Chartreuse: The Secret Elixir of Monks, Mystics, and Modern Drinkers
I remember the first time my General Manager, Max Grange insisted I try Chartreuse.
Now, for some context, he was a French man coming from Lyon, and had a few years on me in the industry (I was 22!).
He told me “You’re a sommelier, so you must drink this and like it,” as if I had no options.
Now, maybe I took what he said a little too seriously, because the next decade of my life I spent seeking out VEP Chartreuse (Green, obviously). But, honestly, I did fall absolutely in love with the flavor of it, and often still drink it with one large cube.
Chartreuse isn’t just a liqueur you throw on the back of your bar and leave to be forgotten. It’s a mystical myth you can pour into a glass, and a vibrant secret you can sip on.
Most bottles you buy off a shelf have recipes posted online, long ingredient lists, notes from distillers.
Chartreuse, does not. There are only two monks on this planet who know the full recipe at any given time.
And yet here it is, glowing like liquid emerald (the color of my eyes) or sunshine gold, bottled proof that mystery still exists in a world where we Google everything.
The Wild Origins: A Manuscript in 1605
This epic story begins all the way back in 1605, when French soldiers handed a crumbling manuscript to the Carthusian monks at a monastery near Paris. On its sad and worn out weathered pages was a recipe for an “Elixir of Long Life,” containing a seriously impressive list of over 130 plants, roots, flowers, and spices.
Think about that for a moment: 130 ingredients.
Most spirits today have about three or four botanicals and call it a great feat of blending.
This might have been heavily inspired by alchemy, all carefully disguised as a recipe for a spirit. It was definitely too complex for most people to even attempt to make.
But monks…now they had some free time on their hands, and the patience of saints.
They also had silence, prayer, and an obsession with the eternal that might’ve been a big reason why it found their way to them.
It took over a century for them to perfect it into what we now know as the “Elixir Végétal de la Grande-Chartreuse,” a concentrated medicinal tonic still sold back then in tiny little bottles.
By the 18th century, the monks were making larger batches and eventually created two drinking versions: the sharper, bolder Green Chartreuse (110 proof) and the softer, sweeter Yellow Chartreuse (80 proof).
Green vs. Yellow
Green Chartreuse is the absolute wild child (definitely a middle child like myself, maybe that’s why I resonate so strongly toward it). It hits you first with alpine herbs, sharp mint, pine resin, black pepper, and a searing heat that lingers long after the sip. It’s strong of course, 55% alcohol by volume, and unapologetically intense. Hence the ice cube I normally reserve for it.
Yellow Chartreuse, introduced in 1838, is a much gentler and sweeter spirit. Notes of honey, saffron, citrus peel, and warm spices round out its softer personality.
Both are complex beyond words, and I’m not throwing any shade at Yellow. Try sipping them side by side and you’ll feel like you’re playing the two versions of Minecraft: one in Java, one in Bedrock. (Any gamers out there know what I mean?)
Alchemy in a Glass
Here’s what I absolutely adore about Chartreuse: no one outside the monastery actually knows the full recipe.
People guess of course (myself included): angelica root, gentian, cinnamon, mace, thyme, hyssop, maybe even nettle.
But no one can actually confirm if they’re right or not. Only two monks at the Grande Chartreuse monastery in the French Alps hold the complete formula at once.
They oversee production in Voiron, France, blending herbs with grape spirits, distilling, aging in massive oak casks, and bottling it into the glowing green and yellow liquids we chase across shelves today.
Even bartenders obsessed with flavor can’t quite pin it down. One sip is alpine, the next sip is sweet, the third sip is medicinal, almost bitter, yet it softens into honey. It’s a kaleidoscope in a bottle, which is why we all love it so much.
The Monastic Way
The Carthusians aren’t your typical winemakers or distillers, of course. They live in silence, dedicating their lives to prayer and contemplation. Each monk has his own small cell with a little quaint garden, where he (or she! they also have Nuns here) tends to some vegetables and herbs.
Speech is limited in their way of life, except for chanting, prayer, or absolute necessity.
It’s sort of hard for me to personally imagine this life of silence, because if you ask my husband he’ll tell you I chatter to fill the silence (I get it from my mom!). Centuries-old stone corridors there echo only with footsteps, the light is simple candlelit evenings, there might even be the scratch of quills across parchment. (Okay, maybe my vision is more from the 1700s than I’d care to admit).
