Cured: The Science & Art of Decay

The challenge of some raw materials is that they might be rather unpleasant in their original state. At best, they lack any aroma and depth whatsoever. The cure for that lies in a process called curing (pun intended). Curing takes many shapes and forms. Sometimes the process is long and at times it's rather short. Either way, the results are nothing short of magic that tantalizes the palate and the olfactory bulbs!

We've all heard of curing meats and tobacco leaves, and it's common knowledge that wine gets better with age. But the culinary world is not the only one that benefits from time and fermentation. For some fragrant crops, growing and harvesting them is only a tiny portion of the process to make them edible, smellable or worth any mention at all. The starting material may be extremely stinky, bitter, astringent, or just plain flavourless at best. The processes by which the desired result is achieved is usually referred to as "curing" or "aging". It ranges from a few days, weeks or months and up to several years. The extra time and care that is invested in those crops makes all the difference in the world. And this will be evident and felt in the raw material itself as well as the finished product where it will be used - in our case, perfume.

Several aromatic botanicals used in perfumery require a fair amount of processing before being used (or extracted). For example: vanilla beans must be left in the sun to cure to bring out the vanillin; patchouli leaves must be dried and matured for quite some time to improve their scent; and iris rhizomes must be peeled, dried and stored for 3 years before they are extracted to produce orris butter.  Let's explore some of these unusual raw materials in more detail, as they specifically relate to the world of perfume and aromatics:



Oakmoss (Evernia prunastri) actually is a lichen native to former Yugoslavia, and which also grows in the rainforests of the Pacific Northwest. You may know it under the name Antlered Perfum; however, it is practically odourless when found fallen on the forest floor. Once placed in hot alcohol, and undergoes a process of extraction - a fragrance that personifies the aroma of the forest floor's dark and mysterious hidden life emerges - fungi, decay, moss and undergrowth. No wonder Chypre, the most beloved fragrance family that relies on oakmoss, is strongly associated with fall.
Perfumes that give oakmoss its proper due are far and few - so reach out for vintage of Miss Dior,  Vol de Nuit or Chamade; or check out some of my Chypre (and Fougère) fragrances, namely Ayalitta, Megumi, Rainforest and Autumn.



Tea is so unusually diverse - there are white, yellow, green, blue (AKA oolong), red and black teas - that it's hard to believe it comes from only one plant: Camellia sinensis. It is the process of  curing - namely, oxidation, fermentation, roasting, and sometimes even smoking, that creates the unique effects of texture, aroma and nuanced flavours in tea. Some teas are even left to age for decades and up to a hundred years!
Tea leaves come in all sizes, shapes and forms, at times they are twisted to break the cells and release the enzymes that will start the oxidation process (as in oolong teas), other times they are rolled into little balls (dragon pearls or jasmine pearls), hand-tied to look like a flower that will open its "petals" once steeped in water, to reveal a colourful real flower in the heart, and many other ancient traditions involving teas. In perfume, we use tea notes rarely, because they are so subtle. The first "tea" perfume was Bulgari's Au Parfumeé au Thé Vert (which utilized ionone in conjunction with hedione to create the effect of freshly steeped green tea) and the series continued to even include a "red tea" scent based on rooibos (not from the tea plant).  But my favourite is, not surprisingly, the Bulgari Black, which is based on Lapsang Suchong (pine-smoked tea), and even more so - l'Artisan Parfumeur's Tea for Two, which is a more refined play on the same tea leaf. If you're a tea love, taste a sip of Kinmokusei, our osmanthus-scented tea with hints of tobacco, Gaucho (with the tannin South American Maté) or The Purple Dress (black tea).

Few other ingredients stir the imagination as much as tobacco. The raw leaves have a bitter taste and not a particularly pleasant smell either. After all, nicotine, the substance that gives tobacco most of its medicinal (and addictive) properties, is meant to protects it from insects. Although the raw leaves have medicinal uses, it is hardly the sophisticated aromatic that we have learned to recognize as tobacco. This is achieved via a careful drying process that takes several days to a week, and usually followed by an additional fermentation period of about 8 weeks. This will develop the characteristic tannin,  full-bodied chocolate-vanilla undertones and hints of coumarin, violet and tea notes in tobacco products that some of us are so fond of (or hooked on). Additionally, tobacco leaves are treated with various perfume and flavour materials to enhance and accentuate this character. If you like your tobacco leaf clean and dry - try Sabotage  The tobacco in or Rebellius is exotic and spicy-sweet, not unlike shisha,  To experience pipe tobacco or Cuban cigar in all their glory, dab some Espionage.



Patchouli leaves, an odd member of the mint family, do not smell like much when they're green and fresh. The sun-dried leaves are ideally stacked and occasionally turned in a process of interrupted fermentation. This way they will yield 2.5-3 times more oil than the green leaves. This process helps to rupture the cell walls and release the oil. However, that is not sufficient to develop their charactesritic aroma of patchouli. Exceptional patchouli oils undergo an additional step of aging, in which all the off notes (grassy, oily, tar-like) dissipate and make room for rounded, warm precious-wood aroma that you'll find in fine quality patchoulis - which can take another 1-4 years. Patchouli really does get better with age, and when this desired effect is achieve - the scent will remind one of both dark red wine, oak barrels and the cellar where it is kept. Patchouli is earthy, woody, musky, a tad funky, spicy and dark-chocolate-like. Examples of this can be found in  Patchouli Magique and Patchouli Antique; Film Noir, Razala, and Palas Atena (Ayala Moriel).

Ambergris is a rare secretion that occurs in about 1% of sperm whales to heal their stomach from the scratches of the cuttlefish they swallow. This sticky mass floats on the ocean, and by exposure to the sun and the salty water it changes its originally foul smell into one of the most delicate and sought after fragrances: Ambergris. Ambergris is sweet, soft and slightly powdery. We use ambergris only occasionally – when we can find ethically harvested ambergris that was beach harvested. It is than tinctured and used as a base note in oriental and floral compositions. Best scents to experience this though are LesNez' mystical l'Antimatiere  by Isabelle Doyen; and my own Orcas, Etrog and Razala.



