My mood was grumpy as I waited to pass through the visitors’ security checkpoint at the United Nations at noon last Thursday. Once seated at the chef’s table in the sprawling kitchen of the Delegates’ Restaurant, however, where lunch was being prepared by seven master chefs from the region of Castilla y Leon in northwestern Spain, I quickly cheered up. For the second time that week, a meal would turn on more than gustatory pleasure. This lunch and a dinner I’d had two nights earlier were learning experiences centered on wine.

The learning curve was steepest at each end of this 11-course, four-hour lunch, which inspired my admiration not only for the inventive food, but for the Spanish disdain for our reflex to hurry back to the office. The first two courses showed off the balancing of disparate flavors that has put Iberia on cuisine’s cutting edge. First came smoked salmon millefeuille with apple and vanilla, flanked on the plate by mahogany-tinted stripes of reduced pear sauce. The menu description failed to mention that the millefeuille included a layer of foie gras. “Eat it all in one bite,” commanded chef Antonio Gonzales de las Heras, “so that you get all the flavors together.” Next came sheep’s milk curd with three cheeses, sauteed river crabs, cherries, apple and crustacean oil drops.

Though intriguing, these first two dishes presented a problem: So much flavor traffic was crowding my plate and palate that the last thing I wanted to make room for was wine. Perhaps the chef felt similarly, since these two dishes were paired with Jose Pariente’s zingy but uncomplicated Rueda 2004, rather than with a wine as ambitious as the food on the plate. After a few sips, I opted for plain water.

Toward the end of the meal, a pair of fish dishes got on unexpectedly good footing with their wine partners. The first was warm smoked trout and trout eggs, wild asparagus, and sheep’s milk cream with olive oil and vinegar caramel. The second dish, simplest of the meal, was Chilean sea bass with roasted garlic and green asparagus. If convention ruled, these dishes would have been served with white wine. Instead, each was paired with an assertive red. The first, the spicy, lively Cesar Principe 2001 from Cigales, ably partnered the oily smoked trout. The second wine, Grand Elias Mora 2000 from Toro, was a full, fruity, wine with an almost Port-like, tactile power that should have overwhelmed the pristine sea bass. Instead, the flavors synchronized.

Red wine often turns bitter with fish or starts to taste fishy itself. Why did that not occur with these two dishes? “There are red wines that go with fish,” sommelier Pablo Martin told me. “Smoked trout being oily, it needs a wine like the Cigales which has the acidity to cut the oil, just like a squeeze of lemon.” On its own, the sea bass, silky in texture and full-flavored, might have been best with a white wine. The small but overbearing mound of cream of garlic atop the fish, however, changed the rules, according to Mr. Martin. “You have to match strength with strength,” he explained. “Garlic is a strong flavor, and so it needs a really fruity wine with complexity.” Ergo, the Grand Elias Mora.

Mr. Martin’s bottom line on red wine with fish: “It’s important to dispel the old myths.” He would have gotten no argument from David Rosengarten, a guest at the table. With Joshua Wesson, Mr. Rosengarten wrote a book called “Red Wine With Fish.”

I experienced another surprising but successful foodand-wine pairing last Tuesday evening at a small dinner at Veritas hosted by Richard Geoffroy, once a physician, now cellarmaster of Dom Perignon. Ostensibly, the purpose of the gathering was to preview the 1998 vintage of the world’s most famous champagne, due for release in September. In fact, by the time the cork had been pulled on six different vintages of Dom Perignon, the event had clearly become educative. We – or at least I, would learn just how many facets Dom Perignon can have – some glittery and others muted, yet always true to character.

First came Dom Perignon 1996, almost a decade old and yet bristling with youthful intensity. If a laser beam could appear in liquid form, this was it. “A northeast wind blew steadily before harvest that year,” Mr. Geoffroy said. “It dehydrated the grapes, concentrating their sugar, acids, and phenolics. That made 1996 a vintage of concentration.” By comparison, the about-to-be released 1998 Dom Perignon was more muted in its fruit at this early stage, yet silkier and thicker in texture. It was the product of “a streamlined, almost too easy” growing season, according to Mr. Geoffroy. “Yet the character of the vintage fuses with the character of Dom Perignon: Creamy and seamless,” he added. Next came the 1995 vintage, which was more introverted than the 1998 – it seemed to be dozing.

So far, this array of wines seemed to cover the multiple personalities and stages of Dom Perignon. But Mr. Geoffrey had cannily held back on the next bottle, vintage 1976. Until two years ago, it had rested on its lees in Moet & Chandon’s cellar in Epernay before being disgorged and released as an “oenotheque,” or library selection. Almost three decades old, it was lemony in color and smelled like a French breakfast: Cafe au lait and buttery brioche. In the mouth, it was all surging fruit, spirit, and power. I recalled examples of supposedly sturdy 1976 red Bordeaux and Burgundy that have long since gone over the hill. Here was a supposedly more delicate wine from Champagne in its prime.

Next came a bottle of 1978 Dom Perignon. Disgorged 20 years ago, it seemed older than the 1976 vintage, giving off an oxydative whiff of sherry-like nuttiness. “I know by the quality of the bubbles that this wine is actually in good shape,” Mr. Geoffroy said, “even if it does have an oxydative element.” Unexpectedly, that element yielded within minutes to more pleasant flavors of candied fruit, even marzipan. Was this 1978 nearing the end of its run? “Not at all,” Mr. Geoffroy said. “All great wines have plateaus. This 1978 is on one now, but it won’t be the last.”

As dinner drew to a close, Mr. Geoffroy called for a magnum of Dom Perignon Rose 1990. “A rose has to make a statement,” he said. “If it can’t have the glorious characteristics of the previous white wines, then it must deliver something else. Here, it is decadence.” To me, it wasn’t so much decadence as it was the sensuality of an almost overripe, creamy-fleshed mango.

Champagne is not usually matched to hearty meat dishes, but Mr. Geoffroy felt this 1990 rose could be equal to the task. As an experiment, a dish of “tender braised shortribs,” a specialty of Veritas, was ordered.The short-ribs and the 1990 rose seemed almost to caress each other. Maybe Mr. Geoffroy was right: This wasn’t just sensuality, it was decadence. I went home with a new respect for the many moods and wiles of Dom Perignon.

AVAILABLE WINE

JOSE PARIENTE RUEDA 2004 ($13.99) At PJ Wine, 4898 Broadway, 212-567-5500.

CESAR PRINCIPE 2001, CIGALES ($29.95) At Sherry-Lehmann, 679 Madison Ave., 212-838-7500.

DOM PERIGNON 1996 ($129.95) At Sherry-Lehmann.

DOM PERIGNON 1995 ($259.95) At Astor Wines, 12 Astor Place, 212-674-7500.

DOM PERIGNON ROSE 1990 ($1,000 A MAGNUM) At Park Avenue Wine, 292 Madison Ave., 212-685-2442.