Cognac interviews

Guilhem Grosperrin

Cognac as an aesthetic manifesto

In the world of cognac, certain names stand for integrity, authenticity, and transmission. Grosperrin, founded by Jean Grosperrin in 1992 and carried forward by his son Guilhem since 2004, has become a benchmark for enthusiasts seeking rare, genuine cognacs that carry a sense of history.

In this interview, Guilhem Grosperrin shares his journey, his vision of cognac, his approach to tasting, his reflections on terroir and time, and the challenges of today and tomorrow. Blending personal stories, philosophical insights, and tasting anecdotes, he offers a rare perspective on what it means to be a négociant-éleveur in Cognac today.

Background and Heritage

Valentin Audurier: Guilhem, thank you for welcoming me here at Grosperrin.
Guilhem Grosperrin: Thank you, Valentin.
Valentin Audurier: It’s a real pleasure to be here and to discuss so many topics with you today. To begin, could you introduce yourself for those who might not know you?
Guilhem Grosperrin: My name is Guilhem Grosperrin. Today, I am the managing director and cellar master of Cognacs Grosperrin, a relatively young house in the world of Cognac, where many of our colleagues have been around for centuries.
Grosperrin was created in 1992 by my father, who worked as a broker, what we call here a “courtier de campagne,” an intermediary between winegrowers and négociants. He did this for a few years before bottling his own cognacs in 1999, which truly marked the beginning of Grosperrin.

His idea was simple: he would offer clients beautiful lots of cognac, but too often he saw them blended away, lost within XO cognacs sold on the market. In such blends, the character of these remarkable “cognacs-médecins”, as they’re called, used to enhance the whole, was no longer distinguishable.

In 1999, he purchased five lots from Vallein Tercinier, a fine house in Chermignac that at the time bottled very little. We began selling these cognacs, and they did well. Later, we bought from other négociants and producers, continuing until 2003.

My father, who had been ill since 1994, was forced to stop working in 2003. That’s when I took over, in 2003-2004, with a different focus: positioning myself as a négociant-éleveur. To work as a broker, one must pass a special exam, which I hadn’t taken, as my studies were in unrelated fields. So the most straightforward option was to buy and resell. It was also the most appealing, since a broker earns 2% commission on sales, while a négociant has greater margin potential.

The takeover, however, happened in a very challenging context: my father hadn’t been able to work for a year, the company was struggling, and I couldn’t afford mistakes. From 2004 onward, I began purchasing more stocks, marketing them, and seeking out wine merchants and importers abroad. Step by step, this continued, and the company grew each year with a little more stock, always striving for the finest eaux-de-vie, and gradually refining the model.

At the beginning, we were close to an independent bottler: buying a cask, selling it quickly to finance the next one, and making a small profit. But soon, I chose another approach: buying casks, maturing them, giving them the time they needed. Profits were reinvested into stock and, inevitably, into debt. That’s how the company gradually developed.

Education and
First Steps with Cognac

Valentin Audurier: In 2003-2004, when you took over from your father, how did your education in spirits happen? What sparked your passion for this job? And how did you train yourself, especially from a sensory point of view?

Guilhem Grosperrin: Honestly, I never really asked myself that directly. I think it comes from several things.
First of all, I started my studies in 1998, the year I passed my baccalauréat. And very early on I worked full time to pay for my studies. You should know that at the time my father had been on welfare when he started his activities. He was always self-employed, and things were financially tough for the family.
So in 1998, when I started studying in Paris, I was accepted at the Sorbonne Nouvelle, more or less by chance. A friend of mine was writing a motivation letter, she asked me what I was doing, I copied hers, sent it off, and I got in. I was admitted to the Institute of Theatre Studies. It was fantastic, a real adventure. But at the same time, I was always working full time.

Without realizing it, I became more and more sensitive to quality in food and drink.