Orris Root: Orris root essential oil (AKA Orris Butter) is one of the most precious perfume materials. The roots need to be peeled and aged for three years before extraction or distillation. During this time, the glucosides in the rhizome gradually metabolize into irone - the violet-like molecule that gives orris root its desired violet-blossom aroma. It is invaluable in perfumery for its delicate powdery delicate aroma and ability to fix lighter scents. Orris is a welcome addition to any perfume whenever a delicate softness is required. Orris butter is both powdery, milky and smooth - reminiscent of a baby’s head and soft skin. Experience the highest quality of orris, with 15% irone (the unique orris molecule) in Sahleb parfum. For a lighter, paper-thin iris, try Hiris, and for a more sophisticated, abstract, modern yet old-fashioned you must experience Après l'Ondée!



Coumarin has may sources, and in all of them, it is not felt all that much in the original product but only appears after a process of drying or curing takes place. Tonka is soaked in rum and then dried, to coax the coumarin crystals out of the "beans". Liatrix (deer's tongue) smells like nothing when it's fresh, and like hay - needs to be dried and even slightly fermented to bring out the coumarin potential locked within them, which smells like "new mown hay". Classic coumarin examples are Yerbamate, Biche Dans l'Absinthe. and Brut. To experience natural coumarin try l'Herbe Rouge, Sabotage or White Potion.



Vanilla Beans are left to cure in the sun so that they turn from green to black and develop their vanillin content. But vanillin is only one component that makes vanilla so special. In reality, this is one of the most compelling and complex natural aroma, inimitable by any manmade compounds.  Some 100 molecules were identified in vanilla (Vanilla planifolia), in addition to vanillin (4-hydroxy-3-methoxybenzaldehyde), including: Guaicol, creosol, acetovanillone, vanillyl alcohol and methyl salicylate and vitispiranes.
Tahitian vanilla (Vanilla tahitensis) has a much lower content of vanillin, and has a scent reminiscent of heliotropin - but contrary to some literature, this is not a compound that naturally occurs in it. Rather, it's the anisyl compounds that are responsible for its soft, floral, almond-like, sweet heliotrope-like nuances, including anisyl alcohol, anisaldehyde, dianisyl ether and anisyl ethyl ether. (Bo Jensen). To experience true vanilla absolute in perfume, try Shalimar (the extrait has handcrafted vanilla tincture), My Vanilla (Anna Zworykina),  Vanille Galante (Hermessences), Espionage and Immortelle l'Amour (the latter has 5 types of vanilla, including absolute, CO2 and handmade tinctures by yours truly).

Polo

Long time ago, in a country far away, I was a nanny in a busy household in which both parents had a career in filmmaking and production. I would show up at their place at 8:30 (which was a huge lifestyle improvement for me comparing to the first job, the year prior, which started at 8), and by 9am the parents and older brother were gone and I was left with the adorable one year old I took care of for the day.

It's a privilege to be entrusted with a child's life at such a tender age, not to mention being welcomed into a home like this and become almost like a family member; yet also a bit of an odd situation to be entering a family's daily life in a rather intimate moment - preparing for the day and saying goodbye to each other as they set off on their long day adventures. When I came in everyone were still at different stages of dressing, showering, eating breakfast and so on.

Because, not surprisingly, I was oddly interested in fragrance even back then - I will always remember certain things about their home, including the soap they used (it was Dove - which was a rather exotic thing in the early 90s in Tel Aviv - and for sure the dad brought it back from his many business trips to L.A.). There was also a bottle of Obsession in the bathroom, which he bought for his wife and she never wore (unfortunately, she's really not into perfumes whatsoever) and then there was the green bottle with a horse and a rider holding a strange long stick, clouds of which wafted every morning after the dad shaved.



I've never worn Polo and I can't say I have an intimate connection with it, but I did remember it as smelling good. So with Fathers' Day approaching and me feeling the urge to cover some more masculine fragrances on SmellyBlog - I set on trying it out for two days in a row now. The first time it was only semi-planned: I went to the drugstore to scout for some more cheap drugstore colognes and aftershaves. But I did not find what I was hoped for (Canoe). So I remembered that odd number and decided to try it on one wrist, and Eau Sauvage on the other. The latter was unfortunately a spoiled tester (too much light, folks!) while Polo simply won my heart almost immediately.

It's strong, bold and in your face so I'm glad I was wearing it sparingly. What one smells at first is that wonderful melange of patchouli, oakmoss and honeyed-animatic civet blooming in their warmth. And there is a decidedly leathery undercurrent that makes it really intriguing (and not wanting to scrub it off even though it is rather on the strong side). There are also many other things going on but these are the ones that I immediately pick up. Then as it unfolds on the skin, more fougere-like qualities pop out. Artemisia and other herbs mingle. I read that there are also thyme, basil and marjoram in this - but I can't really pick them out. There is just an overall feeling that is both sunny and warm like the Mediterranean garrigue - but also dark and looming against the leather. There is on one side a very smooth interplay of those rather distinctive elements. It's true that they go really well together in a red pasta sauce, a stew or even on bread with olive oil; but as perfume raw materials all these herbs are rather at odds with each other when combined with so many other perfume-y materials. They just don't like to behave!

There is also pine, which gives it a very distinctively masculine aura, as if to reassure you that all that civet is not going to turn floral on you. As Polo dries down on the skin, more of the dryness that comes out, accentuating the patchouli, and less of the civet notes (which are just this close to becoming as impolite as Kouros). Virginian cedar wood comes to the fore and mellows the more animalic elements, giving them a reliable context for an alibi (just in case someone walks by and suspects them of misbehaving).

