Two crafts that have never acknowledged each other speak the same language. About aromas, origin, feeling – and the limits of translation.
Try reading a wine description aloud, without revealing what it's about.
Blackcurrant, a hint of green pepper, underneath cedarwood and black pepper. Tight structure, long finish.
Anyone hearing this from the perfume industry would mistake it for a fragrance brief. Top note, heart note, base. Structure. Length. Nothing is missing.
In fact, it is the classic description of a Cabernet Sauvignon.
This overlap was the beginning of CUVÉE. We are not perfumers or oenologists – we are two sisters who are passionate about fragrances and wine culture and, at some point, started asking questions. The first was: Why do these two worlds talk about their products in the same way, without taking notice of each other?
The answers we received – from perfumers, from books, over many years – were more interesting than we expected.
Wine is largely a fragrance
Humans taste five things: sweet, sour, salty, bitter, umami. In addition, there's texture, temperature, and a little spiciness. That's all the tongue can do.
Everything else – peach, cassis, vanilla, leather – happens in the nose. When drinking, volatile compounds rise from the oral cavity into the nasopharynx and reach the olfactory mucosa from behind. This is called retronasal perception. If you hold your nose and drink a great wine, you taste sour and a little bitter. Nothing else.
Depending on the analysis, a wine contains several hundred volatile compounds. Only a few dozen of these are perceptible, i.e., above the odor threshold. The rest is noise. What a wine "is" is determined by a surprisingly small number of molecules – and exactly the same applies to a perfume.
A winemaker and a perfumer train the same organ. They just call it differently.
Two disciplines that invented the same system
Perfumery categorizes a fragrance into three levels: top note, heart note, base note. First, the light, fresh notes that are immediately present. Then the heart, the actual character. Finally, the heavy notes that last the longest. This classification is a model, not an exact science, but it hits upon a core truth: a fragrance is not a fixed state but changes as it is perceived. How top, heart, and base notes work exactly, we explain in detail elsewhere.
Oenology classifies wine aromas by their origin:
Primary aromas come from the grape itself – what the grape variety brings and what soil, climate, and vintage make of it.
Secondary aromas arise during fermentation. Yeasts produce compounds reminiscent of banana, apple, or pear. A wine smells of things that were never near it.
Tertiary aromas develop over time: in wood, in the bottle, through slow change.
Both systems describe layering. Both distinguish what is immediately present from what remains. They developed independently, in different centuries, in different professions – and arrive at the same result because the subject is the same.
The language for this is younger than one might think. Until well into the 20th century, the vocabulary of wine description was largely private and literary. The Bordeaux oenologist Émile Peynaud systematized it; in 1984, Ann Noble at the University of California, Davis, developed the Wine Aroma Wheel, which categorizes aromas, making them comparable. It looks remarkably similar to the perfume wheel.
When a winemaker says cassis and a perfumer says cassis
A common misconception: when peach, cassis, or pepper are mentioned in wine, many consider it an association – an image that tasters have agreed upon.
That is not the case. In many cases, they are identities.
The green, peppery note in Sauvignon Blanc and young Cabernet Sauvignon comes from methoxypyrazines – the same class of compounds that gives green bell pepper its typical smell. Incidentally, this is exactly the note we consciously decided against in both fragrances; more on that later. The cassis note in Sauvignon Blanc is due to a sulfur compound that is also responsible for the smell of blackcurrant buds. Its absolute, Bourgeons de Cassis, is a highly prized and expensive raw material in perfumery. The floral clarity of Riesling is partly due to linalool – the molecule that also characterizes lavender and bergamot.
When a perfumer first explained this to us, that was the moment a beautiful idea turned into a product. A grape variety is not a mood like "autumn" or "comfort." A grape variety is precise. You can work with it. How this precision then turns into a fragrance composition, we have described in detail elsewhere.
Excursus · The molecule that connects both worlds
For those who want to know more.
In the 1960s, a team led by Ervin Kováts at ETH Zurich, together with the Geneva fragrance house Firmenich, searched for the substance that gives Bulgarian rose oil its characteristic smell. For this, the oil was separated into around two hundred fractions. Less than a milligram of an unknown compound remained. In 1970, Demole and colleagues published its structure and synthesis: Beta-Damascenone, named after the Damask rose.
The substance makes up only about one per mille of the rose extract – and yet contributes a significant portion of its scent. Since then, the Damascone family has been one of the most important building blocks of modern perfumery.
In 1974, Schreier and Drawert detected the same compound in grapes and wine. It is now considered one of the most effective aroma molecules in wine and contributes to what tasters describe as cooked apple, honey, or dried fruit – often without standing out itself.
A molecule, discovered in a rose, defining for perfumery, and at the same time one of the reasons why a mature wine smells the way it does.
Terroir: the word perfumery lacks
There is a second point of contact, less technical and culturally more interesting.