I started out in food, fruits and vegetables, at Les Vergers Saint-Eustache. Then I worked as a wine merchant at La Fontaine-aux-Vins on Rue Mouffetard. So I developed a strong sensitivity, or rather I was made sensitive, because naturally I didn’t have it. I was made sensitive to good products by my bosses and by the people I worked with.
At Les Vergers Saint-Eustache, and I think it’s still true today, it was the high-end branch. At the time, it was an independent company, the last pavilion of Les Halles, located at Montorgueil. I started work at three in the morning, preparing the crates, doing mechanography, then delivering with the trucks until noon or one o’clock. We delivered all the Parisian palaces, all the Michelin-starred restaurants. Very early on, I learned a lot. It was fascinating, that period, it lasted two, two and a half years.

Then, as an independent wine merchant, I worked for a lady who was already over 70 at the time, a real veteran of the trade. She had a very traditional vision of commerce and of the métier. She taught me a lot. I really learned from those people. Without realizing it, I became more and more sensitive to quality in food and drink.

And I think what also counted a lot was the artistic training I was receiving alongside, in theatre. At the Institute, I would go to the theatre as much as I could, several times a week sometimes. It was a passion that lasted for years. I fed myself on readings, on performances. I had a very busy life.

That’s something specific to theatre, and I think it shaped a lot my desire to have cognac that also speaks, that tells something.

Valentin Audurier: So all of that contributed to your education of taste, finally. Even theatre, which at first doesn’t seem directly connected.

Guilhem Grosperrin: For me, looking back, it was probably the most important. Because theatre sharpens the way you look at the world. Theatre is a representation of life. Everything is extremely political as well. Above all, it’s about trying to communicate to the audience an artistic sensitivity, a political sensitivity, something that speaks of the world. To transmit emotions. Yes, that’s it, to transmit an emotion finely enough that it becomes almost a manifesto.
Sometimes it’s not political in the obvious sense, but take Brecht for example: the way he writes about commerce, it’s a critique of capitalism and of society as he knew it, but it’s still valid today, and it comes through metaphors, parables, indirect means. Yet the audience leaves with a very clear sense of what the playwright wanted to say. That’s something specific to theatre, and I think it shaped a lot my desire to have cognac that also speaks, that tells something.

An Aestetic Approach

Valentin Audurier: Where did you start to develop this aesthetic sense, how did you build your way of tasting? When you have something in a glass, what happens?

Guilhem Grosperrin: I think I am naturally… I have one side that can be very organized, and another that is very messy. And in tasting, it’s the messy side that dominates. To be honest with you, I don’t really know how to approach it. It just comes. You see, I started with cognac a bit… well, my father was like that too. We were not educated in cognac.
The idea of vintages or single casks simply came from that: because, as my father used to say, he was totally incapable of making a blend. It was not part of our culture. A broker just proposes a sample from one lot, the négociant buys the lot, then he makes his mix. But the broker only ever sees the single lot.

So we didn’t have that blending culture. I didn’t have it at all, my father neither. So our first tastings together, very early on, were empirical. You put a sample on the table, you taste. My father had an agricultural mindset, he came from that world, so his way of tasting was like a cattle dealer: “So-and-so has this to sell. Is it good? Is the price interesting? Do you think there are buyers for it? Ok, let’s go.” It was very basic. That was his peasant approach.

And mine, it was more about asking: what can we say about this cognac? What is that little something extra that makes it not just good and cheap?

Valentin Audurier: Beyond pragmatism, how can we add value to that?

Guilhem Grosperrin: Exactly. How can we value it? What can we convey? What does it actually say? My father already had that, of course, but in a more pragmatic, agricultural way. I tried to bring in something else.

Valentin Audurier: Isn’t there also some form of transgression in what you did? Because you were pioneers. Like Henri Jayer who literally blasted land to plant vines, or Didier Dagueneau who swapped plots with people who didn’t believe in them.

Guilhem Grosperrin: You’re right, but honestly, we didn’t realize it. We did it without thinking. The only one who really understood was a guy named Jean-Michel Jobit, who created our label. He probably heard what we were saying and thought, yes, that’s it. And he designed the label we still use today. In 1999, he was probably the only one who really grasped it. We, we were just doing something simple: a broker offering a sample, only instead of showing it to a négociant, we offered it to individuals. That’s all it was.

You taste, and you get a polaroid in your mind. Then, to recognize a different cognac, I compare it to my collection of polaroids in memory. That’s how I identify it.

