April, Avril; Chartreuse, snogging and well yeah, that's it.
Two of the great joys of adult life.
Chartreuse and snogging - undeniably, two of the great joys of adult life. This year has seen me drinking more Chartreuse than partaking in snogging unfortunately, but I am pleased to say that the two have occurred in tandem thus far in 2025. When I sat down to write this month’s substack, I was genuinely thankful to the hypnotic, empowering abilities of this Monk-made liquid, because I have been going through a dry patch of epic proportions (bar under the influence of said Chartreuse). This dry patch is akin only to my experience of being chubby, thirteen and languishing in the ‘burbs of Belfast.
Fast forward a couple of decades and I am lamenting said desert-like situation to my friend on a quiet Saturday afternoon at the bar in Bèzier’s Les Halles (the covered market). Admittedly, some wine had been drunk, but what happened next was definitely thanks to the generous, free-poured (God, I love France) Chartreuse served up and suavely slid across the bar to us. My switch from lamenting to snogging was rapid, even for my standards. You see, this verdant, shimmering “elixir of a long life” has a very real, very powerful effect on one’s senses and apparently, one’s ability to pull at 5pm on a Saturday afternoon in late January. The gentleman in question had innocently stood near-ish to me, but my senses for a French man with a large nose (thank you Jean Dujardin for that life-long passion) had been piqued.
And so, I told him he was handsome, asked if he would like to kiss me, and you guessed it, we kissed. We kissed in the middle of a brightly lit market hall, much to the bemusement and confusion of those around us, and indeed, him I think. This may well sound like your version of hell - a sort of public display of want - and I can totally understand that. But this moment has served as a reminder that this lusty, silly, whatever-for-tomorrow side to me still exists. Not caring who saw me kissing a stranger, or whether it was the appropriate place or time was quite liberating. I actually noticed that this particular handsome man started following this substack, so if you’re reading this - Salut toi! Probably a good sign as to my kissing abilities, at least.
In the months since, I’ve often thought about that afternoon - and the momentary, wanton abandon I felt. It’s not a feeling I have much these days - if ever. Is it silly to want to kiss strangers in unsuspecting places? To want to see where the night takes you with little care for tomorrow, when everyone around you is getting married, having babies, talking business and retirement funds? I miss the side of me that has a scar on my back from when I broke onto a boat with a boy called Charlie and well, you can guess the rest. And I miss the side of me that has a tattoo on my ribcage that I got one night in a wine bar in Paris when I was high on love and pills. I guess I just miss being that version of myself: impulsive, open, and a little reckless.
Maybe that’s the real power of Chartreuse? It is not just the elixir of a long life, but a reminder that even whilst I am laden in more responsibility and pressure than my younger years, it is there to help me unearth that side of myself - even if it’s just for one kiss in a market hall, in January, with a man who’ll read about it later.
Are the monks drinking Chartreuse?
I know you may think that it is a stretch to consider that Chartreuse could possibly be the actual catalyst for such carnal freedoms, but I would like to argue this drink, more than any other I know, has a real and animalistic effect on people. And the skyrocketing sales in the last few years are a clear indicator that the people clearly love it; they love being unleashed, untethered. It has made me wonder whether the monks ever get high on their own supply? I am assuming not, or else I fear that things up in those Alpine reaches would be less monastic, and little more last days of Rome.
Chartreuse has an excellent origin story - probably the best. It’s all monks (hot monks à la Peep Show and Sex and the City perhaps?), centuries-old secret recipes, an indecent quantity of herbs, more monks, and now, a heartfelt declaration that they are limiting production - not for profit, but for monastic purity and the planet. And I fear in doing so, they’ve only made their liquor even more alluring (and their monks even hotter..?).
All of this has rendered Chartreuse like catnip to sommeliers and general drinks nerds. They (we) have become accustomed to scanning the back bars of bistros and bars in search of the ruby-green or topaz-yellow liquid. The process of scouring becoming a mere reflex. But why? What is so bloody good about a drink made from herbs?
If you don’t know this reference, I’m afraid you need to stop reading and immediately watch the film. It’s essential context. Like a scene from Death Becomes Her, when Meryl Streep imbibes the secret liquid to eternal youth, the consumption of Chartreuse can make you feel like you are immediately a sex god(dess). Where you were once tired and drowning in chats of oligarchs and tariffs, you are now energised with new ideas, a pert bottom and, on occasion, a mission to snog. Well, in my case anyway.
The liquid is powerful (the green more so than the yellow), and I have witnessed novices recoiling at the intensity and the immediate rush that even the smallest sip provides. But I implore you to sink in, to let the verdant, fragrant liquid slide down your throat and course through your veins - the intense flavours of mountain herbs, flowers, citrus and pine flooding every corner of your weary body. Because, let’s be honest, the monks clearly know what they are doing.
And so, whilst Chartreuse green superseded Brat-girl summer green by just a couple of centuries, for me the feeling and the meaning are the same: go out and live, and be, and be happy and snog who you want, and stay out late, and don’t care what anyone else is thinking or doing. I may be paraphrasing on behalf of the monks here, but I am sure that, in making Chartreuse, they just wanted us all to find a way to live free and wild.
Last but not least, a huge shout to Hôtel Pinard in Montpellier, run by the ridiculously handsome, warm, charismatic couple Ben and Szabi. This wine bar and restaurant undoubtedly has one of the greatest wine lists in the city (potentially even the region), as well as having a very, very badass Chartreuse selection. You have been warned.
Snogging, Sex in the City, wine, and chartuese in one post tells me that I need to be in France! You go, Girl! Snog all you want!!!!
I loved all of this