Religious About Marketing

By Coeli Carr

Word of mouth is the ultimate form of marketing. Which could be a little difficult if your most knowledgeable staff members have taken a vow of silence. The owners and producers of Chartreuse--a liqueur made from 130 herbs and plants--are Carthusian monks who live an ascetic life dedicated to prayer and contemplation at a monastery called La Grande Chartreuse, nested in the French Alps in Voiron, near Grenoble. Nevertheless, because the income generated by sales of the Chartreuse liqueur helps support La Grande Chartreuse and the order's other monasteries around the world, the business--privately and solely held by the Carthusians--also dedicates itself to boosting the bottom line.

In the U. S., the popularity of liqueurs has soared, with almost 12 million cases imported in 2006, an increase of 5 million cases since 1995, says Frank Walters, senior vice president of research at M. Shanken Communications, which publishes the authoritative trade magazine Impact. David Henkes, from market-trends company Technomic, says affluent boomers in particular are drawn to "the perceived status symbol of liqueurs and are shifting their spending toward the higher-priced products." But what's really driving the category, says Walters, are younger drinkers. They were first targeted by German producer Jaegermeister, whose marketing team hired young women to stage promotional events in bars. In 2006 Jaegermeister accounted for about 25% of all liqueurs imported into the U.S., Walters says.

Having women hand out free samples is probably another selling tool unavailable to a religious order, yet total U.S. Chartreuse sales rose 18% last year because the monks got religion when it came to marketing. Green Chartreuse, which was first sold in 1764, retails in the U.S. for $40 to $45 for 750 ml. Jean Marc Roget, president of Chartreuse Diffusion, the brand's marketing arm, says the brand's updated website--"more modern, colorful and informative"--helped bring about worldwide sales of a million bottles of Green, V.E.P. and Yellow, totaling $13 million. "Many professional sommeliers, bartenders and maitre d's love to know the history of the liqueur," says Roget.

That history includes the monks' getting tossed out of the country during the French Revolution and the distillery being nationalized in 1903 (it was not returned to the monks until 1930). The website's beverage and cooking recipes have helped introduce the drink to newcomers, including bartenders, "who use the recipes for inspiration." That's particularly vital in the U.S., where mixologists in trendy bars have a huge influence on sales. "People love the complexity it adds to cocktails and mixed drinks," says Audrey Saunders, owner of Pegu Club, in New York City's SoHo district.

Back in the Alps, technology has also become part of the distillation and by extension the contemplation process. La Chartreuse has relied on a sophisticated software program that's updated constantly--"It cost a fortune," says Roget--and helps run production automatically. The monks got hold of the recipe, originally a health potion, in 1605 but it was so complex they didn't master it for another century. The two monks at La Grande Chartreuse who are each privy to part of the liqueur's formula no longer need to spend their days at Voiron distilling the stuff. Instead, the technology allows the pair to oversee the process remotely via television monitors in their cells. The goal, says Roget, is not to boost production but rather to allow the monks more time for spiritual activities. The monks' vocation "is not to make liqueur but to pray," he says.

The monks didn't make it to the U.S. for the opening of a film about them called Into Great Silence. There is no product placement either. The liqueur and its producers--the Chartreuse monks, as they are called in France--are inextricably bound up in a mystery that not even Roget has cracked. "I'm totally in the dark about what I sell," he says. "They are very secretive, these monks."