As I gazed out to the Bosphorus, I was reminded of the words of Abdülhak Sinasi Hisar from one of his literary works. “When there is not a breath of wind, the waters sometimes shudder as if from inside and take on the finish of washed silk,” he wrote in Bosphorus Moonscapes, reminiscing the days of his childhood growing up on the banks of one of the busiest waterways in the world.

But it was the dead of winter in Istanbul, and the winds were strong, so the waters were just slightly choppier than washed silk. Yet, sitting in still silence behind a window in Ciragan Palace, the former residence of the ottoman sultans overlooking the river, time seemed to have come to a halt. I was lost in contemplation, and would probably have stayed thus till the last light faded, were it not for the fact that I would soon be ushered into the room next door with Richard Geoffrey, the chef de cave of Dom Perignon.

Returning to the task at hand, I looked down on my glass of Dom Perignon Rosé 2002. It was a delicate pink blush, like strawberries, or the cheeks of a ravishing young lady. It could easily have been mistaken for a much younger wine. I detected a melange of aromas, and its taste sent me into a world of complexity, charm and sophistication.

But I am usually well aware of the power of suggestion, and I didn’t want to let the environs affect my impression of the wine. I jotted down some notes, closed the little tasting leaflet, and remained in my chair for a few moments of contemplative silence before pulling myself away to prepare for my first meeting, in a few moments, with one of the world’s most famous winemakers.

The Nose Knows

Dom Perignon could not have chosen a place better than Istanbul for the global launch of its Rosé 2002, which the house calls its “dark jewel.” It had wanted the city’s convergence of cultures and its blend of tradition and modernity, east and west, to reflect the multiple facets of the Champagne. Istanbul is quite like nowhere else in the world, straddling two continents and occupying, when it was Constantinople — otherwise known by its ancient name Byzantium — a strategic position on the Silk Road. Today, it is the cultural, economic and historical heart of the country, pulsating with a vibrant stream of tourists from around the world.

The global launch of Dom Perignon Rosé 2002 was not the only reason I had come so far to a city almost 12 hours away from home (although the Champagne alone would have been reason enough). And it certainly wasn’t only for Turkish delight, either. My arrival at Istanbul was marked with a firm resolution to pick the mind of Richard Geoffrey, this poet of a winemaker who is responsible for one of the world’s finest sparkling wine.

The Dom Perignon Rosé 2002 was, to me, perhaps a window into the mechanics of his brain. But as I would soon realise, the wine is only as enigmatic as the winemaker. And perhaps I should have also picked up on the clues implicated by the choice of location for the Champagne’s global launch, for Richard Geoffrey’s mind is, in the best possible way, nothing short of byzantine.

What I have heard and seen on the Internet did give me a preconceived idea of what Geoffrey is like. But I wanted to hear the opinion of someone close to him, someone who understands what he does at a profound, intimate level.

This someone turned out to be Thierry Wasser, fifth-generation perfumer for the house of Guerlain, who has known Geoffrey for decades.

Wasser — a most gifted artist in his own right — and his world of perfumery, was perhaps the best way of entering Geoffrey’s mind, short of tasting the latter’s wines themselves. This master of fragrances is able to capture, through aromas, the many aspects of Geoffrey’s wines. The Rose Nacrée du Désert, created in commemoration of Dom Perignon Rosé 2002’s launch, does exactly this.

At a café-restaurant at Salt Galata, Wasser gave me an experiential session studying fragrances and their relation to balance, aromas and flavours, all of which provides a good backdrop to understanding the intricacy and complexity of Geoffrey’s work. He presented three intermediary fragrances that corresponded to the qualities of the Rosé 2002: Lumière d’Or, which expresses the vintage’s solar opulence; Clair Obscur, which Wasser says is a representation of “the poetic struggle between dark and light” (which can also be understood as the opposing but complementary forces of Pinot Noir and Chardonnay); and Rose Orient (Oriental rose), the wine’s power and sensual glow.

Wasser discussed at some length on the similarities of winemaking and perfumery and the beauty of Rosé 2002, before letting on, “Richard likes danger. And making the Rosé and achieving the balance is like walking on a razor. The tension… that is what excites him.”

Meeting The Creator

Back at the Ciragan Palace, Geoffrey was waiting. And hearing him talk about the Rosé 2002 in person, following the tasting in contemplative silence, is akin to sitting in an audience with an alchemist, a philosopher who ruminates on otherworldly ideals.

Geoffrey speaks loftily, but his person is grounded in reality. He knows the anticipation that has built in the ten years leading up to the Rosé’s release, but he also knows that Mother Nature’s greatest gifts take time.

“The 2002 was a close call, a last call,” he shares, explaining that water stress in that vintage was holding the ripening back. But by a miraculous turn of events, the rain came, which all but lasted a few days, followed by golden rays of sunlight — lumiere d’or — culminating in perfect conditions for the harvest. “It was like an Indian summer, and the ripeness was something no one could have hoped for.”

The Chardonnay became rich, honeyed and lush, while the Pinot Noir was full of vigour, forceful and rich with intensity. A careful blending of the two gave a bright, radiant and expressive wine that has ampleness and volume, almost chewy if you will. It has broad, round shoulders, but underneath it lies amazing structure and intensity.

“Memories are imprint on a soul,” Geoffrey reflects, emphasising the intensity of the Rosé. But the intensity is countered also with harmony, a “superlative harmony” in his words. “Harmony is not static, it is dynamic, and it is robust.” With this, Geoffrey evokes once again the idea of tension and balance, or as what Wasser had hoped to achieve through his Clair Obscur fragrance, a “poetic struggle between dark and light.”

To better illustrate Geoffrey’s idea of superlative harmony, we may borrow the concept of yin and yang. The Pinot Noir and the Chardonnay, symbolised by the dark and the light, are perhaps not so much opposing but complementary forces, as in the case of a natural duality, interacting to form something greater than the sum of its parts.

But Geoffrey has yet another level of understanding light and dark. To him, light also represents the element of fruit, while dark represents the element of minerality. Both interact in a wine that he describes is ample, caressing, yet so precise.

In light of that, it becomes easier to see why Geoffrey calls the wine the dark jewel, the element of paradox. “Dom Perignon is blended on a scheme of perfection,” he elaborates, “with a duality of character that is in harmony. The characters of the wine come first from terroir, and then from vintage. Harmony is most important, then power. And power is converted into intensity. Only then the wine becomes so inviting and mysterious.”

Returning to the notes I had jotted down on the leaflet, I came to a deeper understanding of what I had scribbled: “Glides over the palate like silk on skin… Remarkable tensile strength with wonderful presence… precise and well-defined, full and elegant.”

I ask Geoffrey how he reckons the wine will age. In similarly lofty words and ideals, he says, “Time is positive and active. Maturation in the bottle will give a ‘streamlined’ character to the wine, but as it grows, it will become richer and more complex, but the tension will be there. This wine is made for forever.”

We parted, and as I stepped out of the Ciragan Palace contemplating the moment spent with Geoffrey, a thought struck me — perhaps the washed silk is not found in the waters of the Bosphorus, but in my glass.

This article originally appeared in the April 2013 issue of Appetite magazine, our sister publication