“Some of the first Barbadian rum was anise-flavored — that was in the 1640s,” Mr. Wondrich said.
You can see evidence today of the popularity of anise spirits in Lebanese arak, Turkish raki, Greek ouzo, Italian sambuca and, of course, the French pastis. To this list Mr. Wondrich adds mahia from Morocco and chinchón from Spain, spirits with which I am not yet familiar.
It’s impossible to talk about the history of anise spirits without mentioning absinthe, the glamorized, demonized beverage adopted by belle epoque bohemians, both actual and would-be.
Conservatives and prohibitionists spearheaded a ban on absinthe production in the early 20th century, because, they believed, one of its key ingredients, wormwood, caused hallucinations and other health problems. By the early 21st century, absinthe production became legal again as it was understood that alcohol poisoning because of the spirits’s 50 to 70 percent alcohol content was a far more likely cause of concern than hallucinations.
Pernod originally produced absinthe. When it was banned, it began to make pastis, with a lower degree of alcohol and no wormwood to speak of.
Absinthe, with its blend of many herbs, is far more bitter than pastis, which explains the customary ritual of dripping water through a sugar cube into a glass holding the spirit. Today’s anise spirits are sweet on their own to varying degrees, so adding sugar is unnecessary. Modern absinthes, for that matter, no longer need sugar either, though, if you are planning to drink an absinthe pastis, add water in at least a five-to-one ratio rather than four to one.
I’ve rarely seen pastis used in a cocktail, particularly since the re-emergence of absinthe has eliminated the need to use pastis substitutes in a cocktails like the Sazerac, which were historically made with absinthe. But Ms. Justiniani of Pastis says that recently people have been ordering Pastis Tomates, pastis with a splash of grenadine syrup topped up with water.