Valentin Audurier: Coming back to the tasting itself, when you smell a glass. Yesterday we were tasting pre-phylloxeric things and you were saying: “this is 1810, that’s 1840,” what happens in your head to make that deduction?

Guilhem Grosperrin: Experience counts a lot. You have to taste a lot. Over the years, tasting experience grows richer, and you accumulate references. At the same time, and I don’t know how it works for humans in general, but I suppose my sensory abilities are also decreasing naturally with age. So luckily, there’s the experience to balance it.
But for me, tasting is very… I never put words on aromas. Never. That’s something I just don’t know how to do. I always feel awkward when people say “oh, it smells like this, like that.” Maybe they’re right. But it’s not how I function. For me, it’s more like an instant, like a polaroid picture. Not colors, not notes, but a memory, an impression.

Valentin Audurier: A character, an emotion, maybe even a landscape?

Guilhem Grosperrin: Yes, a global landscape. You taste, and you get a polaroid in your mind. Then, to recognize a different cognac, I compare it to my collection of polaroids in memory. That’s how I identify it.

Valentin Audurier: If we take one of your iconic eaux-de-vie, say the Grande Champagne N°34, how would you describe it?

Guilhem Grosperrin: The Grande Champagne N°34… how do I feel it? Already, there’s always a gap between how I explain it and how I actually feel it. But to me, it’s typical of a Grande Champagne from Criteuil-la-Magdeleine. That already means something: particular aromas, a particular lift, a palate that is firm but elegant, almost close to Petite Champagne but with the hardness of Grande.
This one in particular shows beautiful notes of rancio, very noble, and a finish that is long, elegant, refined. And there are notes that come immediately to my memory, markers of this Grande Champagne, but which I have trouble putting into words.

A matter of terroir

Valentin Audurier: You just mentioned it: it’s also about the perception of a terroir, sometimes beyond the vintage. You can actually taste the terroir in a glass? Is it a game of connections, of character, of finesse, that lets you determine this?

Guilhem Grosperrin: Exactly. But terroir in Cognac is not so easy, to be honest. There are some terroirs that are very recognizable, especially if you taste them often. But it’s also easy to get lost, because the appellation is so big. In the end, the Cognac region is very homogeneous. We only have six crus, we could have had 30 or 50, like in Burgundy, but we only have six. And there’s a reason: geologically it’s quite homogeneous, a region at the meeting of tectonic plates.

But learning to recognize crus is mainly about tasting experience.

Still, within that homogeneity, there are differences: linked to valleys, proximity to the sea, soils that are more or less clay, more or less chalk. So yes, the six crus are justified, but we could probably have tripled or quadrupled the number if we wanted to be more precise

But learning to recognize crus is mainly about tasting experience. That’s the first thing. It takes time. I think you need at least ten years of tasting before you can confidently say: this is that cru. Like yesterday, when we tasted together, we were surprised to find the same DNA of Mainxe in two samples, even though one was supposed to be from Segonzac. And in Segonzac, those soils aren’t great, just ordinary Grande Champagne. Whereas Marancheville, that’s nice terroir. But then we learned the same régisseur had worked both sites… that explains it. To recognize that, you need to have tasted Mainxe before. Without that experience, you can’t. That’s why you have to taste, taste, taste.

For example, in the Fins Bois, I struggle to recognize different crus. In Grande Champagne it’s easier, because it’s smaller. But in the Fins Bois, which is 35,000 hectares… my god, that’s huge. Unless you keep tasting the same village, it’s almost impossible to fix it in your mind.

Valentin Audurier: Yes, and there’s a real difference between a northern Fins Bois, say Foussignac, and a southern one.

Guilhem Grosperrin: Exactly. And there’s a lot of clay too, and one clay looks a lot like another clay. It’s not easy. Some people manage it well, but I think I still lack experience in those crus.

Valentin Audurier: This notion of cru makes me think of something Nicolas Julhès said recently in an interview: that it’s hard to highlight excellence in spirits the way it’s done in wine. Could the idea of a “grand cru” exist in Cognac?

