I wanted to drop a quick note to anyone that enjoys my madcap style of writing. I will continue to update this site when I actually get my hands on new absinthe, but I am updating a blog with a story a day of fiction over here. So, if you don’t mind the lack of drink recipes and reviews gratuitously thrown into my fiction, I think you will like it.
Eyelinerrobot AKA- PoorBrenton
Currently in the US there is no legal definition of ‘Absinthe’. This means that pretty much any distillery can release a bottle of liquorish smelling liquor and call it ‘Absinthe’. What do you think defines Absinthe? I’m trying to find out what the community as a whole thinks of this. If you have read two of my posts, you surely know my stance, so I won’t wax poetic about the ‘Trinity’. Just tell me what make Absinthe for you! Is it the ‘Trinity’? Is is grain alcohol with macerated wormwood? Is it anise flavored vodka?
This could be a meaningful turning point in the fringe market of Absinthe drinkers. Make it count!
Seems like the floodgates have opened. Trilliam is a vert absinthe put out by Integrity Spirits in Portland, OR.
Being placed squarely in Chicago, I have not had the chance to taste this one yet, but I have heard it described as hot, and minty, amongst other things. Not minty like schnapps, but the standard absinthe anise taste with mint undertones. It is going for 59.99, available in the Portland area for now.
A challenger has appeared!
Not much to report here. This is put out by the blokes that have been pushing the Phoney Baloney ‘Absente’ brand in the states for years now. Same story but they make it with grande wormwood instead of southern wormwood. This makes it real absinthe, but a terrible absinthe. It tastes like nothing but candy liquorish and alcohol, there is no complexity at all. It is artificially colored and, as far as I am concerned, the product of nothing but marketing. This is the Bud Lite of absinthes, except it is much, much more expensive. Save your money.
At least we still have Sirene, Kubler and Lucid to choose from.
This one caught me off guard. It is made by the Leopold Brothers Distillery in Anne Arbor, Mi.
From what I have heard it is a classically styled absinthe with a weak anise profile, but the strongest wormwood taste of any of the currently available in the US absinthes.
I am not sure where one can find this, I will update when I find out.
Louche on!
Fat snowflakes drifted outside my window as if a tremendous pillow had been ripped open in the orange clouds that hung over the benighted city. Thunder sounded in the distance and rattled the glass of my flat’s poorly glazed windows. My hands shook as I lit a cigarette and poured myself two more fingers of scotch. Thunder-snow never failed to set me on edge, the fact that it fell after the first day of spring made it that much more unsettling. Lightning struck again and the single dangling bulb that illuminated my writing desk flickered and went black.
A moment later the light slowly returned. The door to my apartment stood open. I stared at this odd occurrence and took a long swig from my glass. I heard a soft voice singing, not seeming to come from any direction in particular.
“Sharp teeth, red teeth- Oh, run, run, run.”
Once again thunder boomed past the city and over the lake. The light went out and I was left in silence but for the rattling of the windows. Light returned once more. A large rabbit stood in the middle of the room. It turned and closed the door. It stared at me with dead black eyes. I finished the scotch and poured some more. I tried to formulate a question for it, but just what sort of question does one ask a six foot tall rabbit?
“I have a secret.”
It spoke without moving its mouth. I put out my cigarette, which had burned to a stump between my forgetful fingers.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Run, run, run- Sharp teeth, red fur, time is almost up.” It hummed for an uncomfortably long time, swaying back and forth.
“It’s time for a drink, care for one?” I slowly stood up.
“I will tell you my secret.” It began humming again.
“I will make you a Bunny Hug.”
I went a little overboard writing this one, so if you just want the drink recipe scroll down to the more button at the bottom of the post.
I felt that I was doing better. Everything seemed less luminous and my appliances only spoke when directly addressed. I did a basket of laundry that Lucifer had christened and walked to the nearby five and dime to stock up on ramen. It seemed so long since I had eaten anything that wasn’t liquid, or oil based. The shopkeeper eyed me disconcertingly as he rang me up. Did he see the antennae that had sprouted from my forehead last week? Impossible, I was fairly certain that only I could see the twitching things, and on top of that I had donned my fedora to protect me from the chill breeze that still lingered on the March air. I had recently been taken by tremors on my left hand side, luckily my right side was unaffected and could be used to restrain the sporadic bodily ticks. This is most likely what bothered the swarthy man. But was that all? Did he know something I did not? His eyes darted between me and the yellowed windows of the store. I glanced over myself and saw the rough outline of a man through the dust and dirt on the panes. He handed me my change and when I looked back to the window the shape was gone. The shopkeep did not say ‘Thank You’, or ‘Have a good night’. He only looked down at his hands and fumbled about with a strand of prayer beads. I cautiously exited the store with my plastic bags of ramen. Once the door closed behind me I heard the distinct ’snick’ of the door locking and the store went dark. I was alone on the dark deserted street made hazy by the fog of thawing snow.
