Why drinkers are suddenly going crazy for Chartreuse in Paris

As I was walking down Rue Victor Massé in Paris’ hip South Pigalle district, an unexpected sight stopped me short: a row of giant Chartreuse jeroboams displayed in the window of wine bar 228 Litres. Later at another noted spot, L’Orillon, there it was again, the electric-green liqueur arriving at tables all around. This was the city that, some 25 years ago, put natural wine bars on the map. Today those same bars have a new obsession: a digestif made by monks for the past 300 years. “Everybody knows Chartreuse,” says Louis Renauld, co-owner of 228 Litres and Cave Pigalle next door. He estimates it is “two or three times more famous” than it was four years ago. “We see a lot of tourists just stopping by to take pictures in front of the bottles.” La Cave des Papilles, Le Saint Sebastien and Cave Pur Jus are among the other natural wine venues and retailers pouring Chartreuse. France remains the drink’s primary market, accounting for 50 per cent of its total sales, according to its distributor. The reasons for its rising popularity are counterintuitive: Chartreuse has become a fashionable spirit by refusing to behave like one. Its producers, a collective of Carthusian monks, will not expand production to meet demand, will not advertise, and will not court celebrities or influencers. But in a Paris wine scene that prizes scarcity and story above all else, that refusal is precisely the appeal. Chartreuse’s ascent was accelerated by the pandemic, when at-home drinking culture drove a surge in demand. Global sales topped US$30 million (HK$235 million) in 2022, up from US$20 million in 2018. Yet, rather than capitalise on the boom, the Carthusians capped output – currently about 1.6 million bottles annually – to protect their monastic life and devote themselves to prayer. Price increases followed. The archetypal alpine liqueur, Chartreuse has an official, if apocryphal-seeming, origin story that traces back to 1605, when diplomat and soldier François-Annibal d’Estrées turned over a manuscript containing a complex formula for an “Elixir of Long Life”. Commercial production started in 1737, following over a century of experimentation. Still made in the French Alps at the Aiguenoire distillery from 130 local herbs and botanicals without imported barrels and cereals, it is almost like a natural wine in spirit form. “It’s not like they want a spirit,” Renauld says of his customers. “They want a Chartreuse.” Its current status is a far cry from a decade ago, when students mixed €30 (HK$270) bottles of Chartreuse with tonic or ginger beer, its ABV content of over 50 per cent making it a cheap route to intoxication. Some natural wine devotees now lace fizzy pét-nat with a splash for the same electric effect. Chartreuse drinkers are a motley crew. You see them everywhere in Paris: in hyper-luxury hotels, cocktail bars (it is the crucial ingredient to the Naked & Famous) and low-key caves à manger – combined wine cellars and eateries. In most of these places you will find one of two main varieties: the bracing herbaceous green version with 55 per cent alcohol by volume, or the sweeter, honeyed yellow at 43 per cent ABV, which was created more than a century later, in 1838. Both glow with a vivid intensity – a hue so arresting it once inspired ZZ Top to sing: “Chartreuse, you got the colour that turns me loose.” The greenish-yellow colour chartreuse takes its name from the drink. Beyond these entry-level versions, which cost around US$100 a bottle, there are a handful of rare cuvées, only sipped neat. These include the 1605 edition, an annual release inspired by the monks’ original elixir priced at US$200 or more, as well as VEP (vieillissement exceptionnellement prolongé), which is aged longer and commands upwards of US$400. How the recipe is protected “Only three monks are entrusted with the management of the liqueur, so as not to unduly disrupt the community,” says Eléana Zappia, communications officer at Chartreuse Diffusion, the drink’s distribution company. Great efforts are made to protect the recipe. Its 130 plants are grown by 80 families, each limited to two varieties, before being dried, powdered and sent to the distillery. There, lay workers carry out the manual stages of maceration, distillation, blending of the resulting spirit with honey and sugar syrup, and ageing in uncharred French oak casks, all under monastic instruction. It is a level of control Zappia calls “essential for the brand’s longevity and the protection of its unique expertise”. Chartreuse Diffusion controls everything else, with access now governed by a formal allocation system in which volumes are tightly managed and relationships closely tended. In Paris the move to cap production was acutely felt. Substantial orders of entry-level green and yellow are required to secure premium cuvées, which has left some fine-dining restaurants, whose customers want only the latter, struggling. Some restaurants can get only 12 to 24 litres (17 to 34 standard bottles) a year, Renauld says, while his bars are buying at least 10 times that amount. That mystical aura has attracted its own cult following. Members of Fous de Chartreuse (“Crazy About Chartreuse”), a club founded in 1995 by Philippe Beaudet, descend on Paris wine merchant Caves Bosetti every October dressed head to toe in branded gear. They are here to celebrate the annual release, the date of which is not written on any label but can be determined by deciphering a six-digit code on the gold band just under the seal. Not everyone is on board. Emmanuel Bouheret, co-owner of champagne boutique Cave Pétillance, may stock various Chartreuse cuvées but is sceptical of some aspects of its new-found status. “Chartreuse is not natural at all,” he says, dismissing the new crowds as trend-chasers. The mystique is inflated. “It’s the perception of rarity,” Bouheret says, “not rarity itself.” Marketing does play a role, as with any spirit, but the strategy is more akin to single-malt whisky than to conventional drinks advertising. Art deco prints from the 1920s are a familiar fixture in bars in Paris and beyond, but you will not find celebrity ambassadors, influencer deals or limited-edition streetwear drops. Chartreuse barely exists on social media. Chartreuse has truly been elevated to iconic status Emmanuel Cadieu, head sommelier at three-Michelin-star restaurant Plénitude What does the talking is what is in the bottle. Renauld points out that wine lovers like him are drawn to Chartreuse because it continues to evolve after bottling. Its botanicals interact with water, sugar and alcohol long after sealing. A yellow Chartreuse Tarragona 1973-78 that Renauld tasted became more gentle, but with a deeper intensification of saffron and sweet spice aromatics. “Chartreuse has truly been elevated to iconic status,” says Emmanuel Cadieu, head sommelier at the three-Michelin-star Plénitude, in the LVMH-owned Cheval Blanc hotel in Paris. Guests increasingly request it by name, he adds, and want to talk about the philosophy behind the spirit. They are “true connoisseurs who pay close attention to details such as the year of release”. Its ageing capacity has also led to increased prices on the secondary market. At London’s Hedonism Wines, the 2022 release of the Chartreuse Reine des Liqueurs (Renauld’s favourite cuvée) goes for £620 (HK$6,540), and a yellow Chartreuse Voiron circa 1941-51 is listed for £2,800. That kind of price tag would sink many spirits. In a city of wine lovers who prize provenance, scarcity and story, a centuries-old monastic liqueur turns out to be the perfect object of desire. The allocation system is unfathomable, the recipe secret, and yet Chartreuse is tracked with nerdy zeal by drinkers who could not distinguish a Carthusian from a Cistercian. The monks, for their part, have less earthly matters to ponder.

Why drinkers are suddenly going crazy for Chartreuse in Paris

.css-1c6uqr6{color:inherit;font-weight:inherit;font-size:inherit;font-family:inherit;line-height:inherit;overflow-wrap:break-word;}Chartreuse, an ancient French herbal liqueur made by monks using 130 herbs and aromatics, has become one of Paris’ most fashionable spirits

Chartreuse, an ancient French herbal liqueur made by monks using 130 herbs and aromatics, has become one of Paris’ most fashionable spirits