If you know anything about the mischievous “Green Fairy,” you know “real” absinthe was banned in the U.S. for nearly a century because of the hallucinogenic ingredients in worm wood, from which absinthe is partially made. But unless you’ve been paying close attention to ordinances passed at The Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB), you might have missed some of the newly legalized “true absinthe” on the State-side market.

After studies found that the quantity of thujone (the mind-altering substance in wormwood) too minuscule to cause any of its infamous effects, the TTB allowed absinthe to be sold in the U.S., with restrictions on the amount of thujone a stipulation. So for the first time since 1915, let me present to you Pernod, a “real” absinthe.

Neon green, extremely high in alcohol content and flavored like black licorice, absinthe requires a tempered tongue to enjoy properly. I learned of absinthe long before trying it for the first time, which I did in what could have been Jesus’s bedroom–a stone, candle-lit, cave of a bar in Jerusalem, Israel.

All I knew was that it f**ked you up, and some of the greatest artists of all time - Van Gogh, Picasso, Hemmingway (to name a few) - all are known absinthe drinkers, and have recorded experiences with the beverage in their work.

I’d been lucky enough to have the press trip to this tumultuous land pawned off on me by my boss, who’d just had a baby and was afraid of going to a “war zone.” But instead of suicide bombings, I found myself awash in great food, wonderful company and better booze.

Despite a travel itinerary fit for the Special Forces, some of the other 12 or 13 journalists and I found the energy to drink until dawn every morning. So with only a single night in the most disputed city on Earth, we ventured out to discover Jerusalem’s bar scene, and found ourselves at the first, dark joint we came to in this strange, haunted city.

With glasses of wine from dinner and a beer or two sloshing in my stomach, I stumbled behind a few of my fellow compatriots on the way to the bar, blathering away beside a newspaperman from the Jerusalem Post, who was covering our trip, for some reason. The quote he used wasn’t bad, compared to some of the sh*t I drunkenly mumbled into his microphone. Read More »