The experience went something like this: following a very pleasant half-hour of chatting with fellow invitees/bloggers and the supremely charming Jean-Marc Gallot, president of Ruinart, we took our places, which were set thusly:

Each of the 8 vials in the box contained a different scent, which, according to the brain trust (nose trust?) over at International Flavors + Fragrances, was present in Ruinart’s Blanc de Blanc champagne. It was our job to identify each of the smells and match them to the correct answer on a pre-printed list of 16 different aromas. Of course, we each had a glass of the Blanc de Blanc to help us along.

With Gallot teasing/encouraging us, we sniffed and scribbled away. Was #2 lemon…or grapefruit? The table arrangements held clues — like this little pot of pink peppercorns:

You’ve heard of blind tastings? This was more of a “blind smelling,” which put our collective olfactory skills to the test.

1. The folks over at LVMH are some damn fine marketers. Ruinart is the oldest continuous champagne house, and one with a slightly below-the-radar profile here in the U.S. This event was the perfect way to position Ruinart as a “boutique” brand, less mainstream than Moët or Veuve-Clicquot, but more accessible than Dom Pérignon or Krug. Gallot is the perfect guy to lead the charge. He has that all-too-rare combination (at least in the wine business) of American openness and French, well, Frenchiness. When I asked him what he liked to drink when he wasn’t drinking champagne he said he loved Bordeaux but…was beginning to really enjoy Burgundy. In New York, where obscurity is often touted as a virtue, and it’s nearly impossible to keep up with whatever the wine hipsters are drinking (“What you mean you’ve never had Grolleau? That was so 2010!”) it’s refreshing to remember that one can very happily stick to the classics. (If one has the budget for it, that is.)

2. Delicacy and simplicity are not the same thing. The chief virtue of Ruinart’s Blanc de Blanc is its finesse. Made from 100% Chardonnay — that’s what “Blanc de Blanc” means — this champagne is definitely on the lighter, crisper, end of the spectrum, which is the style I prefer. I think of champagnes like this as “lacy,” although I’m not sure how helpful that comparison is for anyone else. Nonetheless, it’s fair to argue that most of the smells they gave us were somehow present in the wine itself. I might take issue with the white peach, and I definitely wasn’t buying the pineapple (not coincidentally, the only one I got wrong), but ginger, jasmine, cardamom? Why not? Just because a wine is delicate or subtle, that doesn’t mean it can’t have a lot going on. I think it’s particularly difficult to detect this complexity in champagne, where texture (i.e., those bubbles) rather than aroma/flavor, makes the strongest first impression. Hence my classification of this wine as “lacy.” If that word doesn’t make intuitive sense to you, so be it: but I’d encourage you to pay as much attention to a wine’s texture as to its flavor. This is easiest to do with the extremes — say, sparkling at one end of the continuum and port at the other — but it’s not too hard to detect the silkiness of a good Pinot Noir or the roughness of a too-young Barolo or Bordeaux.

3. Wine bloggers are a competitive bunch. I’ve been to some fancy schools over the years and live in a city filled with Type A personalities, but nothing compares to a roomful of wine writers trying to out-smell and out-taste each other. I’m not sure why that is. Perhaps the subjectivity of wine-tasting makes it all the more important that we state our opinions with authority? Or because an evening of sipping champagne in each other’s pleasant company doesn’t feel enough like work, so we have to be extra-serious in our wine analysis? Whatever the reason, I’ll cop to it as much as the next wine blogger. God knows, I’m still annoyed I only got 7 out of 8 right. Do you think I can turn in an extra-credit assignment?

1. Chilean wines and the earthquake. This weekend’s earthquake in Chile occurred offshore of Maule, one of the country’s wine regions. According to reports I’ve read, (this is one fairly typical) there have thankfully been few casualties, but there has been a lot of damage to the wineries themselves and stocks of wine. Traditionally a source of mediocre bulk wine, in recent years Maule has been shifting to higher quality wines. One can only hope that this earthquake hasn’t set their progress and prosperity back too far. Yes, of course, right now there are much more important things to think about than wine. But once everyone is accounted for and the rubble is cleared, people will need jobs. And money. Which is why I’ll be picking up a bottle (or several) of Chilean wine this week, and I encourage you to do the same. Watch this space for some tasting notes.

2. Pinot Noir (fake). I spend a lot of time defending the wine industry from people who think it’s shady, devious, and out to get the average consumer. Sometimes though they’re right. Take the recent Red Bicyclette scandale. Earlier this month, a dozen wine producers and executives in the Languedoc in Southern France were convicted of selling fake Pinot Noir (it was really a blend of other, cheaper, grapes) to U.S. wine behemoth E&J Gallo, who bottled it as Pinot Noir under the Red Bicyclette brand. Now the US Alcohol Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau is looking into it as well.

3. Pinot Noir (real). I recently discovered that a high school classmate of mine, Serena Lourie, started a winery called Cartograph Wines in northern California. They’re sourcing Pinot Noir from a variety of top vineyards and trying their hand at Gewurztraminer and Syrah as well. They just bottled their first vintage and I can’t wait to try their wines. When I’m not overcome with insane jealousy, I love following their exploits on their Facebook page. (A Web site is coming soon.)

4. Wine in NY supermarkets. New York’s train wreck of a governor, David Paterson, recently re-introduced legislation that would allow supermarkets to sell wine and liquor. A recent poll shows that most New Yorkers support it — and so do I. Yes, it would put the squeeze on some of the small wine shops that I like to frequent. But I’m in favor of anything that makes it easier for people to purchase wine alongside food. After all, we consume them at the same time — shouldn’t we be able to buy them at the same time, too?

Some of these wines were guest gifts, and some I purchased myself. Overall, we were more successful with the reds. On the white front, one of my friends brought a 2007 Cloudline Pinot Gris, from Oregon. I’m a huge fan of Oregon Pinot Gris. I think they’re underrated, well-priced, and a good match for poultry and pork. On the nose, the Cloudline had the telltale smoky, mineral, and lemon/lime peel notes that make Pinot Gris such a stand-out. However, on the palate it was a little insipid and lacked heft — one of the advantages of Pinot Gris is its weight, as it tends to give pretty full-bodied wines. However, that pleasant weightiness was nowhere to be found here.

The 2007 Stringtown Pinot Noir also from Oregon — specifically, the Willamette Valley — was a happier choice. Earthy and medium-bodied, with clear fruit flavors of cranberry and strawberry, as well as some fresh herb flavors and, my hand to God, just a hint of cherry cola, it went perfectly with the brussel sprouts with bacon and cranberries and the pasilla chile rubbed turkey (shown above in its pre-cooked state and before we had to transfer it to a larger roasting pan.)

The 2008 Montinore Pinot Noir (again from Willamette Valley–apparently Oregon was looming large in our collective unconscious) was smokier, with hints of red currants and dried thyme. Those traits made it especially strong with the sausage stuffing and the carrots and parsnips roasted with bacon, maple syrup and yes, thyme.

While I didn’t tell my guests about my 14% alcohol and under Thanksgiving tip, they all happened to bring wine that fell under this threshold. Considering we started the festivities at 3:30 and the party didn’t break up until almost 9, I was very grateful for their restraint. It also made it that much easier to end the evening with a 2002 Trefethen Napa Late Harvest Riesling.

When my ship comes in, I will sip a glass of this honey/apricot/candied lemon peel delight every evening while sitting by the pool outside my quaint bungalow in St. Helena. In the meantime, I’ll savor the memory of drinking this wine in my subterranean Brooklyn apartment alongside some killer apple pie and with great friends — which is a lot to be thankful for.