Peerside

Recently I've been combining one of my passions, cooking, and my wifes passions, France, by reading Culinaria France and amongst the many obscure and nostalgic details it presents about regional french food it also contains a piece on Pastis ( see my earlier post on pastis to see why that should interest me ) 

A familiar sight in the bistros of Marseille in the 1920s was a young salesman seeking customers for his wine. The label, painted by himself, showed vines, olive tress and the bright sun of Provence, his homeland. Paul Ricard dreamed of commercial success and the freedom it would bring him to do what he really wanted. His ambition was in fact to study painting, but his father would not allow it, so he started work in his father's business, selling wine. He dealt with deliveries, learned bookkeeping and racked his brains to find a way forward. Vin Ordinaire was not the answer.Neither his wine or his own brand brought him that sort of success, but he did notice on his frequent visits that people most liked to drink: pastis.

Following the ban on absinth in 1915, the government in 1922 recognised that anise was in fact harmless, but only permitted a liqueur with a minimum sugar content of 150 grams (about 5 1/4 ounces). The people of Provence had long appreciated the refreshing flavour of anise, and were little troubled by such regulations. Every winemaker and bartender could ocnjour up a recipe of his own. The forbidden drinks were poured "under the counter" in bistros and cafes. The ingredients were common knowledge: alcohol and water, anise, licorice, and a little sugar, with various herbs and spices added according to taste and whim. The pastis tasted different from one place to the next, some better, some not so good. Paul Ricard saw his chance.

He set tirelessly to work every evening, blending his own version of pastis from alcohol, essence of anise and herbs. He writes in his autobiography, La passion de creer, "I adopted the habit of taking a sample with me on my rounds the morning after my distillations, macerations and filtrations. Encouraged by the comments and wishes of my tasters I honed my product, enabling me to continue my enquiry the following morning at another bar". At the end of a few months, he felt totally sure of himself.

One obstacle remained: the ban. When that was eventually lifted in 1932, he began production of his Ricard in the back yard of his parents house in the Marsaille suburb of Sainte-Marthe. He deliberately gave a Mediterranean flare to his vrai pastis de Marsaille, as an advertising ploy. This was personified in the figure of the singer Dargelys, a roguish Provencal with an open shirt and impudent charm.

Soon, no large event was without Ricard; it exceeded all its competitors in popularity. The new aniseed liqueur was an instant success, as its typically spicy flavour with the added note of licorice recalled the notorious absinthe, and was mixed in just the same way with water to the individuals own personal taste. Pastis became the most popular aperitif of the whole French nation.

From 1951 onward, many former makers of absinthe began to make pastis, with labels reminiscent of their illegal predecessors. They were based on essence of anise, which has a soothing effect on the stomach. It is usually made from star anise, the fruit of an evergreen Chinese tree a little like a cypress, though anethol can also be obtained from aniseed, fennel and tarragon. Other ingredients are licorice and herbs of Provence, prepared by mixing the water and alcohol. These ingredients flavour a 45 percent volume alcohol, further coloured and flavoured with sugar and caramel. A new generation of pastis represents a further refinement, based on old Provencal recipes. They combine up to 72 different plants and spices. These aperitifs are bottled unfiltered, uncoloured and often unsweetened and offer a higher degree of finesse and aromatic complexity.

All types of pastis, however, have one thing in common. They are diluted before drinking. The connoisseur will simply add ice cold water, never ice cubes, because they would cause the anethol to separate out. Even bottles of pastis are never chilled because this would cause the liqueur to turn cloudy.

So, our Mr. Ricard obviously believed that to succeed, some rules were made to be broken - and I'm glad he did.

On a side note, apparently the cloudy colour that pastis turns when mixed with water is because the mint oil crystallizes ... fancy that !

And I thought I just liked the taste.

For more wonderful facts about French habits, cuisine and traditions it's worth getting your hands on a copy of Culinaria France ( on special for 10 Euro in Easons right now ) or via Amazon.