Wild Green Faerie Liquid

BLIND DRUNK is one thing, but deaf drunk?
That s the condition Vincent Van Gogh was left in after partaking a little too freely of Absinthe, the Czech liqueur which in the 19th century was just as likely to come with a slice of ear as it was with lemon.
Further research reveals that it was Alesteir Crowley s tipple of choice during his darkest days, while Ernest Hemingway famously wrote, Got tight last night on Absinthe. Did knife-tricks.
Fast forward to 1999 and despite costing #50stg for a 75cl bottle, the Green Faerie is the toast of London clubland due to its alleged hallucinogenic qualities. Indeed, it packs such a potent punch that there have been calls in the House of Commons for it to be banned.
Seeing as most of these have come from rent-a-quote Tory MPs, the Home Office Minister, George Howart, was happy to point out that, Absinthe does not come within the scope either of domestic legislation on the misuse of drugs or of the international conventions on the control of narcotic or psychotropic substances.
As with all drugs, the question is whether it is capable of having a harmful effect sufficient to constitute a social problem. There is no evidence that the use of Absinthe in the UK falls into that category.
A common-sense reply which dispels the notion of Absinthe being some sort of liquid LSD that mixes a treat with vodka, Red Bull and a little itty bitty splash of Creme de Menthe. That said, it does have an effect on the imbiber that s totally different to any other drink.
Along with aniseed, fennel, lemonbalm, juniper and nutmeg, the main ingredient in Absinthe is wormwood or, to give it its scientific name, Artemisia Absinthium.
This in turn contains a high concentration of thujone which has a similar chemical make-up to the fun stuff in marijuana, tetrahydrocannabinol.
Convinced of its psychoactive properties, Oscar Wilde mused that, The first stage is like ordinary drinking, the second when you begin to see monstrous and cruel things, but if you can persevere you will enter upon the third stage where you see things that you want to see, wonderful curious things that you want to see, wonderful curious things.
One thing you ll definitely see if you drink enough is diced carrots Absinthe s stonking 75% alcohol content making it a match for even the most cast iron of constitutions.
Indeed, it was the cause of so much maladie and malheursement in France that their government banned it in 1915 a not entirely popular move, given that annual sales were up around the 36 million litre mark. It was the same story in Belgium, Holland, Brazil, America and Czechoslovakia, where the new communist regime decided it was bourgeois and made its manufacture a crime against the state.
Such was the average Czech s outrage that when democratic rule was restored in 1990, one of the first things Vaclav Havel did was lift the ban and toast what had become known as the drink of freedom.
It s possible to get Portuguese Absinthe, but the best stuff has always come from Czechoslovakia or, as it is now, the Czech Republic, says Naoise Nunn who, on the back of the Absinthe night he runs every Friday at Andrew s Lane Theatre, has gone into the wholesale importation of the drink.
There are two types of Czech Absinthe, he continues. The 75% one, Hills, which apparently isn t Absinthe at all because it doesn t have the required herbal content, and the one we re bringing in, Sebor, which is 55% and sticks as closely as possible to the original recipe. The one big difference between what we re importing and traditional Absinthe is that ours tastes good. Sebor can be drunk neat with ice, whereas the stuff at the turn of the century was so bitter you had to add sugar to it.
Necessary or not, that s still the way things are done in Prague where the Green Faerie is as sainted as Guinness is in the St. James Gate area. To keep in with the locals you need to:
1. Take a bottle of Absinthe, a glass, a spoonful of sugar and a lighter.
2. Dip the spoon of sugar into the Absinthe in your glass.
3. Light the Absinthe in the spoon until the sugar starts to bubble and caramelise.
4. Tip the burning Absinthe into the glass and give it a quick stir to put it out.
5. Cool down with a splash of water and drink.
It s a bit like freebasing but without the danger of being carted off and cavity-searched. The coke comparisons extend to Absinthe having its own paraphernalia shot glasses, cooking spoons and drinking pipes which, from the look of them, have been modelled on toilet u-bends.
It fulfils the need for a decadent end of the century, end of the millennium drink, Nunn resumes. I ve never been tempted to cut off my ear, but it certainly gives you an unusual up sort of drunkenness. Add to that the counter-culture aspect and it s easy to see why it s so big in the UK.
The most surprising thing about Absinthe s arrival in Ireland is that it s yet to incur the wrath of The Evening Herald.
A couple of shock horror stories would actually be very good for business, he laughs. Sure, it s 5% more alcoholic than the next strongest drink on the Irish market, Green Chanteuse, but consumed in moderation it s not going to get you any more out of it than vodka or gin. It s also very clearly targeted at an adult market.
