By Chong Jinn Xiung
In the high-stakes world of modern commerce, time is typically measured in fiscal quarters. For Eric Durand, however, it is measured in generations. As Martell’s Master Blender, he engages in a daily dialogue with history, curating spirits preserved by his forebears while laying down the foundations for the Maison’s next century. It is a role defined by patience and foresight, for in Cognac, time is not a backdrop — it is the main ingredient.
Durand discovered this rhythm two decades ago upon transitioning from the wine industry to spirits. The shift in perspective was profound. Unlike wine, which is dictated by the immediacy of the annual harvest and bottling cycle, the ageing of spirits demands a patience that spans decades. That curiosity eventually led him to Martell, the oldest of the great Cognac houses, with a history spanning over three centuries.
GENERATIONAL LEGACY
The weight of this legacy became apparent on his first day. Gaining access to the archives—a privilege reserved strictly for the blending team — Durand found himself surrounded by handwritten correspondence from founder Jean Martell and early topographical records predating official Cognac maps. Reading the founder’s own words offered a profound sense of responsibility. He was no longer just a blender, but a guardian of a lineage that had to be preserved and eventually passed on.
Despite the romance of the archives, Durand’s daily reality is defined by rigour. Around 60 per cent of his job is tasting. The team evaluates thousands of samples a year, split into carefully structured sessions. The day begins with what he calls a “poetical tasting” — a reverent assessment of stock already ageing in the cellars. Late morning is reserved for the “new make,” the fresh distillate flowing from the stills. After lunch, the team observes a strict hiatus to allow for a sensory reset, returning to the tasting room only in the late afternoon.
THE ART OF TASTING
Contrary to the archetype of a lone genius, master blenders never taste alone.
There is a minimum of three participants for every session to avoid deadlock and ensure consensus. Every sample is documented in a shared database using a proprietary internal lexicon — a sensory language that new team members must master upon arrival. This is not bureaucracy; it is continuity. Decades from now, another blender will pull these same cask references and rely entirely on these notes to rebuild a blend.
Smell, more than taste, is their primary tool. “Eighty per cent of our job is the nose,” Durand notes. The ritual for each sample is deliberate: a still-glass nosing for volatile aromas, then a swirl and second smell to reveal deeper notes, and finally a sip — which is immediately spat out. Multiply that by seventy samples, day after day, and palate management becomes as critical as any technical measurement.
Every eau-de-vie (distilled grape spirit) has several key moments in its life. There is a phase where it offers the freshness needed to lift a blend; that may be the right moment to use it. Later comes a peak—when ageing should stop because the spirit has reached its fullest expression. Determining these moments is part data, part intuition. “The distillation process is very precise. We use science, analytics, data… but at the end, the customer will consume your product. So, the most important thing is the tasting,” he says.
LEGACY IN EVERY DROP
This balance is especially evident in Martell’s Single Cru Collection. For centuries, Cognac houses blended spirits from different regions — what the French call crus — to create a harmonious whole. Martell has long relied heavily on Borderies, prized for its elegance, but also uses other regions such as Petite Champagne for spice and power.
For the first time, Martell is bottling these regions individually, allowing drinkers to taste the “specificities” separately. The idea might sound radical, but Durand insists it is rooted in history. “When you go deep into the archives, you realise that Martell always pushed the boundaries,” he says. Innovation, in his view, is not a modern intrusion but part of the house’s DNA.
Hovering over all of this is extraordinary delayed gratification. The decisions Durand makes today — when to distil, how to age, when to blend — will shape cognacs that may not be bottled for two, three, or even four decades. “We use the stock prepared by our predecessor, and we have to prepare the stock for tomorrow. We play the same match, but not at the same time,” he says. Each generation of blenders hands over both physical casks and an invisible standard of “elegance” for the next to uphold.
It is a liquid link between generations — containing decisions made by predecessors, interpreted by his team today, and enjoyed by drinkers who will never know his name. There is something quietly radical about a profession built on waiting, on trusting that someone decades from now will raise a glass and understand what he was trying to say.
