Drink: Team spirit

Michael Jackson raises a glass of pastis to France 98

What is in the five or six pints that precede or accompany the proverbial "game of two halves"? Usually, a British-made "foreign" lager. A Berkshire-brewed Kronenbourg, perhaps. Kronenbourg is originally from Alsace, a region never sure that it is part of France, although it makes that country's most widely known beers. But Alsatian lagers lack the bite for a World Cup game in Toulouse, Montpellier, Marseilles, St Etienne or Lyons. What are needed there are the flavours of the South.

Let us start with the best-known: Pernod, born not far from Lyons. There are stories it was developed as a panacea by a doctor with the modest name of Pierre Ordinaire, but it takes its identity from Henri-Louis Pernod, a distiller in Pontarlier in the late 1700s.

Pernod is a summertime refresher, diluted with lightly chilled water (the recommended ratio is five to one). As the water is added, the drink's pale lime colour gains the opalescence of sun-shot clouds. "Dawn broke. The sky was the colour of Pernod," wrote the chronicler of irony and lechery, Henri de Monthlerant, in his 1934 novel The Bachelors.

Pernod is a strong (40 per cent in Britain, 45 in France), sweet-and- dry aniseed liqueur, with a powerful influence also of fennel; it is flowery, "green", with herb notes, and a touch of mintiness in its complex, long, flavours. Which herbs? Certainly camomile, coriander and veronica. Also angelica, melissa, hyssop, oregano, parsley, even spinach? The exact recipe is, naturellement, a secret, but its origins on the borders of France and Switzerland would suggest some Alpine flowers.

The producers of Pernod lay great emphasis on the use of distillation to extract essential oils from the principal plants. This distillate of flavours is blended into neutral alcohol. It is the oils that form the haze when water is added. If the Pernod itself becomes too cold, the essential oils crystallise, so ice is not usually added directly to the drink. French bars often have a miniature water-tower, with ice, on the bar. Tiny taps permit a trickle of chilled water to flow through a sugar-cube on a slotted spoon or funnel to dilute the Pernod, though I would not want to sweeten a drink that is just dry enough to be an aperitif.

It is the herbs that arouse the appetite, demanding salads of dandelion and escarole, quenelles of pike in a sauce of freshwater crayfish, and Bresse chicken, perhaps with pine kernels, or walnuts from Grenoble.

At a stretch, you could have Pernod with syrup of grenadine after dinner, but fruit juices and lemonade, I am not so sure about. A ready-mixed version with blackcurrant and lime is called Hex, after a French cocktail called the Red Witch. There is also a lime-and-cola version of Hex. A horribly blue confection with the Madagascan herb anamalhobe is known as "Wired". These are "party fuel". More Gazza than Gaugin.

Drinks such as Pernod have always been associated with artists and Bohemians. It was the surrealist Louis Aragon who observed: "Pernod becomes a habit in Midi." If by Midi he meant the real south, he might better have cited the similar drink, pastis, which is especially associated with Marseilles. Pastis is a generic term, describing usually less complex, more straightforward, aniseed drinks, typically made by maceration (steeping). They have a strong liquorice accent and typically are made with Provencal herbs. The name derives from pastiche. These drinks are usually a darker, brassy colour, and become almost tan with dilution.

The liquorice is very evident in Ricard, which has a rooty, slightly bitter, dryness. Having lived in the 1960s, and trying to recall that decade through a haze of such substances, I vaguely remember stealing triangular water-jugs and ashtrays bearing the Ricard logo. I even installed a Ricard sun umbrella on the flat roof of my bedsit. In Selfridges department store, I recently found a lesser-known pastis, Janot, with a more citric, limey, finish.

I still like to pop into the French House in Soho to sip a creamy, vegetal Pastis Rocroy or a peppery, spicy Henri Bardouin, which has a touch of cardamom. This famously Bohemian Dean Street pub, also sometimes has Pastis 51, with its pungent roundness and decidedly nutty finish. This actually derives from the use of cola nuts. Pastis 51 is hymned in the anthem of the Marseilles soccer team. There are other pastis I have never seen in Britain: the soothing Casanis; the drily aniseedy Baldanis; the aromatic, complex Boyer; the honeyish Granier; La Muse Verte, with its sage-like bouquet; the earthy Prado.

These are the drinks of lazy afternoons, lustful thoughts, and appetites otherwise aroused for bouillabaisse, anchovies, olives, aubergines and lamb in lavender.

Drinks such as Pernod and pastis have their origins in the days when wines and brandies were flavoured to cover defects. Aniseed was a typical flavouring, and its use in drinks extends all along the Mediterranean. The people of that region found the flavour locally in Pimpinella anisum, a relative of coriander, fennel and carrot. These days, a totally different plant, Illicium verum, from farther east, is more often used. Its dried fruit, known a star anise, is also employed in some teas, pickles and the classic Chinese "five spice" blend. Illicium verum is related to the magnolia tree. Both the Pimpinella and Illicium have a component called anethol, which also exists in yet another unrelated plant, liquorice.

Aniseed drinks were, according to Pliny, given to the winners of the chariot races to remind them of the bittersweet emotions shared in competitive sport. Sounds like pastis all round

Pernod is stocked by Oddbins, Safeway and Sainsbury, among national chains. Soho outlets include The French House, 49 Dean St, London W1 (0171-437 2799); Gerry's, 74 Old Compton St, London W1 (0171-734 2053); The Vintage House, 42 Old Compton St, London W1 (0171-437 2592)

White of the week

1997 Vina San Pedro 35 Sur Chardonnay, pounds 4.29, Safeway. From Vina San Pedro at latitude 35 South (hence 35 Sur), this is a ripe, peachy, thoroughly moreish Chilean dry white wine with a touch of oakiness and just the right balance of crisply refreshing acidity. Ideal for Midsummer's Day.

Red of the week

1996 Redwood Trial Pinot Noir, pounds 5.49, Waitrose. Much better than the previous vintage under the same label, this fine California Pinot Noir is full of juicy, loganberry-like succulence mingled with a beguiling spiciness from maturation in oak casks. A midsummer night's dream. Anthony Rose