Elite Traveler Spring 2020

elite traveler SPRING 2020 103

From left Ancient tierçons in one of Louis XIII’s cellars; the stunning Baccarat crystal decanter

It’s impossible to take a sip without thinking about the amount of work, and yes, time, that went into creating this cognac

through fire, machines, hammers and saws. But even here, time hangs heavy. The master coopers explain that everything is different about a tierçon, from the size to the time the wood needs to age after being cut — three more years — to the seasoning. Seguin Moreau makes just 15-17 tierçons for Louis XIII, but it can make 200 traditional barrels a week for its other clients. The majority of the work is done by hand using traditional techniques, and it is back-breaking work. Now that Loiseau has mastered the art of creating a tierçon, he enters uncharted territory by aging eaux-de-vie within the new oak tierçons. “I’m going to be surprised by this tierçon,” he tells me. “It’s more than one century without having these new oak tierçons in the cellar, so we have lost a bit of

this know-how, this understanding of how it will evolve. These will be the best surprises I have in the next years and decades. Maybe I have in mind that they will be ready in the next 40-50 years to welcome the oldest eaux-de-vie into the final blend of Louis XIII, but it’s just my intuition. Maybe the next cellar master, he or she will decide that it is not the right time and they need much more time to be seasoned. Before, we were only focused on how to guide the eaux-de-vie, and now the role of the cellar master is also to guide the tierçon and learning how it will behave throughout the ages.” What do hundreds of years growing oak trees, decades of aging and blending eaux-de-vie, and the life’s work of generations of cellar masters produce? An exquisite Baccarat crystal decanter, shaped after a 16th-century flask, that holds one of the world’s finest cognacs. Its bouquet is intense and complex, full of floral and honey notes, with a lingering finish and an incredible smoothness. But savoring the rich cognac is not just about flavors or aromas. It’s impossible to take a sip without thinking about the incredible amount of work, and yes, time, that went into creating this cognac. I feel immediately more present in the moment, my senses heightened, and I experience a sense of reverence as we taste each drop, discovering new layers each time.

branch in the middle of the tree would disqualify it from being used to make a tierçon. After being awed by these ancient trees, we walk to a field owned by Louis XIII, where we plant oak saplings. They are six years old, and they are frail, wispy things, more like houseplants than trees. We plant them in tidy rows and surround themwith fences to protect from animals who love to eat the oaks’ leaves. As we look at our tiny trees, it’s an odd feeling, knowing that they will stay here for nearly 200 years before they can be judged worthy of becoming a tierçon. That peculiar feeling is what Loiseau feels every day, working in between the past and the future. He will never know the results of some of his grape-growing projects, taste the final blends of the eaux-de-vie he carefully maintains or see a tierçon fashioned from his oak trees. But he understands this better than most, because cognac is in his blood. He was born and raised in the region, so from a young age he understood that cognac takes time, and the finest cognac takes a long time. As we taste the eaux-de-vie, he says, “We are drinking time. Time is our rawmaterial.” At the cooperage, Seguin Moreau, surrounded by towers of wood planks, we watch as the ancient oak planks transform into a tierçon

Photos Rémy Martin, Stéphane Charbeau