Do wines that fly high with critics also excel when they land on the table? Not necessarily, as an intrepid New Zealand winemaker demonstrated recently in a risky (for him) experiment in which two dozen wine journalists and sommeliers participated at Per Se. Structured in two phases, the event was intended to show how our perception of wines, when sipped solo, is changed when they meet food. The experiment’s sponsor, Steve Smith, of the esteemed Craggy Range Winery, was taking a gamble that his own wines would come on strong in phase two.

First, six critically acclaimed examples of New Zealand’s most distinctive wine, sauvignon blanc, were poured, identified only by numbers. Tasters were asked to rank them by preference and turn in their scoring sheets. When the results were disclosed, it turned out that two of the mediocre performers were Mr. Smith’s wines. One ranked fifth, the other dead last. The favorite wine was the St. Clair sauvignon blanc from Marlborough.

But then the wines were renumbered and once again poured blind. This time, they were served with a trio of small dishes of Per Se’s fabled food: a green salad with quail egg and bacon; buttery lobster knuckles with fennel in a grapefruit coulis, and a sturgeon and apple salad. These dishes had been composed, it seemed, to echo a range of herbal, citric, and smoky notes that are often detected in sauvignon blanc. We tasters were directed to try each dish with each wine, a total of 18 permutations. Then, once again, we were to rate our favorites.

When the tally of votes in this second “food with wine” phase was handed to Mr. Smith, he looked much relieved. Astonishingly, the Craggy Range Te Muna Road sauvignon blanc had vaulted from last place to first with food. Craggy’s Old Renwick Vineyard sauvignon blanc moved up to third place from fifth place. The champion in the first phase, St. Clair, fell to fourth place with food.

These come-from-behind results supported Mr. Smith’s belief that the flamboyant style of sauvignon blanc — which delivers a wallop of up-front flavor, or what he calls the “IOR” (intensity of ripeness) style — normally generates the “wow” factor with both wine raters and consumers. That’s the very style that, back in the 1980s, put New Zealand (and, in particular, Marlborough) onto the world wine map in a big way. I know I wasn’t alone back then, tasting the sauvignon blanc from the pioneering winery Cloudy Bay, in sensing that for sheer electric exuberance, it was supreme. But just as sprinters aren’t geared to long races, IOR wines may fade at the table. There, when the food comes, they are surpassed by more complex, non-IOR versions that are “scented instead of incensed, tightly structured, and often with distinctive minerality,” Mr. Smith said. In short, these non-IOR wines meld with food in the mouth.

While Mr. Smith’s experiment was limited to Kiwi sauvignon blancs, its implications are wide-ranging, not least in deciding how we weigh the importance of numerical scores, which can make or break a wine in the marketplace. Most wine reviewers (notably Robert Parker of the Wine Advocate) rate wines over a sink or spit bucket instead of over food. Inevitably, that’s where IOR wines, whether white or red, strut their stuff. An IOR cabernet sauvignon ripened to the fullest under the California sun, its roar of flavor carried by a wave of high alcohol, is likely to impress more than a gradually unfolding wine from Bordeaux. But, like those electric sauvignon blancs from Marlborough, that first taste of the IOR wine may well be the best taste. It’s not for nothing that the fat lady sings last. Or, as a French winemaker once told me, “If you have a really good dinner with your girlfriend, or your wife, you want the last taste of wine to be the best, not the first.”

That comment took me back several decades to a train ride from Paris to Bordeaux. In that era before the bullet trains, the trip spanned double the current three hours. I decided to indulge in a leisurely lunch in the dining car, where I ordered braised leeks followed by roast lamb and then a cheese course. Feeling utterly grown-up, I ordered a half-bottle of Château Fourcas-Hosten, a rank-and-file Bordeaux from the unexciting commune of Listrac. Frankly, it started out nasty enough to make me pucker up. But gradually, as the lunch progressed, so did the wine. It added value not by taking the spotlight, but by helping to turn the spotlight on the succession of dishes. I wasn’t yet married, and my girlfriend was back home — but I could still say that the last sip of that Fourcas-Hosten was the best.

If I could choose just one New Zealand winery for my table, it would be Craggy Range. Over the last several years, Mr. Smith has been picking the sweet spots along the considerable north-south length of his country. The result is an offering of just about the fullest range of what this superlative winemaking land can achieve. Unfortunately, a high proportion of the wines allotted to New York seem to be picked off by restaurant sommeliers before they can get to retail shelves. A few that are available include the Te Muna Road Sauvignon Blanc 2006 ($20 at Sherry-Lehmann), the Gimblett Gravels Merlot 2002 ($37 at Park Avenue Liquor), and the Te Muna Road Pinot Noir ($48 at Astor Wines). My personal favorite is a blend of cabernet franc and merlot called Sophia ($46 at Star Wines in Monroe, N.Y.).

For red wine lovers, an early-bird holiday gift is a quartet of Craggy Range’s best reds, packed in a canvas-and-leather, insulated tote. It’s available at Park Avenue Liquor for $275. Craggy Range donates a portion of its profits to the Lewa Wildlife Conservancy in Kenya, where the handsome tote is crafted.