The French countryside is stickier than I thought it would be. For some reason, I had visions of a much less sweaty me frolicking in golden fields, martini in hand as a gentle breeze rustles my soft curls.

"Are you OK?" The tall blonde man, and everyone else, is looking at my now red face.

"Umm, yeah, I just can't believe I'm here," I stutter, still unsure of where "here" is exactly. The invitation never disclosed a specific location, but it did inform me that "the journey begins deep in the heart of the French landscape," which is where I'm standing now, overheating on the perfectly manicured grounds of a 19th-century château somewhere between Toulouse airport and the Pyrenees mountains. Our host? Grey Goose Vodka.

John Wayte

I had received an email inviting me to The Nest, a "once-in-a-lifetime excursion" by Grey Goose. I was to leave my everyday life behind and surrender myself to the natural world, which sounded very enticing but also kind of random, especially since the exact location and key details were kept hidden. All I knew was that I would be glamping in the south of France for a weekend to learn about its most famous vodka and that the suggested dress code was "fashionable wanderer/artistic explorer." Got it.

George Gottlieb

The friendly blonde is Joe McCanta, who, I quickly find out, is the Global Head of Brand Experience at Grey Goose Vodka. He leads the group of equally confused and intrigued people (a mix of fellow writers, content creators and casually famous people I've seen on the internet) down a winding dirt trail lined with old trees and prickly shrubs.

Our quick jaunt ends when we reach a clearing with a wooden pavilion/full-service bar overlooking fields of endless green. In the distance, puffy clouds blend with mountain peaks. It looks like something straight out of a Monet painting. A rosy-pink cocktail suddenly appears in my hand.

George Gottlieb

"What's this?" I ask Joe. "A French martini," he grins, reaching his arms to the sky. "Welcome to The Nest!"

I'm not the only one whose story starts deep in the French landscape. Back in 1997, American businessman and alcohol importer Sidney Frank approached François Thibault, a French maître de chai (cellar master) who was making quite the name for himself in Cognac, France.

Thibault spent years training in the art of cognac making, and Frank saw an opportunity to use these skills to produce a luxury vodka made in France for the North American market because, to put it simply, everything tastes better in France.

George Gottlieb

"People said that Sidney had lost his mind," laughs Thibault when I sit down with him on the veranda overlooking the field. "People in Cognac called me 'a traitor among us.'" At the time, the Cognac region was for, well, cognac. Making vodka, a historically Eastern European clear spirit, in Cognac was a très big no-no.

But Frank had the vision, and Thibault had the passion and knowledge. He knew that the best wheat was grown in the Picardy region, the "breadbasket of France." From there, just one other ingredient was needed to complement the single-origin Picardy wheat: water, but not any kind, only pure spring water, naturally filtered by limestone in Gensac-La-Pallue would do.

"When Sidney asked me to create vodka, I noticed there was a tendency of hiding through many distillations or by adding other products," explains Thibault, who is dressed impeccably in a pressed Oxford shirt and crushed blue velvet loafers — and doesn't appear to be perspiring heavily like me.

"My personal challenge was to create something that was a product of its ingredients. We don't modify; we don't correct. We take the main wheat ingredient, and we make it shine," he says.

Maître de Chai François Thibault

George Gottlieb

And shine it does. Thibault, who still oversees the production of Grey Goose Vodka (his colleagues affectionately refer to him as "Papa Goose") and its over 500 quality checks, chose to distill only once. This approach refines the spirit rather than overcorrecting or removing its natural flavour.

In 1998, a year after Thibault developed the winning recipe for Grey Goose Vodka, it was recognized as the World's Best Tasting Vodka by the Beverage Testing Institute. "People would ask me, "How much sugar do you add?" he recalls, "because [Grey Goose] is so smooth, but we don't, that's just the quality of the product."

Joe McCanta welcomes us to The Nest

George Gottlieb

Later that evening, after a very rigorous schedule of eating fresh crêpes, snacking on charcuterie and sipping cosmos by the pool, I try my first Grey Goose classic martini — a killer combination of Grey Goose Vodka, dry vermouth and orange bitters stirred crystal clear and garnished with a lemon twist. I brace myself for the sting of alcohol, but when the ice-cold liquid touches my lips, it's… Divine. My martini is smooth and clean. It tastes pure and bright with subtle citrus notes, yet there's a buttery croissant richness.

A waiter hands me a spoon of caviar, and I think I must be having some sort of fever dream. The salinity of the delicate caviar pairs beautifully with my perfect, silky cocktail and sends me to another planet.

It's no wonder Sidney Frank, being the "bon vivant" he was, believed people would flock to this premium French vodka. Grey Goose changed the notion that vodka was an overly processed, tasteless spirit; vodka could, in fact, taste damn good. Thibault tells me that the people in Cognac eventually came around.

John Wayte

Vodka has consistently been my spirit of choice, but I always thought Grey Goose was a luxury reserved for special occasion splurges. And it is. But there's something to be said for uplifting everyday experiences with quality. I could get used to this, not the caviar and weekend trips to France (although that is quite nice), but the investing in quality, whether through the ingredients we choose, the people we surround ourselves with or how we spend our precious time.

After being doted on for an entire day, we're tasked with making our own martinis. "I don't think there is anything sexier than a human being who knows how to order a martini," beams Joe McCanta, who lights up the entire French countryside with a positive, magnetic energy that you want to bottle up and save for later. "To me, [ordering a martini] immediately says, 'I know myself. I know my taste.'"

We're all put into different groups and assigned a martini station outfitted with the essentials. Some of us know each other, but many don't, and perhaps the easily accessible cocktails have something to do with it, but it doesn't take long for this group of strangers from all over the world to warm up to each other. We "cheers" in different languages ("Santé!" "Yamas!" "Prost!") and share personal stories and drinks like it's the last weekend at a very luxe adult summer camp.

McCanta schools us in the art and science of making a martini any way you like it. Dry (less vermouth), wet (more vermouth), stirred (stays colder longer), shaken (gets really cold, really fast, but warms to room temperature quickly). I love a dirty martini, and McCanta recommends that I shake it with some pitted olives to muddle and extract flavour.

I fill a jigger with Grey Goose Vodka, then add equal parts white vermouth to olive brine (around ½ oz each). McCanta tells me I need two more things: Confidence in my "shaker face" (I tend to look scared) and so much ice. "People think that more ice is going to dilute or make your cocktail watery, but the more ice, the less diluted," he explains.

I pack my shaker to the brim with ice so that when I (confidently) shake, the ice doesn't move and water down my briny beauty. "I'm a firm believer that you always need three olives to garnish," he says as I strain the contents of my shaker into a chilled glass. "One for wealth, health and happiness."

That evening, we dine at one long table under an outdoor ceiling of twinkly lights and crystal chandeliers. The Elemental Dinner, prepared by chef Franck Putelat of the two-Michelin-star La Table de Franck Putelat, takes us through the four elements of nature that inspired Grey Goose Vodka and surround us at The Nest: wheat, water, mountain and air.

George Gottlieb

We all reach across the table and clink as many martini glasses as possible, and I try not to think about tomorrow or how after this weekend, everyone, including The Nest itself, will leave.

I try to focus on where I am now and how each course, from the mountain-reared beef to shimmering turbot with flame-seared lettuce, tastes and pairs naturally with a Grey Goose Vodka cocktail. For Thibault, going back to nature is about finding and connecting with the beauty around you. "That's the way I was raised," he says, tipping his martini. "My way of living is to do as well as the day before and try to do better the day after."