Polo (1978) is at once sweaty, carnal, earthy, dirty, fresh, sexy, bold, distinctive, unique yet unmistakably manly. But what I adore the most about Polo is the dry down. Oh, the patchouli and the oakmoss, when they mellow on the skin after hours, and there is a bit of musk to connect them and balance the tartness of oakmoss and the dirty of patchouli. Why did they stop making scents like this for guys?!

Top notes: Pine, Lavender, Bergamot, Juniper, Coriander, Cumin
Heart notes: Carnation, Geranium, Jasmine, Rose, Basil, Marjoram, Thyme
Base notes: Patchouli, Oakmoss, Civet, Leather,  Amber, Musk, Frankincense 

Coriandre

What can one expect from a scent with a name so unassuming as Coriandre? Would it be green? Rustic? Funny? Refreshing? There is nothing particularly intriguing, mysterious or fashionable about that. You just have to try it on your skin to find out.

Coriandre is a great perfume, which I have overlooked for years. Despite the many good things I've heard of it, it did not appeal to me when I tried it for the first time. It simply didn't register. Years later, I came across it on the forgotten shelves of the neighbourhood parfumerie; and noticed that they had some stray old bottles pre-IFRA reformulation frenzy. Which is always a good news for a scent that is very likely to rely on oakmoss for its appeal, being green and all.

Well, as it turns out - IFRA or no IFRA - it would have probably not made much of a difference. Unless what Robin is saying is true, and this is already been reformulated beyond recognition by the early 90s.

Coriandre is not really a Chypre in the classical sense of the word. I don't even think I would classify it as a Chypre at all. Nor would I classify it as green, either. To me, Coriandre is a big, dirty, dusty rose. Maybe not that big either. And if it smells like any colour at all, it would be brown, not green. It is brown. And bitter.

Unbeknown to it, it is the mother of all of those godless, oakmossless modern "Chypres" - Agent Provocateur, Narciso Rodriguez, SJP Lovely and Chloe. A Chypre that relies on musk, patchouli and vetiver to tell its dry, bitter jokes and poke fun at rosy-cheeked naïveté, all the while being doused in rose itself. If you're into herbaceous, earthy floral perfumes, such as Aromatics Elixir- Coriandre is a very good (and affordable) substitute. It can be had for $38 for a 30ml bottle (and that's probably a rip-off, actually, comparing to how cheap you can get it elsewhere).

Top notes: Coriander seed, Angelica Heart notes: Rose, Jasmine, Orange Blossom
Base notes: Musk, Patchouli, Vetiver, Sandalwood

Chez Noir

Chez Noir stands out in Coeur d'Esprit perfumes that I've smelled, with it's very retro, animalic-floral smooth bouquet. What makes this perfume particularly unique is the aging process, something that you don't get to smell much in the fast-paced world. Thanks to several years of maturation (I believe this was created in 2007 and left to mature ever since), and the usage of ambergris, the perfume became very smooth, like a homogenous being with a life of its own. There is a seamless transition from one phase to another, which is the mark of a well-aged perfume. This goes to show you that time is everything in the world of perfume. And that's also the magic of animalic notes, in particular ambergris. You may not smell it in the composition, but it has a unique effect of connecting all the elements together beautifully.

Chez Noir (which I suppose means "Among Black" in French) begins with intriguing licorice accord - the traditional anise is paired with green and sweet tarragon, and piquant cardamom, leading into a smooth floral bouquet of rose, jasmine and ylang ylang in which no particular note stands out, but rather all three flowers give the perfume a put-together, cohesive feel. There is something fruity about it, but not as a syrupy fruit salad, but rather reminiscent of the dried fruit (peach, plum, apricot) you'd find when they just discovered the fruity aldehydes (vintage Femme comes to mind). Following the faux-dried-fruit-phase, a nutty, warm phrase emerges from underneath, hinting at the dry-woody base notes, which converses delicately with the licorice and jasmine.

Licorice is the heart and soul of Chez Noir, with sandalwood in an important supporting role. The sandalwood is rich, warm and spicy. Woody with only a slight hint at lumbar dust. The other striking element is patchouli: a beautifully aged one at that, smooth and musky, without the sharp musty edge that traditionally appeals to those who are trying to mask their pot-smoking habits.

Top notes: Anise, Tarragon, Cardamom
Heart notes: Rose, Jasmine, Ylang Ylang
Base notes: Sandalwood, Patchouli, Labdanum, Ambergris

Patchouli Magique

Russian scarf A LA RUSSE - Kristina Bazan (KAYTURE), a photo by MagnifiqueLilly on Flickr.

The lovely Muza has generously sent me samples to enjoy, including Russian perfumes which I have never been exposed to. It's wonderful to explore fragrances that I don't normally have access to. And among them, Patchouli Magique immediately grabbed my attention. If it wasn't for this, I would have continued to believe that the prime purpose of perfume in Russia is a vodka back-up.

Patchouli Magique is not a Bolshevik perfume. I'm still stumbling to find out when it was actually created - before or after the revolution or the perestroika or whatever the crumbling of the Soviet Union is referred to. All I know is that it's a fine patchouli fragrance that won't put to shame even the most niche houses out there. I wish I had it earlier when I was running the patchouli series - consider this a latecomer to the patchouli party!

Patchouli Magique enveloped me in a plush wrap made of soft yet rustic fabric. Like a hand-woven alpaca poncho. Or a woolen Russian scarf for that matter, with big roses printed all over it. Patchouli Magique is indeed magical - it's soothing yet sophisticated. Welcoming you with warm earthy notes of dry patchouli leaves; yet develops into warmer, sweeter notes of aged patchouli mingled with amber and sensuous musk. And a trail of sweet incense smoke weaves its way through - not the heavy resinous church incense; but rather a blend of sandalwood and flowers, reminiscent of the famous Nag Champa. Patchouli Magique is a delightful discovery in the patchouli genre, and is unusual in that it is simultaneously luxurious and sophisticated yet easy to wear and not in the least pretentious or overbearing. Being centred around a base note, its structure is not nearly as complex as classic French perfumes and such; but it is still dynamic rather than static; and provides something to ponder upon as you just immerse yourself in all those alluring notes and surrender to their powerful yet quiet beauty.

