Absinthe, like adidas Sambas, Nottingham Forest and, sadly, Donald Trump, is cyclical in its vogue. Though this romantic Victorian drink is no longer given to French soldiers to fight off malaria, nor propelling the brushes of Van Gogh or the ink pots of Wilde, there are London bars once again traversing the great absinthe plains.
One is Quo Vadis in Soho, another is Nightjar in Old Street, another the Green Bar at Wilde’s old haunt, Hotel Café Royal. At both, the green fairy is served a la Belle Epoque, in a glass urn to be shared and tickled adoringly by sugar.