Guilhem Grosperrin: I’d say yes, but it would be unfair to others. That’s the problem. You can find cognacs made in beautiful areas that are mediocre. And you can find stunning cognacs from Oléron. The négociant tradition has already heavily promoted Grande Champagne, and that’s already discriminatory enough. There was a “grand cru” notion at one point, but today it doesn’t really exist. Could it be brought back? Possibly. But then you’d need a very sharp tasting committee.

Valentin Audurier: Do you think cognac is maybe the spirit best suited to express terroir? Or do you see other eaux-de-vie that can do it as well?

Guilhem Grosperrin: I think cognac is the most advanced in that respect. First, because of the surface of the appellation and the number of growers. Diversity of terroir requires diversity of producers. If you only have 10 or 100 people, it’s hard to speak of terroir. A terroir is land and people. Take Foussignac again: if only one grower works there, you can’t really speak of terroir, because it’s just him. But if there are 10, or 50, then you can start to see common traits. That gives you an idea of terroir, both the land and how people work it.

In Armagnac, you also clearly have terroir, in Ténarèze, Bas-Armagnac. The appellation is broader, the distillation methods vary between continuous column and double distillation, but still, the notion is there. In Calvados, I’m less convinced. There’s terroir, yes, but it’s complicated: too many apple varieties, too many factors. I’d say practices matter more than terroir. As for Scotland, I don’t agree at all with the way terroir is used there.

Valentin Audurier: And what about whisky more broadly, with people like Mark Reynier of Waterford, who calls himself a “terroirist”?

Guilhem Grosperrin: It makes sense in a way. He wanted to show that terroirs could be highlighted. And yes, cereals do have terroir, that’s proven. But still, in the end, everything was distilled in the same distillery at Waterford. That’s the difference with cognac: here, the terroir is distilled in the cru itself, by the grower. Take old island cognacs or old Bons Bois, they were distilled in small island stills, before 1986. The closer you got to Grande Champagne, the bigger the stills. So terroir includes distillation. And it also includes aging. In polycultural areas like Bons Bois, the cellar is just a small corner with a few casks, not the huge concrete warehouses of Grande Champagne. So terroir covers everything: land, distillation, aging. Whereas in Waterford, the terroir stopped at the cereals. It’s real, but it’s not enough.

Valentin Audurier: But doesn’t this layering of stages, distillation/aging, risk erasing the typicity of the soil?

Guilhem Grosperrin: What risks erasing terroir today are the specifications imposed by big houses. Not deliberately, but indirectly. By imposing yeasts, distillation methods, even certain aging requirements, they create a kind of homogenization. I used to be very critical of that, 25 years ago. Today I’m more reassured. Because even with two growers delivering to the same big house, under the same specifications, on the same terroir, you still see the terroir and the grower’s personal touch. There’s less difference than before, yes, but still enough. What matters is that Cognac keeps its diversity of growers. That’s essential.

Valentin Audurier: And through Grosperrin, which bottles cognacs of collection, distinguishing crus and even villages, do you see yourself as defending terroir?

Guilhem Grosperrin: I defend Cognac as a whole. Terroir, village, commune, origin — all that is part of Cognac’s richness. But it’s Cognac itself we must defend. It’s then up to amateurs, like you, to dig deeper: “Wow, Criteuil is fantastic, Archiac, Selles…” That precision comes with opportunities, with history, with what we’re able to buy. I’m learning at the same time as my clients.

Sourcing, Philosophy, and the Role of a Cellar Master

Valentin Audurier: Let’s move forward to your role today as négociant and cellar master. Sourcing cognacs within the appellation, is it harder today than it used to be? Has something changed?

Guilhem Grosperrin: Good question. I actually think it’s harder than before. Strange, isn’t it? But yes, I feel it’s harder. Maybe it’s just me. The company has changed, and with that, some things have become easier, others more difficult.
For example, today I could just make two or three phone calls and have twenty samples arrive. That’s easy. But at the moment we don’t have much cash, so I don’t do it. Maybe that’s a mistake. In the early days, though, it was the opposite, brokers didn’t even bother with us, we were too small. My father had been a broker, he knew how it worked: they said, “no point going there, they don’t buy enough.” Fair enough. Today, it’s different. Brokers do listen to us, they respond more often than not. There’s a proper mechanism now.

