Maison Verte

The Hour of the Green Fairy

Beneath a canopy of wrought-iron vines on Rue Lepic, we pour the herbalist's craft into crystal. Wormwood steeped by moonlight, anise coaxed from a copper still, a lump of sugar yielding slowly beneath the fountain's chill. To sit here is to sit at the elbow of Toulouse-Lautrec himself — and to leave, unhurried, some hours later.