About
Occasional thoughts by Oxygénée, an absintheur at large. And why, you ask, absinthe? Ernest Tisserand said it best in 1922:
There are no sweeter names than those borne by the plants from which the mild liquor is distilled. And I don’t know in all the world of plants more vivid and more proud. They are the very flower of the spirited hyssop, the fennel that scents the mullet grilled for kings, the melissa that restores color to swooning women, the anise that makes food resound, the angelica embedded like sticks of joy in children’s gingerbread, the star anise nurtured by mandarins like the Dutch tend their tulips, the coriander that bleaches the saliva, the mint that drives love, the oregano that makes the eyes of maidens shine, and it is the wormwood finally, the grande wormwood and the petite, chaste ornament of the mountains and seashores, daughter of the pure high winds, wheat of virgin spaces, emblem of untamed freedom.