Wine is the only major pleasure category that has made origin a central quality concept. Terroir does not just mean the place, but the interplay of soil, slope, climate, grape variety, and the decision of a person who has been cultivating the same plot for thirty years. The same grape material yields two different wines in two adjacent locations. In two vintages, even more so.
Perfumery knows this phenomenon well but has never found a comparable word for it. Jasmine from Grasse smells different from jasmine from Egypt. Rose oil from the Bulgarian Rose Valley differs from Turkish. And one harvest differs from the next because the weather was different – exactly as with wine.
What fascinates us about wine regions, however, goes beyond chemistry. It is the tranquility of these landscapes. The expanse, the order of the vine rows, the air in the early morning. It is a culture where, for centuries, people have worked with nature rather than against it, where patience is a quality and not a lack of pace. Anyone who has ever been to a wine region – on the Moselle, in Burgundy, in Piedmont – knows this special feeling of stillness and meticulousness.
This attitude is as much a part of the inspiration for us as any aroma.
Why the brand is called Cuvée
The term comes from viticulture and refers to the art of blending: different grape varieties, locations, or vintages are brought together because the result yields more than its individual components. Champagne is almost always a cuvée. Bordeaux is. A cuvée is not a mixture out of embarrassment, but a composition out of intention.
That is precisely why the brand is called this – for three interdependent reasons.
The product is a cuvée. A scented candle seems simple, but it isn't. Wax, wick, fragrance oil, container, diameter, burning behavior: every component influences every other. A fragrance oil that impresses in the lab can make a candle unburnable. A wick that is too strong burns off the scent. Even our wax itself is a cuvée – a specially developed soy-based blend. The art is not in finding the best individual parts, but in bringing them into harmony.
The people behind it are a cuvée. We are different characters, with different strengths and very different approaches to the same questions. This is occasionally demanding and usually the reason why something better comes out in the end than either of us would have developed alone.
And the occasion is a cuvée. The evenings you remember are created from a mixture: people, light, conversation, food, sometimes a glass of something special. None of these ingredients makes the evening alone.
That Cuvée Candles also sounds good was a welcome side effect.
Four grape varieties, four feelings
Aromas can be discussed precisely. But no one lights a candle because they want a specific molecule.
A fragrance is first and foremost a feeling. It determines how a room feels before anyone can name it. That's why we asked three questions for each grape variety: What does it smell like? How does it feel? And, very practically: Which interpretation of this grape variety would make a good perfume?
The third question decided more than we initially thought. Because almost every great grape variety can be cultivated in several ways – and not all of them project well in a room.
Riesling – Clarity.
As a brand from Düsseldorf, we should have started with Riesling. Düsseldorf residents love their Riesling, and starting a German company with the most German of all grape varieties would have been the obvious choice.
We didn't. Riesling is aromatically very distinctive, and one direction was excluded from the start: that petrol note that mature Rieslings develop. Wine lovers appreciate it in the glass as a sign of maturity. In a living room, it would be a misunderstanding.
What we wanted was the elegance of a Riesling – clear, timeless, modern, fresh. Lime, green apple, a floral core, supported by an acid structure that cannot be disguised. This took more rounds than any other scent.
The feeling: a bright morning, open windows, a home just waking up. Nothing heavy, nothing sweet. The scent for rooms where you want to think clearly.
Sauvignon Blanc – Energy.
The grape variety with the most distinctive aromatic fingerprint of all. It can be slender and mineral like in the Loire – or tropical and sun-ripened like in New Zealand. We chose the second interpretation, for two reasons: it's both our favorite wine, precisely because of the good mood it evokes. And it's the better template for a perfume. Grapefruit, gooseberry, and honeydew melon have a luminosity that can be translated into a room.
We deliberately omitted the green pepper note, which also belongs to the varietal character. In the glass, it's exciting. In a room, it would be out of place.
The feeling: good mood, lightness, the moment before the doorbell rings. An effortless elegance – suitable for everyday use yet not arbitrary. The most sociable scent in the collection.
Chardonnay – Fullness.
Here, exceptionally, the task preceded the grape variety. Vanilla is the most familiar of all candle scents – a scented candle brand without vanilla is hard to imagine. At the same time, it is the most frequently misrepresented scent: too sweet, too flat, too much like a bakery.
Chardonnay was the grape variety that made both possible. It is the most versatile in the world, and in its noblest interpretations – aged in wood or as a Blanc de Blancs – vanilla notes are indeed inherent. Added to this are white peach, a hint of tropical pineapple, and the sparkling elegance we appreciate in a good Champagne.
The rest was work on balance: a powdery dryness that prevents it from becoming a dessert. Not sweet, but seductive.
The feeling: the evening that lasts longer than planned. Refined, warm, a little festive.
Cabernet Sauvignon – Depth.
Here, too, the initial question was which interpretation makes a good perfume – and the answer led to Napa Valley. Full-bodied, ripe, with dark berry fruit, a chocolatey depth, and plenty of wood. Without the green edge that young European Cabernets bring. Cassis, colorful pepper, cedarwood. The grape variety that takes time and rewards time.
