The Nose Knows. . .

It starts with a swirl. You raise your glass, give it a lazy spin, and lean in. Honeysuckle. Lime zest. Maybe a whisper of lavender? Your brain scrambles to name what your nose already knows. You haven’t even taken a sip yet, and already the wine is speaking to you—flirting, really. This is the secret magic of wine: before we taste it, we smell it. What we smell informs what we taste, but there’s no fruit bowl in the barrel room, no rosebush crushed into the must. So, what gives? How can fermented grape juice smell like jasmine, rosemary, or roses? Inspired by the blooms reawakening all around us, let’s dig into what gives wine many of its most captivating—and often floral—components. The answer is tucked into the skin of the grape—and into the nose of your glass: terpenes.

Now, I know. “Terpenes” sounds like something from a biochemistry textbook or an indie perfume label. But stay with me. Terpenes are volatile unsaturated hydrocarbons found in the essential oils of plants. In wine, they’re responsible for the poetic, perfumed spectrum of aromas—petals, citrus, pine, and spice. They're the invisible threads connecting your glass of Riesling to a summer orchard, your Syrah to a walk through a pine forest after rain, and your Muscat to a florist’s shop in full bloom. These aromatic compounds are found in many plants.  For grapevines, most live in the grape skins, and many are chemically identical to those in citrus peels, herbs, and flowers. This is why your Gewürztraminer might smell like rose petals or lychees, or why a young Chardonnay gives off a twist of lemon zest—it’s not metaphor. It’s chemistry.

Let’s step into the garden.

Linalool, one of the most prominent terpenes in wine, smells like lavender and orange blossom. It’s especially vivid in Muscat and Gewürztraminer. Want to taste this terpene in stereo? Try a glass of late-harvest Muscat with a lavender honey goat cheese tart—soft, floral, and just sweet enough. The lavender on the plate mirrors the lavender in the glass, and you’ll feel like you're floating somewhere between Provence and a dream.

Geraniol is another floral heavy-hitter—it smells like geraniums and roses. Muscat, Gewürztraminer, and Riesling can carry this note when treated gently. Picture a lightly sweet rosewater and pistachio cake, served with a low-alcohol sparkling Moscato. It’s aromatic on both ends, like a bouquet you can eat and drink. Prefer something savory? Take Gewürztraminer—opulently aromatic, heady with rose petals, lychee, and spice—and enjoy it with a poached shrimp salad with lychee, served over butter lettuce and shaved fennel. The lychee balances the perfume of the rose notes, and the wine responds with grace to the delicacy of the shrimp.

Then there’s α-pinene, the foresty one. This is the terpene that makes some reds—like Syrah, Cabernet, or Nebbiolo—smell like pine needles, rosemary, or crushed juniper. If you're sipping a peppery Syrah with violet undertones, serve it alongside rosemary-crusted lamb or a roasted root vegetable tart with lavender and thyme. Even a savory rosemary olive oil cake can toe the line between sweet and herbal, pairing beautifully with a deep, brooding red.

And finally, the sunshine terpene: limonene. It’s all lemon zest, citrus oils, orange blossom, and radiant energy. Limonene shows up most often in whites like Sauvignon Blanc, Albariño, and young Chardonnays. But here’s the trick—these zesty wines need food that can match their sparkle without being overwhelmed. Try a grilled citrus-cured salmon with chamomile crème fraîche, topped with fresh nasturtium petals and shaved fennel. The chamomile adds a soft floral warmth, while the nasturtium brings brightness and a peppery lift that echoes the wine’s edge. Or, go green and elegant with a chilled cucumber and lemon verbena soup, garnished with violet petals and a whisper of citrus oil. Herbal, luminous, and completely in step with a glass of Albariño or Sauvignon Blanc.

Of course, terpenes don’t just appear like magic. Some are present in the juice, but others are bound to sugars in the grape and only get released during fermentation. Winemaking decisions—how long the juice sits on the skins, fermentation temperature, yeast strain—can all turn the volume up or down on these aromas. In other words, the winemaker decides just how loud those violets or orange blossoms get to sing.

Here’s the real joy: once you know about terpenes, you start to smell wine differently. You notice things. That Albariño? Orange blossom and wet stone. That Cabernet Franc? Rosemary, green pepper, and something wild in the wind. Wine stops being a mystery and starts becoming a map—a sensory journey lined with herbs and flowers. So, the next time someone asks why their wine smells like rose petals, lemon zest, or fresh-cut pine, you can smile and say, “Terpenes.” Or better yet, pour them a glass, pass them a lavender cookie, and show them what happens when scent, flavor, and chemistry hold hands. Because wine isn’t just something you taste—it’s something you breathe in, get lost in, and remember.

And it all begins with a sniff. . .