I walked quickly back to my flat. The feeling of eyes on my back dogged me the entire way. At times I though I heard a wet shuffling, but every time I turned to behold it’s source I saw nothing but cracked pavement and blowing newspapers. I arrived at my building and dashed up the stairs, my ramen bags rustling violently at my sides. The adrenaline burning through my veins caused me to fumble with my keys until I remembered the lock on my door was broken. Just as I closed the door behind me I heard the door to the building swing open on its rusty hinges. I dropped my groceries and hastily turned the lock on the knob. I put my ear to the door. I heard slow unsteady steps and mumbling coming from the other side. Although this would scare most people, it came to me as a great relief. It was likely the drunk that lived in the flat across from mine. I often heard him stumbling up the stairs and talking to himself. I had gotten myself worked up over nothing. I sat down at my writing desk and lit a cigarette, pondering just how Jack was going to discover the corpse in chapter four. I began to type, but before I finished the first sentence I noticed a strange noise, or rather lack of noise. The drunk across the hall should have been jangling his keys and slamming the door by now, but all I heard was the slurred murmuring. I was glad to have a solid old door between myself and whatever lurked in the hall. Just then I remembered the same thing for the second time that night, just as the doorknob started to turn.
The lock was broken.
I ran to wedge a chair against the door, but I was too late. As I approached the door swung open, and what I saw on the other side brought up bile that burned the back of my throat. A stinking, shaking carcass stood across from me. Its one good eye focussed on me and the black pit where the other eye should have been absorbed the whole room. Despite the decomposition that had taken place and the horrible condition the walking corpse was in, I could recognize just who stood at my door. He saw me in recognition too, and he hobbled into my apartment.
It was Franky Delafleur, an old friend of mine. We used to go out drinking and dancing and ladying every Thursday night. That had all stopped last year when Frankie had overdosed on cough syrup and Canadian ephedrine pills. His mouth flapped up and down, disturbing the insects that had made it home. I flashed back to the last night we had spent together, to the last thing I said to him.
“Thanks for spotting me on the cab ride Franky! I owe you a drink!”
My friend was dry for sure, he had come to the only place his rotten skull could remember that would comp him a beverage. My apartment. He must have worked up a powerful thirst too, clawing through the cheap wood of his coffin and the stony dirt of the potters field. I wasn’t scared of him any more. He just wanted one more drink.
Uno Mas, Por Favor.
I led the shambling heap and sat him down on my couch. “You want a drink, buddy?” I said. “I’ll pour you a stiff one.”
As I walked to my mini bar I decided to make him what is quite possibly the most powerful and tasty cocktail ever made, the Zombie.
The fact that he was a member of the undead also swayed my decision.
Eyelinerrobot is unconscious, halfway hidden underneath the couch. His cat Lucifer wanders over and nuzzles his face.
Lucifer- Oi, ER, wake up. You slept through Friday again!
ER- Mumble… Tecmo Superbowl…
Lucifer- Seriously! I’m hungry and you didn’t do your drink update again!
Ceiling Fan- I’m starving too!
Lucifer- Shut up! You don’t need to eat.
Ceiling Fan- Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.
Lucifer- I’ll cover for you this one time ER, but if you don’t wake up by tomorrow I’m totally gonna pee all over your clothes again.
ER- Super… Super Punch out…
Lucifer- Alright, this is a classic called the Absinthe Frappe.
Pour two ounces of absinthe into a thin six-ounce glass.
Fill the glass three-quarters full with cracked ice.
Add a half teaspoon of simple syrup or sugar and two ounces of carbonated or plain water, then fill glass with more cracked ice.
Stir, using a long-handled spoon with up and down motion until outside of glass is well frosted.
Strain into another glass that has been chilled.
Remove the ice from the original glass.
Now pour the absinthe frappé back into the well frosted glass and serve.
Lucifer- This is a great drink for hot summer nights, or if you are like ER over there, mornings.
ER- Adventures of… Lolo…
Lucifer- If you will excuse me, I have a lot of water to drink…
Pile of Laundry- Oh Noes!
I AM SORRY FOR MY ABSENCE ::STOP::
MANY STRANGE AND WONDERFUL THINGS ARE HAPPENING TO ME ::STOP::
I SHALL RETURN FOR THE DELAYED FRIDAY DRINK UPDATE ::STOP::
I MISS ALL FIVE OF MY REGULAR READERS ::STOP::
::end of line
So there I was, sitting at the usual place waiting for the usual people, when I sensed a disturbance in the space time continuum. And it wasn’t the same kind of disturbance that happens when I dance, either. Lemme tell you a story…
::A rotund man in a tailed coat and a silk top hat walks into the bar and sits down next to Eyelinerrobot.::
Man in hat- What a terribly dreary day it had been!
ER- Wassa mattah hatty man?
Hatty- It seems my regular watering hole has been turned into some giant dry goods store of sorts. Very low prices, however! So I found myself wandering strange streets until I stumbled upon this place. I don’t even care if it appears to be run by anarchists and frequented by bohemians, it has been a long day of trading, and I need a drink.
ER- Wait… I recognize you! It’s J.P. Morgan! Famous Financier!
JP- One and the same, my boy. Now, if you could help me procure a beverage, the land lord seems to be ignoring me.
ER- Aw, he’s always like that, half deaf and all dumb. Can I make you something?
JP- I suppose, I always have a Manhattan after a long day watching the ticker.
ER- Hmm, sounds like you have worked yourself into a rut, friend, Hows about I show you a twist on the Manhattan?
JP- Sounds risky, but where would I be today if I hadn’t taken any risks?
ER- Dead just the same!
JP- Pardon?
ER- Never you mind, behold, the Absinthe Manhattan! Read more »
