The Predator in the Barrel: Braastad Cognac Alligator Char #4.

What a Norwegian surname, French oak, and a reptile have in common - and why the result rewards patience.

There is a passage in A Moveable Feast where Ernest Hemingway orders a cognac in a Paris café with the deliberate intention of not being interrupted. The glass arrives. He does not drink immediately. He studies it first.

In our era of instant pours and faster verdicts, that pause feels almost radical - and also, probably correct. Cognac, perhaps more than any other spirit, is an argument for time as an ingredient.

Not every reptile is dramatic. Some sit in oak and mind the chemistry.

Braastad Cognac Alligator Char # 4 emerges from Jarnac, a town whose reputation rests not on spectacle but on continuity. Cognac houses here operate less like brands and more like custodians, managing reserves that may outlive their current stewards. That the house was founded in 1875 by a Norwegian family feels less improbable when you consider temperament. Scandinavians tend to understand duration. They design for winters.

The unusual element here is not the distillation - still resolutely Charentais, double-run in copper pot stills, in line with the standards overseen by the Bureau National Interprofessionnel du Cognac. Nor is it the wood itself; Limousin oak, drawn from forests in and around Limousin, remains the structural backbone of Cognac maturation, prized for its open grain and ability to encourage oxygen exchange.

What distinguishes this bottling is the intensity of the char.

“Alligator char” - the deepest level of barrel burn - fractures the interior surface into ridged plates of carbon. Chemically, this does several things at once. It increases surface area, allowing faster interaction between spirit and wood. It caramelises hemicellulose, generating sugars that can read as toffee or baked fruit. It also creates a porous carbon layer that binds sulphur compounds and heavier congeners, subtly polishing the spirit even as it adds flavour.

In bourbon, this treatment is standard practice. In Cognac, it remains unusual. The region’s traditional aesthetic privileges slow oxidation, gradual extraction, and the long emergence of rancio - the savoury, walnut-toned signature of age. Deep char, by contrast, introduces a more assertive structural imprint earlier in the process. Not a shortcut, exactly, but a different philosophy of timing.

The base eaux-de-vie here draws from Bons Bois and Fins Bois. These crus are often overshadowed by the limestone authority of Grande Champagne, yet they offer a different virtue - immediacy. Their fruit tends to read broader, more aromatic, sometimes softer at the edges. They respond well to oak because they already carry warmth.

In the glass, the colour sits a shade deeper than one might expect for a VS. The nose opens with dried apricot, candied citrus and vanilla, then settles into cocoa, toasted stave and a faint animal warmth - not leather exactly, but the suggestion of it. The aromatics are layered rather than loud, the char integrated rather than dominant.

The palate follows suit. Fig and dark honey lead, supported by nut oils, baking spice and a gentle tannic grip. The oak is unmistakable but measured. Structurally, it behaves less like seasoning and more like framework. The finish lingers with walnut, dry wood and the first trace of rancio, emerging earlier than the age statement alone might suggest.

There is a moment in Between the Woods and the Water where Patrick Leigh Fermor describes brandy that seemed to have “slept for decades and woken in a generous mood.” This Cognac has not slept for decades. Yet it does carry that sense of generosity, the impression that time and technique have collaborated rather than competed.

That collaboration is the interesting part. Cognac traditionally treats time as hierarchy - more years equal more prestige. What Alligator Char # 4 suggests, quietly, is that time is only one axis of complexity. Wood chemistry, oxygen flow, char depth and cask management can shape texture and aromatic development just as meaningfully.

Taken neat, at room temperature, the spirit opens gradually. A few minutes in the glass allows the oak to recede slightly, revealing the fruit structure beneath. Water is optional; a drop or two softens the tannin without muting the line. Ice, while technically acceptable, flattens the architecture and shortens the finish.

At its pricepoint, the bottle occupies a useful space - credible enough to be taken seriously, accessible enough to be opened without occasion. This feels intentional. Cognac’s future may depend less on reverence and more on drinkability, less on museum logic and more on conversation.

With its layered lineage - Nordic stewardship, Charentais fruit, American-inspired barrel logic - this is not a Cognac trying to imitate the past or disrupt it. It is simply exploring a different pacing of the same materials.

The result is quietly persuasive. It smells older than its age, carries more structural depth than its classification suggests, and finishes with the composed assurance of something designed rather than improvised.

The alligator, it turns out, is not there for theatre.

It is there for structure.

And structure, in Cognac, is another way of talking about time.

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Words by AW.

Photo courtesy of Braastad.