A graduate of the if in doubt, get it down you! school of journalism, I ve decided that the best way to get to grips with the Green Faerie is to go into her lair. Up and running since January, Club Absinthe is the spiritual heir to the Blue Jaysus soirees that Gavin Friday and his Virgin Prune chums used to organise during the 80s. Any thoughts of it being a run of the mill affair disappear when you see a Henry Rollins lookalike staggering around the place in a cheeky little cocktail number. After generously acceding to Cathal Dawson s request for a couple of photos, the man with the fab abs dozes off in front of the night s first musical turn a sub-Billy Bragg merchant from Belfast who should thank the Lord I didn t catch his name. I m half-way through a polemic about dodgy acoustic tunesmithery when, boom, the Absinthe kicks in.
Actually, make that Bruce Lee and the entire cast of Enter The Dragon its way in! It mightn t be liquid LSD but judging by the tingle that s creeping up my spine, it s a very acceptable Ecstasy substitute.
Taste and consistency-wise, it s like a mintier, more gloopy version of Pernod. It doesn t make you see God but, hell, you d give him a right old ear-bashing if he sat down next to you.
After two more doubles, I m on for walking over to the support act and telling him how useless he is, but thankfully I m hauled back by my girlfriend who, equally as blotto, is insisting on a foot rub.
The Andrew s Lane crowd are spared this grisly spectacle by the arrival on stage of Klub Kabaret, a polished combo whose ranks include theatrical types Tony Flynn, Camille O Sullivan, Jody Trehy, Helena Walsh and Susanah de Wrixon who occasionally doubles up as a Nuala. It s all very between-the-wars Berlin with O Sullivan, in particular, oozing star quality. Along with the obligatory Brecht and Brel, there s a deliciously camp version of Mack The Knife , which one suspects would have horrified Frank Sinatra.
I d love to be able to tell you about the rest of the night and all the Wildean wheezes we got up to, but unfortunately I can t remember anything apart from convincing herself that it isn t a good idea to do Dame Margot Fonteyn impersonations in the middle of Dame Street. It s that kind of drink. n
Club Absinthe runs every Friday night at Dublin s Andrew s Lane Theatre.

Absinthe Friends
Son Of My Father ? Ner-ner-ner-ner-ner-ner, ner-ner-ner-ner-ner-ner. What an excellent fucking song!
You know someone s deeply, profoundly drunk when they start extolling the virtues of 70s glam brickies Chicory Tip. With the Clarkian taste-buds irreparably damaged by years of Tikka Masala abuse, I ve decided to invite a couple of my showbiz chums round to put Absinthe to the test.
Bruce n Tarby are both playing golf, so sitting on my sofa are No Disco presenter Uaneen Fitzsimons and the singer of the aforementioned crime against music, Ricky Warwick.
This stuff s a lot smoother than the fucking rocket fuel you get in Japan, he slurs knowledgeably. Their Absinthe is 80% and guaranteed to get you either arrested or hospitalised. The last time I was there with The Almighty, one of our roadies, Kieran McGoldrick, got so slaughtered that he ran at this glass picture frame and, bang, headbutted it. We thought he d done his jugular cos there was blood spurting, quite literally, two feet into the air. We wrapped a towel round his neck, which went crimson straight away, and got him to hospital where they stapled the wound up.
It s the same buzz as Buckfast and Mad Dog which is known in Glasgow as 2-40-Roger cos as soon as you drink it it s, 2-40-Roger Sarge, there s some boys getting pissed in the park .
When you gave me my first shot, I thought this is minging, but now I ve had a few I love it, volunteers Uaneen who s just given us a demonstration of how not to set fire to Absinthe. The flames on the carpet beaten out with a towel, she continues with her critique.
I m arseholed but in a Right, let s go clubbing! sort of a way. If I d drunk the equivalent amount of vodka or Bacardi, I d be falling asleep.
This is an opportune moment to remind Hot Press readers of Ms Fitzsimons disgraceful behaviour at last year s Slane Festival. Having completed her MC ing duties and downed a bottle of Bolly in 15 minutes flat, she did wantonly and with malice aforethought attempt to up-end a member of the Garda Siochana.
No one believes me when I tell them this, but I honestly don t remember anything about it. Apparently I was walking up the hill as this Garda was coming down, and I very unsubtly tried to trip him. He stumbled but didn t fall, which is just as well because I wouldn t last five minutes in Mountjoy!
Having pulled the plug on [sic] and reconvened The Almighty, Ricky is looking forward to giving it loads on the nihilism front.
We re absolute novices, though, compared to Motorhead, he reminisces fondly. I m a huge, huge Lemmy fan and was actually worried about touring with them in case he didn t live up to the legend. As it turned out, he was even more fucking mad than I d imagined. I walked into his dressing-room one night and there he was with four or five grams of wizz, a bottle of Jack and a crate of Tennant s Super. For himself. I tell you something, Lemmy would love Absinthe!