Spirit of the Week: The Return of the King: Pernod Absinthe
by Jay Erisman, EQ Wine and Spirits Manager
After last year’s legalization of absinthe, various and sundry absinthes have appeared on our shelves. Lucid, an artisanal French absinthe made by a New Orleans native,, and Kübler, a Swiss bleue, or uncolored absinthe, were the first two. In their wake have come traditional French bottlings and new-wave American absinthe from Chicago. It was only a matter of time, probably, before the originator of absinthe would get in on the act. Indeed, it has come to pass: the king has returned. Pernod & Fils Absinthe, since 1805 the first name in green fairy juice–is on the shelf again in America.
Pernod has been involved with absinthe for over two centuries. Henri-Louis Pernod founded his famous company in Pontarlier, France in 1805; the company essentially invented the drink. Pernod was the leading light as absinthe became a sensation in France and throughout Belle Époque Europe in the mid-19th century. Today, bottles of Pernod dating from before the French ban on absinthe in 1915 are treated as the true grail of absinthe, selling for thousands of dollars at auction and carefully analyzed by modern distillers in search of their secrets. Hence, absinthe lovers worldwide have awaited the possible return of real Pernod absinthe with bated breath. So, what’s the new Pernod like? How does the king stand up to his peers?
First off, it’s not called merely “absinthe.” The full title is “Pernod aux extrait de plantes d’absinthe,” or extract of absinthe herbs. I don’t think there’s a legal reference to a title like this, but I’d better if it simply claimed the title of “Pernod Absinthe.” The color of the new Pernod is an attractive green, not the garish anti-freeze shade of some anise liqueurs. However–and this is my first beef with Pernod–the front label clearly, helpfully, states “FD&C yellow #5″ added, rather than the careful post-distillation herbal infusion that colors the best artisan absinthes. The aroma is a licorice/star anise laser, very direct and rather simplish compared to the detailed, complex nose of, for example Lucid. And the flavor likewise is strongly licorice, but simply so, without the shimmering herbal field of Chicago’s Sirène. The bitterness of Artemesia absinthium, grande wormwood and the crucial ingredient in real absinthe, is only faintly present. In fact, to me the new Pernod tastes like nothing so much as a stronger version of good old Pernod anisette liqueur, the product sold by the company since real absinthe was banned.
In the end, I’m disappointed in Pernod. Perhaps Pernod–today the second largest liquor conglomerate in the world–is waiting to release another, no-expense spared, ultra-authentic version of their original licorice distillate. I hope so, because this artificially colored, average-tasting absinthe lags far behind the handmade, lovingly infused, artisan absinthes that are setting the pace. Tasting the new Pernod, I can only conclude the king has no clothes.