And, somewhere in that ancient monastery, two brothers monks are hunched over copper stills, weighing roots and leaves with monastic precision, as if the health of their soul depends on the exact gram of angelica root.
For the Carthusians, Chartreuse isn’t just a business, it’s truly their way of life.
A Spirit with Cameos
Over the many centuries, Chartreuse has slipped from monastery shelves into the hands of soldiers, travelers, and artists all over the world. Soldiers in Napoleon’s army were said to carry it for courage (seemed to work for them decently well). In 19th-century Paris, it was a fashionable digestif, then of course Hemingway sipped it, Hunter S. Thompson swore by it, and today bartenders still treat it like liquid treasure and only show it to their favorite bar-flies.
But Chartreuse isn’t a celebrity brand, it’s too elusive for that, and could you image monks partnering with the Kim Kardashians of the world today? Yeah, hard no.
It still feels slightly underground, whispered about from industry person to sommelier and passed from one curious drinker to another.
Mention it to a cocktail lover and watch their eyes widen, you either know Chartreuse, or you’re about to have your world rocked.
Cocktails I Suggest
Chartreuse isn’t just a neat pour (or on the rocks!). It has earned its place as a cocktail kingmaker, and here are some of its most iconic cameos:
The Last Word — Gin, lime juice, maraschino liqueur, and Green Chartreuse. Created in Detroit during Prohibition, revived in the early 2000s, now a modern classic. Bright, balanced, and bracing, I’d start here first if you want to be pleasantly surprised and enjoy stronger drinks.
Chartreuse Swizzle — Green Chartreuse, pineapple juice, lime, falernum, crushed ice. Tropical chaos meets alpine clarity, and invented in San Francisco but feels like a true Tiki miracle. If Chartreuse scares you and you’re a fan of fruitier drinks, do this one first.
Champs-Élysées (pronounced "shamz ay-lee-zay") — Cognac, Yellow Chartreuse, lemon juice, simple syrup, bitters. French elegance in a glass, just really delicious.
Bijou — Gin, Green Chartreuse, and sweet vermouth, stirred into something dark, herbal, and hypnotic for those nights you want to ponder life’s deepest questions.
Every cocktail with Chartreuse is unmistakable. A few drops, and the whole drink changes character.
The Allure of the Hunt
Here’s the thing about Chartreuse that drives me crazy, it’s not always easy to find.
The Carthusian monks have limited production intentionally. They’re not interested in scaling up endlessly, chasing profit, or turning Chartreuse into a factory product. In 2019, they even announced they would restrict production even further to preserve their monastic life and the planet. “We are monks, not businessmen,” they said.
….damn them, but also, mad respect.
This decision, of course, sent bartenders, collectors, and myself into an absolute frenzy. Bottles started disappearing from shelves, prices spiked, and rumors spread about “Chartreuse shortages.”
But doesn’t that scarcity make it even more desirable?
In a world where everything is mass-produced and available in two-day shipping, Chartreuse feels like something from the past and almost nostalgic. It’s mysterious by design, rare by intention, and sacred by choice.
The Grande Chartreuse monastery still stands in the French Alps, snow dusting its slate rooftops in a romantic way, clouds hugging the mountains around it. The monks still keep their silence, and the recipe still lives in whispers between only two lucky (or unlucky I guess) custodians.
And the liqueur is still glowing, still complex, and still impossible to pin down.
Come on, what other drink do you know that’s lasted 400 years while refusing to bend to marketing, mass production, or the endless hunger of consumer culture?
Why Chartreuse Feels Different
So why does Chartreuse carry this weight, this aura of perfection squeezed into a bottle?
I think a part of it is the secrecy: we live in a world completely obsessed with transparency and post all of our business out there for the rest of the world to see (as if they care), yet this liqueur still keeps its recipe under lock and key.
Also, there’s something to be said about the bipolar nature of it, sweet yet bitter, smooth yet fiery, sacred yet indulgent.
Or maybe it’s because every sip feels like history made into a liquid via the prayers of monks, the wars of Europe, the cocktail renaissance, all collapsed into one glowing glass of happiness.
The next time you see Chartreuse glowing on a back bar quietly, you should order it. If you’re brave like my husband, hit it neat, I’ll stick with my cube, and if you need a little buffer, get yourself a Chartreuse Swizzle, trust me.