Patchouli Magique is made by Novaya Zarya, and being Russian, there got to be some fascinating history behind this house: originally Henri Brocard's company (a French perfumer that moved his business to Russia)*, it was renamed "Soap and Perfumery Factory No. 5" in 1917 (after the revolution); and then "Novaya Zarya (New Dawn) in 1922, under which title they first released Krasnaya Moskva (Red Moscow) - the first Soviet perfume.

* The story of this brand is kinda like the reverse of Ernest Beaux, whose family's perfume business, A. Rallet&Co. before the revolution; and "Soap and Perfumery Factory No. 7" in 1918, and eventually - Svoboda (Freedom)

Sweet Breath

Illusioned, a photo by Diana Pinto on Flickr.

Anima Dulcis (Sweet Soul in Latin) was one of those rare things in the perfume world: love at first sniff. And that first sniff began intriguingly with cumin, a note so rarely used in perfume, and when it does is considered a daring choice. It's not-always favourable association with sweat is precisely what makes cumin compelling to me. It makes it more human and accessible on a personal level.
The love at first whiff is not so much because of the cumin, but more so with how it is orchestrated with iris and earthy-ambery base that brings to mind non other than the reformulated Femme de Rocahs (1989). In the latter, there is something audaciously over-the-top and a tad plastic-y.
Anima Dulcis, however, is everything I could hope that version of Femme would transform to on my skin and better. The cocoa plays greater role in the ad copy (a Mexican theme of chocolate and chilli) than in the perfume: it's merely in the background, creating a layer of soft-focused dusting to complement the powdery orris, indolic jasmine and liberating hedione, and leading to a sensual, earthy finale of dark patchouli of the best kind and the bitterness of arcane myrrh resin.
Discovering it was like meeting an old friend I was searching for a long time. A consoling moment. And to me the name is more of a suggestion that there is an echo to our soul somewhere, whether or not we're aware of it.

Top notes: Cumin, Black Pepper, Ylang Ylang
Heart notes: Jasmine, Cinnamon, Orris Root
Base notes: Vanilla, Patchouli, Benzoin, Myrrh, Cacao

Hanami Sachets

Hanami Sachets, a photo by Ayala Moriel on Flickr.

It only took me 2 years from when I received these incredible fabrics (vintage kimono silk) from Japan, to actually making and filling them.

They are hand-stitched (I still need to sew a few more), so very labour intense - a labour of love, if you will. But that's not the true reason for my procrastination. I just did not know what to fill them with!

The solution was partly serendipity, and partly luck. On my last day in Berkeley, I visited Yuko Fukami. She generously gifted me with high-quality Japanese herbs, spices and resins that she in turn received from our mutual friend Ross Urrere. In true Japanese fashion, she beautifully wrapped them with wax-paper, similar to how a TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine) doctor packages his custom-dosed powdered "herbs" (for all I know, these can range from true herbs and plant matter to minerals and crushed sea-horses, tiger bones, dragon's tails and other mythical creatures body parts).


Upon my return to Vancouver, I immediately set to mix together these glorious components, as well as some of my own stashed-away botanicals: dried ume (Japanese sour plum) blossoms, whole tonka beans, and others that for now will remain secret. Crushing the tonka beans with a marble set of mortar-and-pestle was a truly sensual experience. Although there is mostly coumarin in tonka, there is also something else that is nutty and spectacular that you just don't get from the isolate/synthetic molecule alone. I love it! French chefs grate it on microplane and add to chocolate desserts (ganaches, macarons, ice-creams...). In North America it is illegal to use it due to carcinogenic effects. Personally, I think that we are exposed to far more dangerous carcinogens in daily life (your seemingly innocent ink on your grocery receipts has a plastic that is highly carcinogenic, as are most cans used to preserve foods). So I don't feel bad at all making myself a tonka-dessert once in a blue moon.


The sachets were supposed to be a studio-exclusive for my Hanami tea party. Unfortunately, we had to cancel it and will host it either in early May, or next year... So you can now get them online on my virtual boutique. These are very limited edition - I only have enough fabrics and filling for 12 sachets.

The Japanese used incense and sachets just like that to scent their kimonos and stationary so that they will be recognized for their good taste by their lovers (or suiters)... Use these sachets to scent your lingerie drawer, linen closet or stationary. You can also throw it in your suitcase when traveling, or tuck into a wool sweater or jacket's pocket for a lingering scent and to keep moths at bay.

Pathouly Indonesiano

Arjuna, a photo by timekin on Flickr.

Pathouly Indonesiano by Farmacia SS. Annunziata dal 1561

There were a few other patchoulis I wanted to try and close the patchouli series with – namely – Hindu Grass (Nasomato), Reminiscence, Purple Patcholi (Tom Ford), and the Hermessences Patchouli that one day Jean-Claude Elena will come up with (he will, right?). But, alas, I was not able to find a tester or a sample of them in my vicinity.

I stumbled upon Patchouli Indonesiano at Scent Bar, who discovered them in one of their trips to Firenze. It’s by an old Italian pharmacy brand that I’ve never heard of before, and that produces. They have a rather lengthy name: Farmacia SS. Annunziata dal 1561. And yes, the name alludes to its rather archaic historic origin sometime in the 16th century in a Benedictine monastery, which developed into their modern incarnation as cosmetics providers - their preparations range from face and body moisturizing lotions and toners to shaving to sunscreen products. And of course, true to form - they produce the much more sophisticated incarnation of aqua mirabillis: They have a couple of other predictable single notes themes that are not surprising (Ambra Nera, Vaniglia del Madagascar) but most of the names are actually far more exotic and imaginative. And if all are as well made as this Patchouly – then the is truly worth exploring!