But the weak point is: I don’t want to fall into the easy routine of the usual négociant house. The one where you just call the broker and say, “I need such-and-such a profile, so many years old, for such a price.” Because that’s when you start making standard XO. That’s what I want to avoid.
So I try to stay alert, to keep direct contacts, to maintain a little side network. I still do that, and it’s very active. But maybe I put in less effort than before to hunt for samples. That’s also because I miss that part a bit today. Twenty years ago, if I’d needed a specific eau-de-vie, it would have been much harder to find it. Now it’s easier.

Valentin Audurier: You are both négociant and cellar master. That’s a special position within Cognac. At Grosperrin, you almost start from the product itself and bring it to the market, you tell the consumer what’s good, rather than the other way around.

Guilhem Grosperrin: Absolutely. I couldn’t do it any other way. At Cognac, you must start from the cellar and go to the client, not the reverse. That’s the mistake so many houses make, except the ones that have imposed their own system so completely that cellar and client are one and the same. Look at Hennessy, for instance: that’s the ultimate case. After centuries of work and a strong aesthetic vision, whether you share it or not, they have succeeded in shaping their clients’ demand so that it matches perfectly what they produce in their cellars, and vice versa. That kind of fusion is extraordinary, and it explains the enormous responsibility that weighs on their teams.

We’re not at that stage. For us, it’s more about asking: what aesthetic vision, what idea of the world do we want to convey? I see it almost as a militant act. It’s a choice. What do I want in my cellar? Where do I want to take it? What story do we want to tell our clients, and how will they receive it? That’s the path we follow.
If we start from client demand, the numbers are frightening. Eighty-five percent of Cognac sold is VS or VSOP. Once you remove the big houses from that, what’s left? Not much, and it’s cheap stuff, supermarket flasks. That’s another world, and one I have no idea how to operate in. I couldn’t do it even if I wanted to.

So what remains is exactly what my father did in 1999: asking what is within our reach, what can we do with integrity. That’s still the only way forward.

Valentin Audurier: So it really is a militant act. Isn’t that exactly what is needed today, when we see a loss of meaning, of aesthetic sense, in spirits? (also a main topic in Nicolas Juhlès interview)

Guilhem Grosperrin: I think Nicolas Julhès was right when he spoke of that. Aesthetic sense is inseparable from a good spirit. It’s the only reason spirits exist, if you think about it. Alcohol is bad for the body, it’s toxic, it pollutes, it’s not necessary. We could very well do without it. Thousands of tons of gas are burned each year to distill wine, we could save that.
So why drink alcohol? To get drunk, to let go? That’s part of it. I don’t deny it. Since Antiquity, even animals do it — I read recently that monkeys consume the equivalent of two glasses of wine a day by eating fermented fruit. It must make their heads spin. There’s a real need in humans to break down certain conscious barriers.

And alcohol is one of the oldest ways to do that. Like drugs, yes, but alcohol has something extra: when you taste it, you share it with others. Through taste, through one of our senses, you lose some of your rational control, but you do it together. That’s what other drugs don’t offer, or only partially. With wine or cognac, you can sit together, talk, spend two hours around a glass. That’s unique.

So yes, the primary reason for spirits, in my view, is this capacity to break barriers, for better or worse, and to create communication, to allow sharing. That’s what can still save Cognac. Because gin, whisky, rum, they all exist, but Cognac has this special cultural weight: terroir, choices about reduction, about caramel or not, about sugar, about whether to speak of vintages or blends. Each choice says something. And those are things you can share. That’s essential.

Valentin Audurier: Very well put. And finally, how do you define your role as a cellar master today? Like in cooking, is it about carrying a vision, more than being the one who is “behind the stove”?

Guilhem Grosperrin: Yes, exactly. Of course it depends on the scale of the house. In big houses, it’s different, more elaborate. But at Grosperrin, a very small company, for me the role of cellar master is first to have a global picture of the cellar: what I’d like to have, what’s missing, how everything fits together. It’s about having a vision of the eaux-de-vie.

Then, buying. I think the cellar master must be the one to make purchases, because buying is inseparable from strategy, from finance, from the company’s direction. At our scale, it’s essential.

