Absinthe
...makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. I spent some time today immersed in research on the subject of that odd and legendary drink of the French philosophers, absinthe. Said to melt the brains by inhalation and diffusion across the nasal membranes, drunk by dripping over sugar crystals, a most peculiar tincture.
Hmm. It's green, and looks pale blue when saturated with light.
A strange word, tincture. Traditionally, it means an alcoholic solution (as opposed to an aqueous one). I have with me an ancient bottle of custom-blown fluted green glass. On it, in letters of gold on ceramic, it says, Tinct: Bellad. Tincture of belladonna - the extract of a most toxic plant whose name means 'beautiful lady'. It stands next to my Tinct: Aconiti, which is essence of monk's hood, aconite. The bottles are all washed up, empty of their poisonous essence, though still bearing their aura of distant alchemy.
Hmm. Slightly bitter, even with the grape sugar.
I drink a bit, for health and pleasure. In days past, it has been cider for a light night, sherry for a civilised one, Bailey's for a relaxed one (often with milk or ice cream). One night, to my everlasting irritation, my cousin Edward and I ingested about a litre of what I can only describe as 'tincture of oranges' - an alcoholic solution of orange juice in concentrated alcohol of the sort I shan't advertise here. Why irritation? It was the first, and last, time I have ever had a serious hangover - the sort you read of in books. You know, the sort described as, "I woke up with little metal gnomes banging rivets into the torpedo tube which my brain-case had suddenly become. Then I discovered I had a tongue, and it had probably in another life been the rear end of an incontinent gryphon. And that was even before I opened my eyes."
Hmm. It does, indeed, paint pictures on the eyeballs.
My next book alert will probably be for Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, a whopper (in every sense) of a book. I must be mad. Or maybe, slightly absinthe-minded. How fortunate we are to live in an age of grape-cranberry extract, and to know that such an extract blunts the negative effects of certain uncongenial poisons! Good night.
Hmm. It's green, and looks pale blue when saturated with light.
A strange word, tincture. Traditionally, it means an alcoholic solution (as opposed to an aqueous one). I have with me an ancient bottle of custom-blown fluted green glass. On it, in letters of gold on ceramic, it says, Tinct: Bellad. Tincture of belladonna - the extract of a most toxic plant whose name means 'beautiful lady'. It stands next to my Tinct: Aconiti, which is essence of monk's hood, aconite. The bottles are all washed up, empty of their poisonous essence, though still bearing their aura of distant alchemy.
Hmm. Slightly bitter, even with the grape sugar.
I drink a bit, for health and pleasure. In days past, it has been cider for a light night, sherry for a civilised one, Bailey's for a relaxed one (often with milk or ice cream). One night, to my everlasting irritation, my cousin Edward and I ingested about a litre of what I can only describe as 'tincture of oranges' - an alcoholic solution of orange juice in concentrated alcohol of the sort I shan't advertise here. Why irritation? It was the first, and last, time I have ever had a serious hangover - the sort you read of in books. You know, the sort described as, "I woke up with little metal gnomes banging rivets into the torpedo tube which my brain-case had suddenly become. Then I discovered I had a tongue, and it had probably in another life been the rear end of an incontinent gryphon. And that was even before I opened my eyes."
Hmm. It does, indeed, paint pictures on the eyeballs.
My next book alert will probably be for Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, a whopper (in every sense) of a book. I must be mad. Or maybe, slightly absinthe-minded. How fortunate we are to live in an age of grape-cranberry extract, and to know that such an extract blunts the negative effects of certain uncongenial poisons! Good night.
etched with acid at 7:18:00 am
3 Comments:
was it vodka? :) [anonymousnoises]
Phantom Commmenter:
Alcohol is a poison.
But the liver is evil and must be punished.
I bet it was absolut citron. I have a bottle of that at home. On an interesting note, isn't absinthe distilled from wormwood? Hmm sounds like the hemlock that Socrates drank..
"The third angel sounded his trumpet, and a great star, blazing like a torch, fell from the sky on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water-- the name of the star is Wormwood. A third of the waters turned bitter, and many people died from the waters that had become bitter." Rev 8:10-11
Guess absinthe might become a lot more common soon eh? Ok that was a bad joke...
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