It feels more like I’m being let in on a secret society handshake than being given a lesson in viticulture. But deep in this Parisian cellar, where I’m getting my introduction to the vin de Paris, it’s clear that this locally made wine – thought to have disappeared forever – is still pretty much kept in the dark.

“Montmartre is legendary,” explains Francis Gourdin, Paris’ official oenologist. “It was on this mountain that the first Christians were sacrificed; the French name literally means ‘hill of the martyrs.’” Clos Montmartre, a postage-stamp vineyard that clings to the side of the hill, is also where the current revival of the Parisian wine industry first took root. Today there are over 130 vineyards a mere metro ride away, 10 of them within the city limits and all of them giving both locals and intrepid oenophiles a welcome patch of green in the grey cityscape.

In the dark cellar of the 18th arrondissement’s town hall, Gourdin has just finished pressing Montmartre’s own pinot noir and gamay grapes, in keeping with a centuries-old French tradition that had been all but forgotten in the City of Light. “Paris vintages were once held in high regard,” proclaims Christian de La Guéronnière, president of the Vignerons franciliens réunis, the Paris region wine growers’ association. “French kings served them to their guests.” But this golden age was quickly overshadowed by two centuries of industrialization and urban expansion. Ironically, it’s now the city dwellers, I’m told, who are uncorking their past through the fabled Parisian vines.

Call it sour grapes, but I’m not completely convinced by this so-called winemaking renaissance. It could be just another way to create buzz for a city about which there’s nothing left to say. Or an olive branch held out to those who complain about urban sprawl and the lack of green space.