The Thousands

First things first: Absinthe Salon serves nothing but absinthe. You’re here for absinthe or you’re not here. In a fit of indulgence, I figured I’d go sample the product of the joint then write this piece while under some faux-Rimbaud buzz.

The fit out of the tiny room is a charming homage to fin-de-siècle continental salons, but the great attraction is in the ritual. Each table is adorned with a glass water fountain, which you set dripping over a sugar cube to achieve your preferred louche. Then comes the giggly high of drinking the stuff, which I banally described thus: “see it’s complex but fun.”**Forget the Green Fairy or La Fée that you’ve shot in bars over the years. Each possibility possesses the complexity of a proper wine or whiskey, and the learned owners are only too happy to recommend something to your tastes. My 68% Duplais Verte, for example, was brutishly different to the silky 52% La Volate Bovet preferred by our senior editor. Both numbers there represent alcohol volume; both are giddy rides.

It seems short shrift to describe Absinthe Salon as merely a bar, and it’s probably wrong to treat it that way, despite the inclination to get comfortably numb. The focus means it won’t be for everyone, but for those interested, it’s a lifted experience.