Patchouly Indonesiano is a real, hard-core patchouli, that brings to mind upturned soil yet with a captivatingnutty opulence that make stand out. There is a certain sweetness to it – from benzoin, perhaps, and later in the scene you might notice a mere hint of sandalwood... But overall, all you’d smell is patchouli with much depth, redolent of dark red wine with spicy undertones. A must for patchouli lovers and haters alike – you might be surprised. Patchouli at its best is glorious, and the best comes from Indonesia.

Noir Patchouli

hypnotic bokeh wallpaper, a photo by mav_at on Flickr.

In my recent visit to Scent Bar to pick up a birthday gift for my brother, Laura and Steven have given me a few samples – 2 of them being of patchouli scents with which I’d like to close the patchouli series.

Noir Patchouli by Histoires de Parfums is a more of a study in dry chypre than it is a patchouli per se. It opens with a very perfumey, old-world blast of blushed, rosy cheeks and fatty aldehydes, bringing to mind floral chypres of the caliber of Aromatics Elixir. Yet, there is a dry spiciness to it all that stops it from being cloying.

Coriander and aldehydes are the dominant first notes, underlined by a honeyed, lush rose absolute. The dry patchouli layer underneath it all is always apparent yet not exactly obvious as you’d expect from a perfume of that title. There is also a hint of tobacco leaf, or vetiver, or both; as well as hints of jasmine and indole – giving it an earthy, bitter tonality that at firstshifts its balance from smelling muddy and overcrowded to intriguingly light and well-composed, until it settles on the latter, once a dry musk takes the reins and disperses the rose into like dust particles that lift up from an unused leather seat that’s finally been claimed by its absent owner.

While I do find the initial blast of aldehyes more than a tad overbearing, it is worth trying it on for what’s to become of Noir Patchouli later on: a modern take on the patchouli-rose of yesteryear, updated with contemporary musks and acrid leather-woody notes that both complement the patchouli and bring the rose its due respect. It brings to mind other favourites from the musk-rose-faux-chypre genre, namely Agent Provocateur; yet while the latter demands to be worn by a lady, Noir Patchouli could be quite easily pulled off by a man, as long as they can handle a few mintues of oily aldehydes.

Top notes: Aldehydes, Coriander
Heart notes: Rose, Jasmine
Base notes: Patchouli, Tobacco, Vetiver, Musk

White Patchouli

Tom Ford's White Patchouli comes with a surprisingly subtle ad, which - while very beautiful as an image, left me a bit puzzled:  the white porcelain-like bottle is sported by a very dark skinned female model. What is that suppose to mean? That the woman aspires to be white?!

Aside from that play on black and white, and taking a rather dark note and giving it a "white" name - there is nothing in White Pathouli to make me think of the full colour spectrum otherwise. I would have expected a play on the clean dryout note of some thin patchoulis. Rather, what I'm getting from White Patchouli reminds me a great deal of the mushroomy, berry-like ensemble of Black Orchid. If it was called "White Orchid" I would have been less dismayed at the contents of the white bottle, as patchouli barely resembles its sillouhette here. Instead, what reaches my nose at first is wine-y and resinous opoponax, berry notes and an overall fruitchouli nonsense. Let it sit a few minutes, and the more dry note quietly slithers its way with an ashen patchouli feel to it, but very plasticized and surrounded some other vague floral woods, perhaps rosewood. It's nothing offensive, but doesn't come close to the glorious richness and evocative mystery that so many other patchouli themed perfumes that I've described here before bring to the patchouli patch. The final drydown is a non descript wood with allusion to washed-out patchouli, oakmoss and musk with a masculine tendencies - but not what they now refer to as "unapologetically masculine", if you get my drift.

Chocolate Sunset

Scorching Sunset, a photo by Ayala Moriel on Flickr.

Chocolate Sunset was created by Sarah Horowitz Parfums especially for the LA Artisan Fragrance Salon. It's part of her Banque de Parfums phenomenon: exclusive monthly limited edition perfumes that are created for her loyal customers. Every month you can find something new and exciting coming out of Sarah's studio in Westlake Village - and is replaced by a new, singular experience the following month.




To quote from Sarah herself: "Chocolate Sunset is our nod to the final glorious days of summer and the richness of fall; two seasons that collide in September, neither yielding to the other as they put on a show of their beauty".

Chocolate Sunset, just as Sarah described it in her own words, is mostly a base notes perfume. You will immediately smell patchouli, Sarah's all-time favourite (as I learned from my visit to her studio along with Persephenie and Miriam). She has many different patchouli accords in her organ, and has created more patchouli perfumes that I could recount - including some private label and custom perfumes she created for her "Fragrance Journey" customers. From her steady collections - you can enjoy Love Comes from Within (a spicy, dry oriental that is based on patchouli, carnation and cloves, with a nod to the timeless Tabu and Cinnabar), and the surprisingly dry Perfect Bliss.

But it wouldn't be Chocolate Sunset without cacao! And while patchouli is immediately recognized - from the vial as well as upon application - it's the chocolate that acts as a "top note" to intrigue and almost has a "come hither" role. The darker side of chocolate is extended by an oud accord, dark and resinous and animalic, which leads us to the musky finish: Egyptian musk, which is what lingers the longest and creates a clean, skin-scent quality, still with some woodsy warmth. But eventually it's the musk that takes over. It's never obviously gourmand; nothing like Angel either as you'd expect from the chocolate and patchouli marriage, which might be due to the tiny hint of jasmine, which seems to simply have a bouquetting effect if recognized at all. It's a mellow, cozy yet sexy scent that can be worn in the heat wave of Los Angeles in September, and will lead you through a cooler fall anywhere else with warmth and ease.


 
Sarah Horowitz-Thran (right) and Miriam Varledzis (left) 

Who Needs a Boyfriend?!

