive and indulgent culture that once surrounded Absinthe’s use in turn of the century France.

As I sip my green cocktail, it is not a mere drink I imbibe, but rather a mystical time and place to which I am brought. AS my mind begins to swirl, I pay homage to the high culture of black tuxes, clinking glasses, and secretive things untoward, taking place behind a veil of properness and formality.

Soon thereafter, I am descending a marble staircase and stepping onto the floor; a tide of motion draws me in. The room spins in a gentle swirl, and everything is a blur. Faces are filled with joy, and sounds of happiness and laughter rise high to the ceiling above. Over the commotion, a tuxedo-clad gentleman holds his glass in the air, toasting to health, wealth, and happiness. The crowd cheers, the dance starts up again, and the night continues on. Spirits continue to rise high, stretching up into the night sky above.
For me, these green concoctions bring back the spirit of l’heure verte, ‘the green hour,’ a once popular event in France. During this special time, the bourgeoisie would gather at cafes in the early evening and share a time to forget their sorrows and wash down the troubles of the day.

When I want to step away from the world I know, just as the French upper class did a century ago, a green colored cocktail, seems to be a simple way to go. The obscure-colored elixir, whether Absinthe or now, can take me away to another place and time. Sipping from the glass unifies me with a culture that is now only found in art, film, and literature.

Lift your glass high with me, joining the dance, and feel the undertow circulate throughout the room. When you enter this place, the glasses never run empty, the spirits fly high, and the green fairy never stops flowing.

This is l’heure verte.