On the day-to-day work with the eaux-de-vie, I’ve always left freedom to our technical manager, Luc. I think it has to be a free dialogue between cellar master and technical manager. He has real talent for identifying potential in a cask: if we move it here, if we age it this way, it could become even better. My experience comes in to say: “yes, but not in that type of cask, it won’t give what you hope; better to try this.” It’s a dialogue. I deeply respect his vision of the liquid, because he is the one in direct contact with it every day.

I was myself, for many years, but it’s been a decade since I last was hands-on daily. Now my role is to make purchases, set broad orientations for blends, “start from this base, add this”, but the detailed proposals come from him. That’s how it should be. He gains experience too, and little by little he becomes excellent. But that takes years.

Valentin Audurier: Cognac, by essence, is a world of long time. You have to accept duration.

Guilhem Grosperrin: Exactly. You have to accept that things take time. Even just to build your collection of polaroids.

Nostalgia and relation
to eau-de-vie

But with Cognac, it goes further, because it engages everything: your life, your finances, your family. Everything.

Valentin Audurier: This long-term world of Cognac, isn’t it a bit like parenthood, like having children? From an emotional point of view, what is your relationship with the eaux-de-vie in your cellars, those you sourced yourself or even those from your father? Is there something affective there?

Guilhem Grosperrin: It’s a complex relationship. Honestly, it requires real work on yourself. Because I’ve seen too many tragic stories. Stories that really shook me. People committing suicide because they lost their stock. People falling into depression because their cellars were empty. People losing the respect of their children or their family because they refused to share the stock. The stock of Cognac can be alienating. Like a collector possessed by his own neurosis. But with Cognac, it goes further, because it engages everything: your life, your finances, your family. Everything.

A private collector risks part of his wealth, maybe. But a négociant risks it all. And that’s dangerous.

The idea is to let the Cognac tell a story, without exposing people. But it’s delicate. Especially now that amateurs are more informed than ever. In the past, you could say “this cask comes from that place” and nobody knew. Today, people can find out. Not always, but often. So you have to be careful.

Valentin Audurier: Almost schizophrenic, then. A collector’s goal is to keep his collection, maybe resell later, but for a Cognac négociant, it’s not at all about keeping it.

Guilhem Grosperrin: Exactly. Yet many growers or négociants behave like collectors, they sell only the strict minimum, just enough to feed the obsession. And that can be very violent. I think I almost fell into that trap myself. I’ve had stories that shook me to the core. That’s why today I’m more relaxed. My principle is: in a cellar, everything must be for sale. Otherwise, you’re putting yourself in an untenable position, dangerous for your soul.

Because when you transfer something deeply intimate into your stock, and you can’t part with it, you impoverish yourself. You think you’re getting richer, financially, yes, the stock gains value, but spiritually you’re losing. That risk is very real in Cognac. And I keep reminding myself: “Careful, don’t fall into that.”

Valentin Audurier: Yet it must be hard to part with certain casks. Especially for houses like JL Pasquet or yours, where there’s a strong storytelling element. You’re passing on histories through Cognac. That’s quite a noble role.

Guilhem Grosperrin: True. And with that comes responsibility. How to strike the right tone? Because you’re dealing with families’ intimate stories. Personally, I’m less and less comfortable with that. It’s not easy to bear the responsibility of making someone’s private history into something universal. And if you’re not careful, you end up speaking on their behalf. That’s why on our labels I keep things very discreet: as few details as possible, no names. The idea is to let the Cognac tell a story, without exposing people. But it’s delicate. Especially now that amateurs are more informed than ever. In the past, you could say “this cask comes from that place” and nobody knew. Today, people can find out. Not always, but often. So you have to be careful.

Valentin Audurier: Do you ever feel a sense of nostalgia toward certain eaux-de-vie that passed through your cellar only once and are gone forever? There’s a Japanese word, nagori, for that kind of fleeting beauty you can’t hold onto.