When Boyfriend perfume came out, the story behind it as I recall was that Kate Walsh (not sure who she is - Comedian? Actress? Singer? All of the above?) longed for a long gone boyfriend's smell and thus created a perfume that will remind her of the shirt he leaves behind.

It's comforting to know that not only I sniff old boyfriend's sweaters (blush); and also, unlike the endless possibilities of cheesy videos that a perfume with such name could have rendered - I think it has a brilliant marketing campaign: It walks the tightrope of being nostalgic and emotional to a fault yet laughs at oneself while at it. Which is a healthy balance when delving into the dangerous world of romance. Even the packaging is well done - the bottle, engraved with a long list of popular Anglo-Saxone names (if you haven't dated them all, please circle the one that best applies). The only thing they overlooked in that regard is a big red marker to circle around the boyf's name/s that apply to you... I suppose I will have to source mine elsewhere.  But either way - the bottom line is that the whole campaign made me have a good laugh. Which is most welcome when it comes to the most "serious" matters of the heart... 

I guess all in all, I was the perfect target for this product: endlessly single gal in her 30's, career oriented, pretty hopeless when it comes to romance, and pathetically smelling old boyfriend's t-shirt when nobody's watching... Well, mine has gone stale long ago. I was so worried that the perfume will disappoint me that it took me another year to come closer to it (responding with a big smiling recoil at the daring dose of patchouli). And remembering that, I had to come back for a real try this week to complete my patchouli series.

Boyfriend begins with a robust fruity notes of dark plum, underscored with massive amounts of resinous benzoin - a sheer foundation for the most popular amber personality of the decade - "crystalline amber"*, whose sweetness can only be forgiven as it's anchored in a woody, dry, musky notes: bitter myrrh, reminiscent of the tears of sacrificial love that every woman worth her salt has put into a relationship only to find out that yet again, it isn't working; patchouli, to reminisce after his patchouli-lade Eau Sauvage aftershave (I'm just making things up... If I met a man who uses Eau Sauvage aftershave I would be single no more!). Vanilla kicks in shortly after the myrrh, but it's rather full-bodied and thick, bringing to mind real vanilla extract with a powdery heliotropin finish.

And lastly, Boyfriend dries into a clean patchouli and musk cocktail, that is not too uncommon for present day, but quite nicely done - a clean skin scent that is not unlike Pure Turquoise, though with a much warmer beginnings.

Boyfriend is surprisingly well-done, not just in comparison to other celebrity scents, but even just as it is. It's refreshing to see a celebrity taking her scent so seriously and bringing so much humour to a rather sore subject - kudos to her! Please don't kill it with meaningless flankers! (too late...?).  

*Crystalline amber is the kind that is light on the sweet resinous animalic aspects of labdanum, rendering its amberiness from fraction distillation of labdanum, which are more transparent, woody and clear in colour as well - plus some synthetics that I won't get into right now)

Prada Ambre Intense Pour Homme

Lighthouse Park, a photo by jimoftheday on Flickr.

Is it randomness or is it fate, which will forever link a certain fragrance with a certain place? Perhaps even a little of both... But the result is the same, and will forever be engrained in my brain, psyche, heart - call it what you may.

Prada Ambre Intense Pour Homme is not exactly what you'd wear on a hike on a sunny and warm May day, but that's precisely what I will forever associate it with. Sitting on the rocks and trying to figure out what's in it - and whether I like it or not.

I'm re-visiting it again tonight, after stopping at Oakridge Mall on the way to the train station. Historic moment, by the way: in an unprecedented moment, a sales associate at The Bay has voluntarily offered to take $10 off a bottle just to make a sale... Three hours later, I wish I took her up on that.

Prada Ambre Intense Pour Homme begins like a mist of citrus peel with florals thrown in the mix - the familiar crystalline feel of bergamot, and some tangering and orange. Non of which is strong enough, of course, to cover up the brownie, chocolatey, delicious earthiness that's lurking underneath.

First comes amber, with a load of benzoin; then the bergamot makes a second entrance, only to be pushed away by a clean, woody patchouli that almost smells like cedar. The amber and patchouli remain the main components for the next three hours, feeling a little too crystalline and transparent to my taste at first; but becoming more bold and dominant and deep, with only sandalwood occasionally making some white noise, and vanilla that is almost chocolatey and edible. Lastly, a familiar note of vetiver joins in and adds an extra layer of wood that is clean, elegant and delightful.

Prada Ambre Intense Pour Homme has a long and clumsy name, but it's well constructed, with a structure similar to the great Shalimars of the past, and could be easily worn by both men and women, as long as they go hiking with it.

Coromandel

Parlez-moi d'amour, a photo by Le Petit Musée de Columbus on Flickr.

Back when Chanel's Les Exclusifs came out, I wrote about Coromandel: "a modern oriental much in the vain of Prada and Allure Sensuelle, but one that I can stomach without gagging. If I happen to change my mind about it I will let you know. Promise".

Well, I haven't changed my mind. But since the patchouli series is still going, I thought I'll give it a more proper wearing and describe it in slightly more detail than before.

Coromandel has a funny name and is a thin, rather non inspiring oriental if there ever was one. Beginning with a floral-fruity mess that quickly leads to the patchouli premise everyone is hoping for, it does so with the assistance of agricultural-smelling molecules of upturned soil (geosmin?) that hints at less appetizing visions of sugar plums developing mold on the ground in late fall. Fruit and dirt might be a fertile combination, but not for the nose...

Once the chemicals quiet down, you can sense more of the patchouli, with what seems to have been its usual-accomplice (benzoin) and richer powdery vanillin that will pitch in only later.

I know Coromandel has its die-hard fans somewhere, but to me it was a very under-satisfying experience, even after the fruitsy notes left the stage. I would have expected something more polished, lacquered and poised with sophistication and depth - even if it has such a funny sounding name. In efforts to please the crowds, the result is less than pleasing and not quite befitting of the Chanel legacy. Pity, because I think it had a full potential of being one of those Chanel big-guns - Coco, for example; but instead tries to reach the younger audience of patchouli wannabes that can't tell musk from amber.

