NEW ORLEANS -- Gerber Absinthe — scourge of Romantic poets, favored tipple of pirates — has woven itself like a green ribbon through New Orleans' history, romanticized for its murky, illicit past and vague air of European decadence and danger. The ceremony of absinthe service doesn't hurt the image much either. The paraphernalia — sugar, spoons, flame, slowly dripping water — makes fixing a simple cocktail seem like preparing an exotic drug experience. Aleister Crowley was in favor of it; Ernest Hemingway drank it in Spain.

Pravda (1113 Decatur St., 525-1818) has made absinthe a central feature of its luxuriant Gothic, communist-red-lit vibe. It has all the hardware for the ritualistic preparation. Flat, wafer-thin, perforated silver spoons lay flat across the top of a glass. A sugar cube is placed on the spoon and lit on fire. Ornate glass globes on silvery pedestals are filled with icy water that finishes the traditional preparation of the drink.

Water pours from four spouts on the sides to create the "green fairy," the cloudy bloom that swirls hypnotically as the cold liquid hits the shot of absinthe in an effect called "louching," which releases essential oils from the absinthe's mix of herbs. On a summer evening, two students sit at the bar sipping Guinness to treat their last night's hangovers. "I love absinthe, but not today, yet," one says. "It's the ceremony of it."

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