Guilhem Grosperrin: Of course, many times. They become part of my personal pantheon. And the more time passes, the more I regret them. When I look at the old cellar books, you see entries like 1885, 1914, 1906, and then you see they were sold in 1982, and you think: “Why?” You can’t help but regret it. But that’s the story of time.
I try to put things in perspective. For example, the first lot I ever bought in 2004: a 1980 Grande Champagne, 24 years old at the time. Today I think, “what a great Cognac.” But back then, 24 years felt mature. Now, eaux-de-vie from the 1970s are over 50 years old. Even the 1990s, which I used to dismiss as ordinary, they’re now 30 years old, and worth a closer look. Time changes your perspective.

Valentin Audurier: So nostalgia is tied not only to history, but also to sensory experience. For example, you’ve often mentioned your fondness for blackcurrant bud. Don’t you miss certain aromas or spices you used to find?

Guilhem Grosperrin: I’m always searching for them. I haven’t lost them, they’re just rare, like precious stones you stumble upon once in a while.

Valentin Audurier: The madeleine-de-Proust that suddenly appear in a glass.

Guilhem Grosperrin: Exactly. You don’t usually expect them, they just appear. Little flashes. Pure luck, really.

Valentin Audurier: What’s the last one that really stunned you?

Guilhem Grosperrin: I do regret not buying certain casks, either because they were too expensive or I didn’t have the funds. Those are regrets. But as for recent highlights: the 1986 we mentioned earlier was very nice, a beautiful “ordinary” Cognac. The Grande Champagne N°39 we raised was also remarkable. Then there were the Fins Bois N°52-22, lovely discoveries, found through a broker. I also love the Grande Champagne N°72 from Merpins.

Valentin Audurier: Merpins isn’t usually known as a prestigious Grande Champagne terroir.

Guilhem Grosperrin: True, but in the right spots, it’s beautiful. Not Salignac, but the better areas, those can be excellent. Same with the Petite Champagnes from Jacques Esteve, the 1929 and 1947. Stunning. Or some Bons Bois we bought below 40°, very well made. There are always surprises. These are rare opportunities, but they do exist. Right now is actually a good time to be buying significant Cognacs.

Other spirits and wine

Valentin Audurier: Among those particular aromas, those spices and flavors, have you ever found them in other spirits besides Cognac?

Guilhem Grosperrin: Yes, of course. In whisky, in rum. Less in Armagnac, to be honest. I’m sorry, but it’s harder for me there. But in whisky and rum, yes.
Still, for me, Cognac has a kind of completeness that those other spirits don’t have, at least not in what you find today. Maybe in very old Springbanks from the 1960s, you can find that level. But then, you have to be able to pay for the bottle… That’s the difference. In Cognac, you can still drink very old spirits. In whisky, very old bottles are rare and unaffordable.

With rum, it’s rarer, but sometimes you find wonderful things. Personally, rum feels like health, like joy of life. Maybe it’s a naïve, even colonial vision, I don’t know. But when I taste cane sugar aromas, it always makes me happy. Whereas Cognac feels more austere. So when I find in rum something very fine, elegant, a little blackcurrant note for instance, which is rare, but possible, it touches me just as much as in Cognac.

Valentin Audurier: Do you have any specific references in mind?

Guilhem Grosperrin: Not really. Because I don’t retain them. Funny, isn’t it? With Cognac, I remember every tasting. With other spirits, I don’t. I enjoy them, but they don’t stick.

Valentin Audurier: And what about wine? Your first love, in a way. Wine is the most obvious vector of terroir, recognized by everyone.

Guilhem Grosperrin: Absolutely, no question. I adore wine. Well, I adore tasting it. Drinking it is harder for me. I can easily drink a glass of Cognac, I even have to stop myself. But finishing a glass of wine is difficult. That’s just me.
What I love in wine is the same thing I love in Cognac: the link to terroir, the expression of a vintage. Wine and Cognac are very close. But wine is more connected to food, to meals. Cognac, you can try with food, it can be fun, but it’s not natural. Cognac has become, unfortunately maybe, something more individual, more intimate, almost egoistic. Like being on your smartphone, with a glass of Cognac by your side. Of course you can share it, but the default mode is introspection. Whereas wine is collective, communal, tied to meals, the ultimate moment of sharing. That’s probably why wine is struggling today, our way of life is becoming more individualistic.

