At Château de Chanteloup, savoir-faire culminates in haute hospitality, served alongside a perfectly poured glass of eau de vie.
BY ANETTA NOWOSIELSKA
The audacity of tapping out the details of an evening so impossibly rarefied is, let’s be honest, an intellectual farce. I, the guest of said experience, am now committing to print the very details of an encounter that is, by design, unobtainable to 99 percent of the world. This chronicle of access risks being nothing more than an exercise in self-indulgence. Yet, here we are. To the envy of all my friends and some cognac aficionados, I was flown to France, along with a perfectly selected clutch of journalists, to be woven into the very fabric of Martell Cognac’s metamorphosis. Martell, a name that drips with heritage as the oldest of the “Big Four” cognac houses, is now executing a pivot to court a new audience. It’s a marvelous contradiction: pushing forward with innovation yet tethered firmly to its roots in a cognac sanctum that I soon won’t forget.
The sublime triumph of this haute experience was the meal coined Signature Martell par Alexandre Mazzia held at Château de Chanteloup just outside of the town of Cognac. This former home, a marvel of cultured opulence, is not open to the public; its doors are reserved exclusively for VIP guests, trusted journalists, and global brand ambassadors. Set in the heart of the Borderies vineyards, it presides over manicured grounds—sweeping emerald lawns stretching down to a glassy pond, enclosed by ancient woods that are home to friendly deer. The grand façade, an expression of 1930s transformation by Maurice Firino-Martell for his wife, Elisabeth, is all creamy stone and formal symmetry, hinting at the refinement within.
The rooms we moved through spoke volumes of this history: the salon felt instantly warm, steeped in the patina with rich tapestries and ancestral portraits; the dining room, where the dinner took place, glowed with Spanish design that felt both cutting-edge and timeless. I was reminded that the story of Martell isn’t solely masculine. In fact, a woman played a crucial, early role: Rachel Martell bravely took the reins of the business after the death of her husband, Jean, in 1721. She steered the young company
through a volatile period, ensuring its survival and growth.
My night began at the bar with a cocktail. Then came the meal, a piece of immersive theatre orchestrated with ruthless precision by two mistresses of ceremony whose knowledge and charm were exemplary. Cellar Master Christophe Valtaud, drawing on a staggering 11,000 references in the House’s deep reserves, didn’t just pair Cognac with food; he crafted special blends, a demonstration of exceptional savoir-faire, specifically calibrated to play with the toasted, spicy, smoky, and chili notes of Chef Mazzia’s menu. Each sequence revealed the aromatic specificity of the blends, and thus, the terroir itself. The choice of Alexandre Mazzia is itself a stroke of non-conformity. His journey—from basketball in the Republic of Congo to three Michelin stars in Marseille—lends a much-needed layer of cosmopolitan grit to this very classic and storied environment.
The menu focused heavily on seafood, a counterpoint to the spirit’s landlocked character. We began with a stunning composition of crispy cassava, red mullet, and glazed mussel with chili gel, paired with the brightness of Champagne. This was followed by the grey shrimp, sea spider crab, and smoked beetroot served with Martell Odyssée. We then moved to langoustine cooked several ways with carrots, cassava, pork, and beetroot sauce—a dizzying juxtaposition of textures. Later, I savored the glazed duck breast, squid, and duck sauce with mint, accompanied by Martell XXO Grande Champagne and a slew of “satellite” dishes that tasted like nothing I had ever tried before. The sheer theatricality of it! Available to a maximum of six guests, the entire experience was designed for intimacy. Our modular table opened directly onto the kitchen, encouraging an interaction with the team. The evening concluded by the fireplace in the library, a room lined with a custom cognathèque for the presentation of the blends, where one could peruse the House’s most exclusive editions.
After the final glass was raised, I was escorted to my private suite, one of only a handful in the Château. It was a space that sighed its heritage rather than shouting its opulence. A grand window offered a leafy view of the ancient park. The king-sized bed, a haven of plushness with a bespoke mattress, was dressed in the crispiest Italian linen. It was the perfect sanctuary to process the night’s stunning excesses.
This bold fusion between Valtaud and Mazzia has yielded an unparalleled experience in haute hospitality. It confirms the true pinnacle of luxury is found not merely in excellence, but in the limitation of access. Every aspect of that night was designed to captivate and delight, and I was one of the privileged few inside this beautifully constructed fantasy. As I retired to my chamber, the final taste of the vintage still lingering on my tongue, I was reminded that true luxury is not merely what is bought, but what is inherited: a moment shared, kept sacred, and passed only to those who understand its impact.
