The Most Expensive Cognac I've Ever Tasted, And How Not To Do A Cognac Tasting

The weirdest damn bottle I ever did see.

One morning in February, 2016, I got one of those emails that every freelance writer dreams of getting. Here, in edited form, is what it said — verbatim, because of course I saved it:

Hi Tony,
I just joined the Hennessy PR team, it’s nice to e-meet you!
I am reaching out to invite you to Hennessy’s upcoming global press trip. The press trip will serve as the first announcement of two major matters…
7th generation Master Blender, Yann Fillioux, who currently serves as head of Hennessy’s Comité de Dégustation (Tasting Committee) will announce his successor – nephew and 14 year Comité de Dégustation member, Renaud de Gironde (8th generation Fillioux). Yann Fillioux will train his successor during a rigorous apprentissage that will focus on the transmission of family, heritage, legacy, craftsmanship and power
Hennessy will unveil Hennessy 8 (SRP: $32,500), an ultra-rare Cognac created using only eight exceptional eaux-de-vie. The blend represents the transmissions of legacy from one Master Blender and generation to another and marks Yann Fillioux’s last creation as Hennessy Master Blender.
Might you be interested in attending?

First of all, I loved the style of the email. To the point, no beating around the bush, and I still get a kick out of the “might you be interested” bit. But obviously, the content was what grabbed me: A publicist I’d never met was offering to fly me somewhere (France, presumably) to taste a $32,500 cognac (the price actually wound up being $39,000). After doing a little research to make sure it wasn’t some kind of scam, I replied with a highly enthusiastic YES.

The trip was scheduled for about two weeks hence. At the time my father was almost literally at death’s door — he passed away a few weeks after the trip — and I was also the full-time stay-at-home caretaker of my five year old daughter. But this was too good to pass up. And fortunately, I have an indulgent and understanding wife. So I was in.

It was a no-muss, no-fuss trip. We got to Paris on Thursday, hit Cognac on Friday morning, then flew home the same day. I think I had about 90 minutes to wander around Paris before the festivities began, which I did most happily — it was my first time in the City of Lights, and it lived up to expectations. Then it was back to the extremely swanky hotel room to get gussied up for a fancy dinner with a bunch of fellow drinks writers, a few publicists, and a whole bunch of people from Hennessy and parent company LVMH. The food was spectacular and, believe me, there was no shortage of cognac, both unadulterated and in cocktails. My cohorts and I drank more than our share of both.

It was at the dinner that the bottle of Hennessy 8 was unveiled. I’ve never seen a bottle like it, before or since. If you think it looks weird in the photo above, in person it almost felt like I was hallucinating. My brain literally could not wrap itself around this thing. How you were supposed to lift it up and pour a glass of the liquid inside was beyond me. But I guess if you could spend $39,000 on a bottle of cognac, you could afford to pay someone to pour it for you. Or, more likely, you’d keep it as an investment/conversation piece and never taste a drop.

Fortunately, we were there to taste it. The next morning at 7:30, my jet-lagged, hung over cohorts and I were whisked off to the airport for a quick flight to Cognac and the Maison du Hennessy. It was the middle of the night, New York time, and the cognac we’d had the night before was still wreaking havoc on our nervous and digestive systems. But we were professionals, and we had a job to do. We manned and womanned up and boarded our private jet to Cognac with steely determination and resolve.

When we landed we were met by a gaggle of matching black Mercedes SUVs which transported us to the Hennessy “visitor’s circuit,” according to my itinerary. We had a little breakfast and then went to the brand-spankin’ new tasting room, which I don’t think had officially opened to the public yet, for the big moment. Each seat had a little table, atop which was a glass and a small bottle of the precious liquid we were to taste. Here, check it out:

The setting was beautiful… and it was cold. I mean keep-your-coat-on-to-keep-from-shivering cold. The cognac, which had been laid out for us before our arrival, and which sat through multiple speeches by various members of the LVMH family, was cold as well. And the combination of the cold, our lack of sleep, and having drunk too much the night before, made the actual tasting a somewhat underwhelming experience.

Here I must emphasize (and you can read all the details in the article I wrote for Robb Report), that this was cognac made from eaux-de-vie selected by every master blender in Hennessy’s history, dating back to 1800. This was not just a fancy and overpriced bottle. This was, literally, history in a glass. And the overwhelming consensus of my fellow scribes, myself included, was that it was kinda meh.

I poured enough to take a couple of sips and then pocketed the rest of my bottle, figuring that cold, tired and hungover was probably not the best way to really taste all the nuances of this particular cognac. Not all of us were as hopeful — one writer even gave me her sample, explaining that “You’ll probably appreciate it more than I will.” Reader, I did not refuse it.

A few hours, a delightful and hangover-slaying lunch, and a tour of the grounds later, we were on our way back to the airport… and home to the States. We’d been in France for barely 24 hours. Along with my memories, copious photos, and enough interviews and tidbits for a solid writeup, I was traveling home with not one but two small bottles of the rarest, priciest, and most historically significant cognac that would ever tickle my taste buds.

When I got home, I shared the contents of one of the bottles with my wife. In a cozy and warm apartment, at a reasonable hour of the evening, without my head throbbing from previous excesses and with the precious liquid itself at the right temperature, it was… extraordinary. I don’t do those ultra-detailed tasting notes that are like, “The nose is newly polished mahogany bannisters, mothballs, deep-fried yak, elderberries….” I find them boring to write and even more boring to read. But hopefully this (which comes from here) gives you some idea of what it’s like: “Rich, velvety, with the dry elegance of the finest aged cognacs as well a vibrant, fruit-forwardness that belies its age, it's head and shoulders above... well, just about anything.”

As for the other bottle, I wound up splitting it three ways with my editor from Robb Report, who gave me the green light to write the review, and the publicist who invited me in the first place. It seemed only fair, and they are both my treasured friends to this day, whether because of our sacred bond of having imbibed insanely rare cognac together or otherwise.

I’m especially glad that I’ve remained friends with the publicist, since she may have lost her job because of me. At another event a few months after the Hennessy trip, I encountered her boss, with whom I was acquainted via work. Whether I had too many cocktails in me I don’t know, but I figured she ought to know about the… sub-optimal conditions for our tasting Hennessy 8. I honestly thought I was helping — I didn’t want them to think they nailed it and then continue to get writers blitzed before having them taste once-in-a-lifetime spirits in meat locker conditions. Apparently, boss was livid, and took it out on my poor friend the publicist, who had nothing to do with the planning of the tasting. After that, my pal was a marked woman, and needless to say she’s working elsewhere now. I couldn’t stop apologizing to her for a few weeks, but she said she was so miserable at that firm that I did her a favor by hastening her departure. Hey, what are friends for?