How a product reconciles our senses, which are usually separate. When that happens, we feel a kind of reconciliation within ourselves. That’s what touches me, both in Cognac and in wine.

Valentin Audurier: So winegrowers are facing more difficulties.

Guilhem Grosperrin: Yes, because wine is tied to collective life. Meals used to be sacred, two hours long, with wine. That’s fading. Today people don’t have time, they eat quickly, with their phones. If we returned to two-hour meals, wine would return as well.

Valentin Audurier: And your favorite wines? Any iconic bottles or styles that move you?

Guilhem Grosperrin: I like lighter wines, Pinot Noir, Gamay. I’m sensitive to that. But I also enjoy Grenache, Syrah, Mourvèdre, if they’re made in a way that suits my taste. A very old Haut-Brion, with fine gravel soils, that’s marvelous. When I hear people say Bordeaux has no terroir… what nonsense! And very old Sauternes, my God, that’s extraordinary. There are so many treasures in wine.

For me, what comes closest to Cognac are delicate wines: like the pre-phylloxera Petite Champagne N°29-47 (1893), or very old Bons Bois at 37–40°, or a Grande Champagne N°34. Eaux-de-vie of extreme elegance and refinement, with tannins fully digested, balance on the palate, and a finish that touches the soul. That’s exactly the same thing I seek in wine.

Valentin Audurier: So it’s a matter of texture, acidity as a vector, like in the great Pinot Noirs of Burgundy.

Guilhem Grosperrin: Yes, exactly. How all the elements, acidity, sweetness, bitterness, tannins, come together in harmony. How a product reconciles our senses, which are usually separate. When that happens, we feel a kind of reconciliation within ourselves. That’s what touches me, both in Cognac and in wine. That’s what humans are always seeking, I think, to re-center themselves. And Cognac and wine are privileged vectors for that. They even help dissolve the boundaries of consciousness, which makes it easier. That’s why I believe so deeply in these products. Even if the modern world makes us more fragmented than ever, these drinks still allow us to find our center.

Looking Ahead

Valentin Audurier: To conclude this interview, you now have over twenty years behind you at Grosperrin. Personally, in terms of fulfillment, how do you feel today compared to when you first started?

Otherwise, my main motivation is always: how can I do better? Without throwing everything away, without losing what we’ve built — how to improve, refine, move forward.

Guilhem Grosperrin: There are ups and downs, of course. What motivates me is having discussions like the one we’re having now, going deep, talking about substance. That’s new, and very positive. Especially with younger people like you, asking real questions, pushing us to think. That’s a blessing.
Otherwise, my main motivation is always: how can I do better? Without throwing everything away, without losing what we’ve built, how to improve, refine, move forward. The first question is: is it possible? Financially, technically, materially? That’s always the key. It’s the same question winegrowers face today: how do we fit into this new world, this new economy?

Valentin Audurier: And finally, what are the latest releases at Grosperrin?

Guilhem Grosperrin: At Whisky Live next weekend, we’ll present a Fins Bois 1986 that spent over ten years in our cellars, it’s becoming really nice. Then a few new bottlings: the Fine Champagne XO, which Luc worked on a lot, and which is really great value for money. There’s also a Petite Champagne N°67, an 18-year-old, and the latest 15-year-old, also excellent value. Simple releases, but solid ones.
Later, there’s the Nantes Spirit Festival, maybe some foreign salons. There’s also a new Cognac Festival in Bordeaux, that will be great for amateurs, definitely worth coming. And our Norwegian friends will be there too, I really encourage Cognac lovers to talk with them, they’re absolutely crazy about Cognac.
Otherwise, the news is rather light, we’re in economy mode. We’ll still make a good year, but like everyone else, we’re suffering from the economic climate.

Valentin Audurier: Thank you very much, Guilhem.

Guilhem Grosperrin: Thank you, Valentin.

Conclusion

This conversation with Guilhem Grosperrin shows how Cognac is far more than just a spirit, it is memory, emotion, and a way of looking at the world. Through his words, we glimpse the balance between heritage and innovation, between humility and vision, that continues to shape Grosperrin.

For those who wish to experience the full depth of the exchange, the complete audio version of this interview (in French) will be available soon.