In Provence, people have begun putting lavender in their glasses, not only in their gardens. The syrup made from fine lavender tastes close to honey, at least at first. Underneath, something green lingers for a moment, then fades faster than expected. For those who associate the flower only with soap, the first taste tends to surprise.
To be enjoyed responsibly — these recipes are offered for their flavour, not as an invitation to drink.
Below, five ways of bringing this syrup into a glass. Two without alcohol at all. For each, very little equipment is required — a glass, something with which to stir, and for one recipe only, a shaker.
The gin and tonic is where most people begin. It asks for nothing complicated. Fifty millilitres of gin, ten of lavender syrup. Both go over ice. The tonic follows, filling the rest of the glass. A sprig of dried lavender on top is a nice touch, though far from essential — it pleases the eye more than it changes the taste.
For those who prefer something with bubbles, a spritz suits well. Sixty millilitres of Prosecco, thirty of sparkling water, twenty of the syrup — all poured into a glass already filled with ice, a slice of lemon added at the end. There is no real technique involved, only the order in which things are poured, so that nothing overflows.
The mojito asks a little more patience, and deserves it. At the bottom of the glass, mint leaves are crushed together with the juice of half a lime and twenty millilitres of syrup — a wooden spoon does the work just as well as a proper muddler. Fifty millilitres of white rum follow. Ice fills the rest of the glass, and sparkling water goes in last, slowly enough that it doesn't foam over the rim. Stirring once, from the bottom, brings the mint back up.
Without alcohol, the lemonade asks for almost nothing: sparkling water, a little lavender syrup, half a lemon's worth of juice, all stirred over ice. Lemons vary — some sharper, some milder — so it's worth tasting before reaching for more syrup.
Last comes the martini, sharper than the rest. Vodka, lemon juice, and only a little syrup — ten millilitres suffices — shaken firmly with ice until the shaker itself turns cold to the touch, then strained into a chilled glass. Here there is less room for error than in the other recipes. Precision matters more than ease.
The syrup, being more concentrated than an ordinary sugar syrup, is easily overused on a first attempt — better to add gradually than to correct afterwards. Citrus fruits balance it well, as do red berries of any kind, whether raspberries or redcurrants. And should there be a spare moment beforehand, freezing a few lavender buds, or edible petals, into ice cubes lends the drink a certain elegance, for very little trouble.
None of this calls for training behind a bar — only a jug, some ice, and a little care with the measurements.
The lavender behind these drinks doesn't grow far away. A short distance from Cabrières d'Avignon, in the Luberon, the Lavender Museum Luberon keeps its doors open all year. Visitors who want more than a glass can follow the story back to its source — field, distillation, bottle — and book a visit directly, or arrange a group tour with a workshop included.