Patchoulissime

Powder Puff Flowers, a photo by Stigter_H on Flickr.

Keiko Mecheri’s rendition of the patchouli theme is significantly different from other niche houses’ offerings: it is dominated by clean musks and flowers, which almost take away from its patchoulesque cleanliness and woody dryness. Far more complex than others in its genre – if blind-tested, you’d probably place it elsewhere – in the floral powdery family, perhaps.

Borneo 1834

Chocolate Caramel Painting, a photo by dpstevenson2 on Flickr.

Resinous chocolate milk filled with oozing caramel, on a pretense of being bittersweet… Only saving point is its dusty cocoa powdery note, and an underlying masculine-oriented notes of tobacco and some synthetic musks.

Here is the thing with evolving taste and being exposed to so much more: it takes away from the pleasure that “beginner’s luck” brings. I remember liking Borneo a lot and finding more patchouli in it when I first smelled it. It was this unabashed, shamelessly patchouli scent. But now it feels as if there is not enough patchouli in it….

Patchouli & Amber Cologne Intense

Joyness, a photo by ceca67 on Flickr.

Jo Malone's newish "Cologne Intense" collection came out in August 2010, in noir bottles, of course. Although the names are the usual Jo Malone formula (One Ingredient & Another Cologne), they are concentrated around heavier scents and are not nearly as "British" and scrubbed-clean as under Jo Malone's artistic direction (the company was sold to Estee Lauder, and ever since then there were a few uncharacteristic scents that came to play, at times interesting - such as Sweet Lime & Cedar or Blue Agave & Cacao; and at other times just very pretentious, as if trying to keep up with the "Niche look" headed by Tom Ford and the like. Meaning - that everything has to be "Noir" this or "Noir" that and have a heavy dose of patchouli or synthetic oud and amber - which has come to be represent with "luxury". In reality, these are pale imitations of what the true raw materials would smell like, thinned out (or completely replaced, whenever possible) by their synthetic imitations.

Patchouli & Amber is no exception. It brings nothing new to the table (except for being the first and only patchouli offering under the Jo Malone brand) and it is paired with crowd-pleasing amber, which dominates it in a similar manner Prada’s eponymous scent does. It doesn’t hurt anyone to have a god amber scent around; but it by no means provide anything new and interesting (which Dark Amber & Ginger Lily already did). From a curator’s point of view – it’s really quite pointless. But I’m sure the accounting department would be in favour of such a scent.

Patchouli & Amber has all the usual suspects: Overdose of thin, caramel-like benzoin with hints of dark Indonesian or Indian patchouli, an under-dose of resinous Spanish labdanum. It’s as disappointing as Prada as far as representing patchouli goes. And the amber is nothing interesting either. Very pleasant and easy to wear – yes; but interesting? No. There is really very little to write home about, and the only reason I’m writing about is because of the patchouli theme that’s been lingering in SmellyBlog’s quarters. My favourite from these "Cologne Intense" bunch remains Rosewater & Vanilla (which I will write about at another time).

Patchouli, Plastic, Prada

la diva.., a photo by luana183 on Flickr.

Initially, I picked to review this perfume because it's in my "patchouli file". But after repeated applications, and especially after reviewing the other patchouli fragrances, I'm discovering it's on the very other end of the patchouli spectrum, where light, amber and sheer plastic flowers meet for a little public display of affection.

Prada opens a little more floral than expected. Not any particular floral, but more of the floral top notes that amber accords tends to have: the lilac-and-epoxy-glue symphony from liquidambar (aka styrax) and an overall sheer, crystalline effect. If there is any patchouli in there it's completely secondary. The resins are taking centre stage, and while they are sweet, they also have a certain transparency about them that is more woody than foody. It has a simple, flat personality from an overdoze of benzoin (a caramal-like resin that has an understated, powdery yet lasting effect), and peru balsam (which is a thinner and flatter vanilla, with hints of woods). The patchouli has only a balancing act: contributing dryness counterpoint like a throaty red wine with vanilla poached pear. It whispers, never shouts. It gives the vanilla way too much elbow room and as a result the perfume feels very flat - a flat amber accord with dry nuances from patchouli.

The vanilla intensifies over time and becomes a little syrupy only half an hour in. I really wish there was more dry presence to make it ever so slightly less ambery. Prada's other flankers might be more intriguing in that regard (especially the Ambre Pour Homme Intense), but still - it's very decidedly agreeable, which comes at the expense of intrigue or mischief. It smells extremely similar to Dior Addict's vinyl and pleather vanilla theme; and very much like Notorious, just less aquatic and without that dusting of cocoa.

There is no shortage of amber scents in the world in 2004, when Prada debuted, and although I can't pretend it's groundbreaking and I've never even managed to get through half of my 2ml sample - there was certainly refreshing to observe its commercial success despite the fact that it was neither a nondescript floral nor a foody fruity floral. And a lot of others followed with patchouli-centered fragrances, which quickly turned into the much dreaded (though still better than the previous) "fruitchoulis" - those faux "chypre" compositions that juxtapose the mass appeal of candy and fruit notes with an ever so slightly sophisticated scent of natural patchouli and perhaps a few other surprises that none of us would ever sign up for (watery notes, anyone?), such as Black Orchid (Tom Ford), Notorioius (Ralph Lauren) and more.

I find the abundance of flankers from this label confusing at best, but I shall try the Prada Intense to see if it's more patchouli-centered (and hopefully also more to my liking).

Patchouli Days

Someone turned up the heat in Vancouver, and must have also switched the "patchouli" button in me because I'm still craving this musky, pungent and unusual note for over a week.

