FROM THE VAULTS
La Révolution
The approach of Bastille Day in France on July 14 took us back to an Unfiltered feature from April 2010, when Richard Goslan travelled to Paris to investigate the country’s long-standing love affair with whisky in general and a passion for single malts in particular
There’s little to give the location away on this anonymous Parisian side street near the Sorbonne, other than a small plaque on the wall, next to an unmarked door. Inside, the muffled hum of conversation creeps up from the basement, together with a gentle ambient backbeat.
I step cautiously down the barely-lit stairs and emerge into an intimate vaulted cellar with a strangely padded ceiling. It’s packed with a stylish young crowd, who all seem to be drinking whisky. Japanese whisky.
The Curio Parlor is indeed a curious place. As I share a 17-year-old Taketsuru with co-owner Olivier Bon at the bar, a live radio broadcast starts up in the comer. Olivier tells me the Nikka Bar, here in the basement of the Curio Parlor, is the only one of its kind outside of Japan. Since it started up more than a year ago, it’s been a hit with the student crowd on the Left Bank, because, Olivier tells me, Japanese culture and design – and whisky – are embraced here.
PICTURED: Nikka Bar at Curio Parlor
The bar stocks about 20 different types of Nikka, which customers take neat or in cocktails such as the Rive Gauche, and there are regular tasting events and club nights. Instead of the feeling I occasionally get in Scotland of being a comparatively youthful interloper within a serious whiskytasting crowd, I suddenly get the sense of being an old-timer trying – and failing – to blend in with the kids.
This buzz around Japanese whisky in Paris is further evidence of France’s long-standing love affair with whisky in general. And here in the capital, there’s a whisky joint to suit everyone. From the Curio Parlor, it’s a short stroll across the Seine, past Notre Dame, to take the metro to Filles du Calvaire in the 11th arrondissement.
The French branch of The Scotch Malt Whisky Society is celebrating Burns Night at a new venue, Café Society, and the branch director has asked me along – although he didn’t warn me I’d have to address the haggis!
Notre Dame pictured on our visit in 2010
Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect scanner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?
I’m already well into my performance when it dawns on me I’m pouring scorn on my hosts’ cuisine. If they don’t catch the nuance, you try saying “sneering, scornfu’ view” without grimacing.
Thankfully, the party gathered round the table is here not to defend their nation’s culinary heritage, but to savour our whisky.
The contrast between the Curio Parlor and the Society’s Burns Supper couldn’t be greater. But it’s clear that in this city, and across the entire country, the appreciation of whisky crosses all barriers of age or gender.
France is now the number one export market for Scotch by volume, with almost 160 million 70cl bottles shipped there in 2008, compared with 107 million for the US market.
In the country of cognac and calvados, it’s curious that whisky is so far ahead in the market. Burns can help explain that too: freedom and whisky gang thegither. The emergence of Scotch as France’s spirit of choice is clearly associated with the country’s liberation in 1944.
“When the Americans came, they were looked on as liberators, and in Paris young people were absolutely frantic about them,” says Martine Nouet, a French whisky writer and chef who now calls Islay home. “The US soldiers drank blended Scotch, and that was a discovery for the French youth at the time. So whisky became very fashionable and a great symbol of freedom and liberty for teenagers and young adults.”
Serge Valentin, who runs the whiskyfun.com website, recalls the sophistication associated with Scotch, compared with France’s domestic spirits.
“To us post-war generations, whisky always meant ‘the new cool’, something more rock and roll than cognac or calvados, or even wine,” he says. “Then we started to have enough pocket money to afford drams of single malt in what we used to call ‘American bars’. There was the ‘green’ (Glenfiddich) and there was the ‘white’ (Cardhu). They were for the cognoscenti and, of course, we were all self-styled cognoscenti when we were 18.”
With a culture that has an innate appreciation for the quality of food and drink, whisky’s variety and complexity also found a natural audience in France.
“It is part of our culture to discuss food and drink,” says Olivier Fagnen, a scientist at the Scotch Whisky Research Institute in Edinburgh. “I grew up learning to differentiate and remember flavours.” Now, whisky is for everyone in France, with most stores and supermarkets stocking a range of single malts. The range in specialist stores in Paris, such as the Salon du Whisky, is astonishing. Owner Nicolas Julhès started off with an epicerie [general store] on the bustling Rue de Faubourg St Denis, and then a café next door. But tucked away at the end of the cheeses and cured meats is his shrine to Scotch.
ABOVE: Nicolas Julhès
At the age of 33, Nicolas is an advocate for whisky, allowing customers to try any dram in his shop in a quest to share his enthusiasm for the spirit. It’s impossible not to be fired up by his energy as he talks about giving people the key to discovering whisky.
“Even if someone discovers whisky by trying to look smart in a disco, I think it is amazing that whatever way they get into it, they won’t get out again,” he says. “Because after that taste, they are going to say, ‘Wow, what is this?’ Once you’re into this, it stays with you, it draws you in.” Nicolas is now creating a restaurant which will develop his interest in matching food and whisky, and allow customers to select from the Salon’s shelves.
Another restaurateur with an interest in matching malts with food is Arnaud Bradol, a Society member who is the chef and owner of wine bar and restaurant Les Fines Gueules. His philosophy is about simplicity and purity, which extends across not only the food and wine he serves, but also in his selection of unfiltered whiskies.
“Wines were filtered to give them a sharp, clear look,” says Bradol. “Now you get winemakers who have come back to the real thing, unfiltered, which has a different taste. I have the same way of thinking about whisky. When you filter it, you lose something.”
A couple of blocks from the Champs Elysees is France’s whisky headquarters, La Maison du Whisky. The company was founded by current owner Thierry Benitah’s father in 1956 and the first shop stocked about 20 different whiskies. It now markets more than 800 brands of whisky across France. Thierry has been surrounded by whisky since he helped box up selections of miniatures during his school holidays, aged 10. He says there’s no sign of the French passion for whisky diminishing.
“In the last few years, because of growing activity on the internet and new type of communities, we’re seeing a younger customer who is quite knowledgeable,” says Thierry. “Our staff come to me already with that knowledge, they are all really passionate about whisky.”
Spending 15 minutes in the Maison du Whisky is instructive about who’s buying single malt. The customers cover both genders and every age group. Some know exactly what they want, while others seek advice from the staff who look like undergraduates but take time to explain the characteristics of Glendronach or Glenfarclas.
Thierry watches and speculates about the next trend in France’s love affair with whisky. “For the last 15 years, people have been into smoky whisky,” he says. “Everything started with Lagavulin, which has been huge. Islay is still very strong, while younger people don’t hesitate to buy younger whiskies. And Japanese malts are becoming very big – people are looking for new experiences all the time.
“But single malt remains the richest and biggest category – it’s supported by so many brands, it’s unique. From the French perspective, there’s also a kind of exoticism, because it’s from Scotland and to the French, that’s a special country.”
What a pleasant thought – to walk back out into the crisp Parisian night being thought of as exotic. The French joie de vivre is as intoxicating as our national drink. Now I know where to go for a top up.
This article first appeared in Unfiltered issue seven from April 2010, all titles and information correct at the original time of publication
