Where it all started
Some of my earliest memories are in my grandmother’s kitchen. Charlotte Weaver Jones was many things; chiefly among them: elegant, gracious, and loving. So many of us knew her as Mère, the family matriarch. I was so fortunate to grow up in the same small town as my grandparents—being dropped off at their house after school, sharing regular family dinners and sleepovers, and spending summers and holidays at their wonderful gathering place, Skenewood.
Mère was the consummate host, honing her expertise during my grandfather’s decades as a Headmaster in academia. After my grandfather’s retirement, her hospitality certainly did not go to waste as they continued to welcome family and friends to their homes in Westport, NY. As a child, I thought of them as the “Little House” and the “Big House”—fitting names given the size of the cocktail and dinner parties she hosted.
In my most vivid memories of her, I see her in her kitchens, in her gardens, within arm’s reach of my grandfather at cocktail parties, and opposite him at the dinner table. My favorite memories of her, however, are spending time in the kitchen: baking cookies, preparing hors d’oeuvres for “Cocktail Hour,” and watching her deftly create a simple pan sauce to accompany dinner for just the three of us. I was simply fascinated by how graceful she made it all look, not to mention the delicious results.
My uncle Jeremy always seemed to be flashing a perpetually mischievous grin, a step ahead of everyone. While working in development for the Culinary Institute of America, he managed to secure an extern placement for a CIA student at Skenewood for a few summers. It was probably decades later that I would come to understand what the word boondoggle actually meant, but even in the moment I knew how fantastic and unique the experience was. From the intricate knife work to the astounding flavors, it was impossible not to become enamored with the experiences I was so very fortunate to have.
Where the Joneses knew how to throw a party, the McCormicks knew how to gather. My father’s mother, Gertrude Daly McCormick, was known to all as Nana—the centerpiece of the clan for decades after her husband passed. When my father, brothers, and I visited, she always insisted on sleeping on the couch, giving us her bed. Tiny in stature, she was a force of nature. There are few memories I recall so fondly as traveling to gather with my father’s side of the family. The cousins, the aunts, the uncles—they all seemed endless as a young child; matched only by the limitless conviviality when coming together. While my mother’s family was often the center of the party, my father’s was the party itself.
It was much later in life that I came to appreciate the gatherings, but to call them sublime would be an understatement. The sight of rosy cheeks, the din of laughter, the sound of backslaps—they were always marvelous affairs. They were all-hands potluck-style parties with every arrival bringing a new dish and a reminder of good times past.
All of these experiences shaped me. From a young age, I became keenly aware of what makes an experience truly special. From the engagement of live performance, to gatherings both intimate and large and boisterous, and ultimately to crafting experiences for others, I’ve come to understand and believe passionately that the most memorable experiences are not stagnant but take place in motion. They are not superficial, but full of depth and texture. They are ultimately created by a precise hand, guiding with intention, and rooted in detail.
I founded Bâtonnage Hospitality based on my own experiences and the fond memories of those who made them possible. Just as Bâtonnage—the gentle stirring of lees in wine—creates richness and enhances complexity while maintaining freshness, it is my joy to help you bring those same qualities to your guests and clients wherever they are. From ultra-luxury hotels to intimate gatherings in your home, we are the precise hand that is luxury in motion, excellence in detail.