This Paris Bar Lets You Enjoy Absinthe from the Comfort of a Bathtub

Some bars have plush booths. Some have rooftop views. And then there’s Marlusse et Lapin — where you can sip absinthe while lounging in a bathtub. Yes, really.

Tucked into the narrow, slightly tilted streets north of Pigalle, Marlusse et Lapin isn’t the kind of place you wander into by accident. You seek it out. Or maybe, in that strange, serendipitous way Paris works, it finds you. Look for a door painted with a rabbit, the colors softened by time, and you’ve arrived at your portal to the wonderfully weird.

Inside, it’s part thrift-store fantasy, part bohemian salon: low ceilings, threadbare velvet armchairs, mismatched tables, bed frames stacked with pillows, and — the pièce de résistance — vintage cast-iron tubs transformed into couches. No water. No soap. Just layers of cushions, stickers, and the perfect patina of lived-in charm. This is Parisian upcycling at its finest, turning something heavy and impractical into the most unexpectedly cozy seat in the city.

And then there’s what’s in your glass. Absinthe — the fabled “green fairy” — once lured 19th-century poets, painters, and late-night philosophers with promises of heightened genius and softened sorrows. Banned for almost 100 years (too wild, they claimed), it returned to Parisian bars in 2011 with far less danger than the myths suggest. At Marlusse et Lapin, it’s served the old-fashioned way: pale green, with a sugar cube balanced just so, and a slow pour of ice-cold water that blooms the drink into a cloudy swirl of anise, fennel, and faintly bitter botanicals.

The room hums with conversation — locals swapping stories over bottles, couples leaning in close on bathtub couches, and travelers trying to soak up every ounce of this “only in Paris” moment. It’s the kind of place where you half expect Toulouse-Lautrec to lean over the edge of your tub and ask for a sip.

So if your Paris plans lean toward the unexpected, skip the hotel lounge. Follow the rabbit, climb into your seat, and raise a glass to the city’s gift for turning the absurd into the inevitable.