The feeling: that cozy red wine feeling on a dark afternoon. A long table, a conversation no one ends, it gets dark early outside. The deepest and calmest scent of the four.
What unites all four is elegance – and that was hardest to achieve with Riesling and Chardonnay. Both therefore came onto the market a year after Cabernet Sauvignon and Sauvignon Blanc. Not by calculation, but because they weren't ready yet.
All four are created in collaboration with perfumers in Grasse and are hand-poured in Europe. The four scents of the collection at a glance.
What cannot be translated
It would be dishonest to pretend that everything is possible.
Acidity cannot be smelled. What defines a Riesling is largely tension – an experience in the mouth. In a fragrance, this tension must be created differently: through green notes, through restraint, through what is omitted.
Tannin is texture. A feeling, a contraction. It has no smell. The depth of a Cabernet Sauvignon can only be hinted at olfactorily through wood and spice, never directly reproduced.
Alcohol carries and distorts. In wine, it is both a solvent and a carrier, and it changes how quickly aromas are released. A candle has no alcohol. It has wax, which only reluctantly releases scent – a different physical system with its own rules.
Time in the glass is missing. A wine changes over the course of an evening. A candle has its own development, but it is a different one.
What remains is not a copy. It is an interpretation. And that is the more interesting task.
Why our candles don't smell like wine
That sentence is one of the first we established, and it applies without exception: CUVÉE candles are inspired by the aromas of noble grape varieties. They are not an imitation of wine.
The reason is simple. Wine in a glass doesn't just smell of fruit. It smells of alcohol, yeast, fermentation. In an enclosed space, that would not be an enjoyment, but a reminder of the morning after.
And it would diminish the idea. We are not interested in wine as a drink. We are interested in it as a cultural system – as craftsmanship, as origin, as patience, as an occasion.
The actual reason
After all that has been said here about aromas, origin, and systematics, the most important point comes last, and it is the most unscientific.
Wine is the only thing on a table that is rarely consumed alone.
A bottle is opened because someone is there. It is shared. It lasts longer than a meal, it structures an evening, it is the reason why someone stays seated. Around wine, a culture has developed over centuries in which it was never just about taste, but always also about presence.
That is precisely what we translate. Not the taste of a grape variety, but the situation in which it occurs.
Lighting a candle is doing something similar to someone opening a bottle. It is a small, conscious act with which an evening begins. It says: We are staying here now.
People don't remember scents. They remember moments. Wine has known this for three thousand years.
Frequently Asked Questions
Do wine-inspired scented candles smell like wine?
No – at least they shouldn't. Besides its fruit aromas, wine also smells of alcohol, yeast, and fermentation, which would be unpleasant in a room. What is translated are the characteristic aroma notes of a grape variety, such as cassis, pepper, and cedarwood in Cabernet Sauvignon.
Do wine and perfume really have the same ingredients?
In parts, yes. Beta-Damascenone was described from Bulgarian rose oil in 1970 and also detected in grapes and wine in 1974. Linalool characterizes lavender as well as Riesling. The compound behind the cassis bud in perfumery is the same one that creates the cassis note in Sauvignon Blanc.
What are primary, secondary, and tertiary aromas in wine?
Primary aromas come from the grape, secondary aromas arise during fermentation by yeast, tertiary aromas form over time in wood or in the bottle. This classification can be compared in some ways to the top, heart, and base notes of perfumery – but they are two independent systems.
Why does Sauvignon Blanc smell of bell pepper or gooseberry?
Methoxypyrazines are responsible for the green, paprika-like note, and sulfur-containing compounds for grapefruit, gooseberry, and cassis nuances. Both groups of substances are perceptible even in very low concentrations.
What does terroir mean – and does it exist in fragrances too?
In viticulture, terroir describes the interplay of soil, climate, location, grape variety, and human labor. The same phenomenon exists in perfumery: jasmine from Grasse smells different from jasmine from Egypt, and each harvest differs from the previous one. Perfumery has never developed its own word for it.
What does Cuvée actually mean?
The term comes from viticulture and refers to the art of blending: different grape varieties, locations, or vintages are brought together because the result is more than its individual components. For us, it also describes the candle itself – wax, wick, fragrance, and vessel must be in harmony with each other.
Which grape variety suits which mood?
Riesling for bright, calm mornings. Sauvignon Blanc for sociable, carefree moments. Chardonnay for evenings with guests. Cabernet Sauvignon for autumn, winter, and long conversations.
Sources and Further Reading
- Ann C. Noble, Wine Aroma Wheel, University of California, Davis (1984) → winearomawheel.com
- Ribéreau-Gayon, Glories, Maujean, Dubourdieu: Handbook of Enology, Vol. 2 – The Chemistry of Wine
- Émile Peynaud, Le goût du vin (Ger. Der Geschmack des Weines)
- Demole, Enggist, Säuberli, Stoll, Kováts: Helvetica Chimica Acta 53 (1970), pp. 541–551 – on the structure of Beta-Damascenone
