I hate black licorice. I don't drink pastis or ouzo or sambuca, so why the hell was I standing outside Hangar One-St. George Spirits on a December morning in a thin jacket waiting for them to throw open the doors to Absinthe Verte, the nation's first absinthe? If you had asked me at 10:30, my wind-numbed lips wouldn't have issued anything more intelligent beyond, "...'cuz?" At 12:30, my absinthe-numbed lips told a very different story, "Frabjous! Refulgent! EUDEMONIA!" Quite frankly, if the Jabberwocky had a signature drink, Absinthe Verte would be it.

With the doors set to open at 11:00 on a Friday morning on December 21st, we thought we were playing it safe by arriving in Alameda at 10:30. However, as there were about 160 people in line ahead of us, clearly others were playing it safer. We were in line not even 20 minutes when the line behind us snaked and bulged exponentially. When the doors did finally open at 11:00, the news came out that they were allowing in groups of 10.

St. George Spirits made 3600 bottles and after they distributed to their choice stores and bar and other accounts, they had 1600-ish bottles left to sell to those of us who showed up on this chill December morn. Given that they weren't restricting the amount each customer could carry off, it was going to be tight for some.

Once inside, we smiled at those buying up cases of four, secured our single bottle for $75.00*, and headed to the tasting room for our $10 sip of liquid envy. Sporting green shirts announcing, "Green is the new black," St. George Spirits' alchemists slithered bright green, one ounce-pours into elegant and keepable glasses and slipped a small shard of ice on top. We were advised to taste quickly before the ice melted and blanched the clear cheeks a pearly green. Happily complying, I felt my lips go numb and my tongue tingle. I tasted not the dreaded intensity of black jelly beans, but a gossamer haze of fennel, lemon balm, and mint.

Clean and herbaceous, Absinthe Verte is unlike other varieties that often summon up a traditional sugar cube filter to mitigate their bitter edge. Alone or with the tiniest splash of cold water, Absinthe Verte blew my muse to a brillig place of spongy clouds, buzzing with emerald bees. As I swam through my happy mist that also warbled about stinging nettles, basil, tarragon, hyssop, wormwood, meadowsweet, and star anise, it hit me: absinthe does make the heart grow fonder, the meaning of life is easy to find if you just look for it, and St. George Spirits has lusted up one happily wicked drink.

While I have absolutely no desire to profane this blithe spirit with anything beyond ice or water, I spoke with Dave Smith, Assistant Distiller, about cocktail ideas. His eyes glowing, he told me about a cocktail his friend whipped up: simply shake some citron vodka (I think Hangar One's Buddha's Hand might do well) with ice and pour it into an absinthe-rinsed cocktail glass. (Rinsed right into your mouth, I would think!) However, at this celebratory time of year, Hemingway's famous Death in the Afternoon might get your party started (or ended) with just champagne and absinthe. Finally, you can try this historic and area-appropriate tipple from the Stork Club.

Earthquake Cocktail

1 ounce gin
1 ounce bourbon
3/4 ounce absinthe

Shake with ice and serve in a cocktail glass.

All over the city Bay Area bartenders are rushing to create absinthe-based cocktails, because for the near future, absinthe definitely replaces St. Germain as the new It spirit.

For any unfortunates who didn't manage to wrap their cold fists around any of the first 3600 bottles, don't despair. Dave said that while Absinthe Verte is their "most complicated product" that they "can't just make on the fly," they do hope to have their next batch bottled by the end of January. Get in line now.

*(In the interest of full disclosure, I did pay the full amount for my bottle of Absinthe Verte and my $10 taste. I also didn't muscle through the patient crowd, flashing my KQED press badge, and jump the queue. Nope. I stood there and waited my turn with everyone else and I'm proud of it.)

When the weather turns cold and Christmasy, what do you think about? Chances are you think about roaring fires, snowflake-patterned sweaters, or lacing the chestnut stuffing with arsenic. Me, I think about Scandinavian food. In particular, my mind wanders to gravlax.

Perhaps it's just a reaction against all the frosted sugar cookies and enforced glee, but the desire for something clean and salty that comes from a land prone to waves of alcoholism and depression during the long, dark, and cold winter months is irresistible to me.

Gravlax, gravad lax, gravlaks, graavilohi or graflax. However you spell it, it's salmon cured with salt, sugar, and dill. Traditionally, it is served with a gravlaxsas-- a sauce of dill and mustard, and with dense, dark bread or boiled potatoes, but Christmastime is no time to think of tradition, certainly.

Gravlax is a fisherman's dish, originally of salmon salted and the buried in the sand above the high tide line. If you hadn't made the connection between the Scandinavian grav and our word grave, then you weren't paying attention. It should now come as no surprise that the true meaning of gravlax is "salmon dug into the ground." If you, in turn, could now explain to me the true meaning of Christmas, I'll call us even.

The original dish was somewhat fermented, not unlike the way those clever Vietnamese make that lovely fish sauce I used to put into everything, but times have changed. Today, the only burying done to the salmon is in salt and sugar.

If you are as tired of cookies and fudge as I am, this is a great treat to take to a party or have at your own. It's remarkably easy, taking very little skill, which I appreciate during the Holidays. All that is required is a little forward planning.

Gravlax

There are hundreds of recipes for gravlax. I don't know why, since it's basically the product of very few ingredients. The one I used for the purposes of this blog is a good one, but everyone, especially Norwegians, is bound to argue about the exact ratio of salt to sugar. All I have to say is please, not on Christmas, Dawn, not on Christmas.

Ingredients

1 to 2 pounds salmon fillet, sliced into equal pieces. If you want to get fancy, buy center cuts. I, however, do not care.
1/4 cup kosher salt
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon of cracked black pepper
1 bunch of dill
a splash or two of alcohol-- Akvavit is traditional, but vodka or brandy works well, too.

Preparation

1. Remove pin bones, if any, from salmon with needle nose pliers or tweezers.
2. In a small bowl, combine salt, sugar, and pepper.
3. Rub both sides of salmon fillets with salt and sugar mixture. My salt and sugar, when preparing my mise en place for this blog looked very much like a granulated Maidenform bra when poured.

4. Spread remaining sugar and salt mixture onto the pink, fleshy side of the fillets and sprinkle with your booze of choice, but not too much.

5. Lay dill more or less evenly over one of the fillets. I like to crush it in my hands to release the essential oils. Place the second fillet on top of it to form a sandwich, with the salmon acting as the bread. If this is difficult for you to follow, I don't want to know you.

6. Place your "sandwich in an appropriately-sized freezer bag, removing as much air as possible. Close the bag.

7. Place your package in a shallow baking dish or pan and place a weight evenly over it. There is much disagreement about this step. Some people like 5-to-8 pounds of weight, others, none at all. Weighing down the salmon produces a denser finished (or Finnish, in this case) product. I decided to go for something lightweight in both the literal and literary sense.

8. Refrigerate for 2 to 3 days, turning the salmon every 12 hours or so.

9. After the appropriate amount of time, take salmon out of the bag, scrap off most of the dill and pat dry with paper towels. Once cured, the gravlax should stay "fresh", or at least, good, for a week, if refrigerated and well-wrapped.

To serve, slice at a 45 degree angle, as thinly as possible and leaving the skin behind. Drink a little glasas of Akvavit or vodka to toast your good fortunes. Or drink a bit of champagne, that pairs well, too. Did I mention that this is a great New Year's Eve or New Year's Day breakfast dish? No? Well, it is.