It came in a shot glass with a frosty liquid on the bottom and a viscous layer of pale green absinthe on top. Where the two met, they curdled. If it did that in the glass, what would happen once it hit my stomach? Unfortunately, I can tell you: it was like drinking tomato sauce after eating ice cream.

No one else had ordered absinthe that night, which was a good thing since I got the last shot that was left. They had run out of it over the weekend, Tony Rweyemamu, the bartender, told me. That's when people drink it, he said, usually a quick shot between beers or other mixed drinks, to speed up the lubrication process.

Jans Ende, a bartender at the Met, a private club, said he wasn't serving it as much anymore. ''It's not that good,'' he said. ''It's not the legend that absinthe was.''

Unless you happen upon a bottle that has been preserved, it is impossible to know exactly how it is different, or even whether it was good in its day. Before the general ban early in the 20th century, absinthe had been produced for more than a century. As Barnaby Conrad III states in ''Absinthe: History in a Bottle'' (Chronicle, 1988), it was created in Switzerland and originally issued as a tonic for French soldiers to fight fevers. It was so popular that it became an everyday drink for soldiers and civilians. Which isn't to say that it was good, but it was cheap -- as cheap as wine, at least, and with much more bang for the franc.

Early in the 20th century, though, absinthe became the scapegoat for many social problems. The French government's anti-absinthe campaign included claims that it caused impotence. When people died of syphilis, doctors would name absinthe abuse as the cause of death to save them the embarrassment of the illness.

Switzerland, Belgium and the United States were the first to ban absinthe. Eventually, the French government prohibited absinthe in 1914, and the Pernod company developed pastis to replace it. Pastis was still flavored with anise but not wormwood, but it is much different from absinthe in subtle but significant ways. Its alcohol content is much lower, and it has a less complex flavor. It can't be substituted for absinthe in cocktails. Its greatest similarity, really, is that it is affordable, as absinthe once was.

Today's absinthe, however, is the wealthy urbanite's drink. Classic absinthe, with sugar and water, averages $9; cocktails cost more. When I ordered it at Three Three Three in Shoreditch, where many young artists live, the bartender made sure I knew it was expensive before she poured.