While taking advantage of whatever little is left of Film Noir sugar scrubs on my bath tab shelf, I dab a tad of Film Noir parfum on to complete the patchouli theme - resinous, thick and rather ancient patchoulis paired with chocolate and benzoin.

But the more "experimental" thing to try in this unusual weather was a spray on each armpit with "Refresh" by Yuko Fukami (Parfum Phyto). She made this special blend as a deodorant, and although don't know everything that's in it, I can tell you that it smells like a lovely melange of lavender, ylang ylang and pathcouli - and thankfully none is particularly strong (I'm not a fan of strongly scented deodorants); yet the patchouli lingers on nicely and beautifully masks the musky eau de armpits. At least it did in the last two days, which were the hottest of the year so far! And that's very impressive for an all-natural deodorant (which can be usually deemed useless).

Angel

I’ve been postponing for years reviewing Angel – because it is not only such a huge commercial hit and an icon with a huge cult following; but also because of its divisive nature. People either love it with a passion, or hate it with just an equal amount of gusto.

Reading through previous notes I made in attempts to describe it might shed some light on my own ambivalence towards it. But first – some background information about how I met Angel. It was introduced to me by a perfume-loving friend. She had blue streaks in her jet-black hair, and the sweet-tooth equivalent in perfume taste. It was at the time when I began going crazy for perfume myself, and I was mostly dousing myself with heavy Orientals: there was not a day without either Shalimar or Samsara, and I craved those perfumed sweets with an ongoing hunger. Angel should have fit right there with all that yumminess; except that it was – well; too much. And although I enjoyed the unsolicited compliments about how good I smelled (from people about 5 meters away from my vicinity) - Angel was one of those rare perfumes I had to return to the store because it did cause me headache at the time, not to mention would never leave my coat’s sleeves, forever clashing with the next day’s scent.

So here are some previoius thoughts on the subject of Angel:

“If you want to be possessed by an angel put some of Thierry Mugler's first fragrance on. It will occupy all the olfactory space around you and leave a visibly blue trail of synthetic chocolate scent behind you. Deliciously sweet chocolate, caramel and honey are strangely balanced by less appetizing notes of patchouli and watery, slightly musty helonial. Most recommended for those on extreme carb-free diet”.

Or:

“Angel is the proof that too much of a good thing can indeed be quite bad. Chocolate, honey and caramel – who would have thought that these could be worn as a deadly weapon?”

And:

“This cutting edge, trend setting Gourmand should be praised for its originality, but not for subtlety or finesse. It’s easy to cross the line – it takes only a few misty droplets from the with a fraction of a spritz - between mouthwatering, naïve sweet tooth seduction to a repulsive blue chemical acid – reeking of patchouli in doses that can cause an eating disorder*.

*Patchouli is known for its effect on the appetite and is used in aromatherapy to control and regulate it. Over exposure to patchouli can cause nausea and pathological lack of appetite.

To try Angel anew after many years of feeling about it as the above feelings of “it’s too much” requires much open-mindedness, which apparently I’m not short of. And so the opportunity arose just a few days ago.

It was a warm evening at the beach, and a friend brought me a little sample to try (a token from a faux-admirer of hers, which is another story altogether…). I felt compelled to give it another try, and with the comfort of knowing I can always tone it down in saltwater I gave my right writs a spritz, and rubbed this on to my left one. To use any other word but “sweet” is impossible to describe the opening: a mixture of cotton candy, honey nougat and caramel is what I would have experienced for a while; with only slight floral hints of anisaldehyde, and spacious helional that imparts an ozone-like character. There is something oddly clean underneath it all though, which balances the sweetness in a quite surprising way, as well as a barely-there acid blackberry accord and a hit of bergamot. Crystalline amber accord, with a certain clean woody aspect to it. And there’s also the marzipan, buttery-powdery sweetness of coumarin to anchor that floralcy and spiciness from the anisaldehyde.

And then comes patchouli; which is the redeeming point of this otherwise overtly sugary-sweet concoction. Patchouli that you would smell on your skin for hours and hours – soft, musky, seductive. Real patchouli, thank goodness. So, ladies – and gentlemen – if you wish to try this scent, I recommend you use the lightest of hand (one dab will suffice to perfume your entire aura so do not go overboard!).

It is not till now that I can see references and suggestions towards non other than the grand Shalimar – as if this was a modern homage to this overt luxury: ethyl maltol takes vanillin’s place on the synthetics front; and patchouli creates a contrast and a balance similar to what the leather and castoreum note did in Shalimar, and tonka bean is replaced completely by synthetic coumarin. And it also does not feel nearly as linear as before (though it is still rather linear), with some notes (honey, anisaldehyde for instance) appearing in the beginning and quickly dissipating (mostly into pathcouli, coumarin and ethyl maltol). And in both, bergamot plays a big role balancing the sweetness of the base and core. Interestingly, although it is often touted as a “patchouli and chocolate perfume”, it is well-known industry “secret” that it’s mostly about ethyl maltol (aka Veltol) and patchouli, and although the chocolate impression was requested by Thierry Mugler in the brief, there is no actual cacao or chocolate accord in the formulae…

Love Angel or hate it – one thing is for certain: Since its conception in 1992 (by perfumers Olivier Cresp and Yves de Chiris), Angel has changed the modern world of perfume, and in particular the Gourmand genre more than any other perfume. There is no distinct floral note in Angel (unless you have a very well-trained nose to notice some of the floral nuances), and it relies heavily on food-like elements. After Angel came many sensational gourmand perfumes such as Lolita Lempicka and Yohji, as well as the masculine versions of all three. And less sensational fragrances that took the gourmand and patchouli into various direction – from the more adventurous – albeit sickening - aquatic & fruit patchouli mess (as in Coco Mademoiselle and many of her other copycats) to fruity and candy-like gourmands that are endorsed by every other celebrity on the planet.

You can also read more insights into Angel’s significance in Bois de Jasmin’s excellent article on the subject.