The smell of befuddlement

Had a busy morning yesterday doing site stuff and loading the new anti-viris protection on to my computer (I've used Kaspersky for the past two years, after McAfee let in a pain-in-the-ass virus and never answered my emails -- took a computer-savvy friend a whole afternoon to find an antidote, install it and get rid of the nasty).

Anyway, amidst all this activity, I kept noticing that something smelled strange in the house. Not totally bad, but a ever so slightly irritating -- and just I couldn't place what it was.

As I went about my various activities, I was getting more and more perplexed: that smell was slightly fresh and slightly floral and slightly off and odd, but not anything I could identify. I did some samples, wrapped a package, hung the laundry to dry, made tea a couple of times, etc, etc.

Finally, it occurred to me to smell the daffodils sitting on the table. Aha. There is was: I have two vases of daffs. Assumed they had no fragrance. That'll teach me to assume.

I love the smell of the daffodil's visual cousin, narcissus, but the lovely yellow blooms smell off-kilter, with ... a splash of urine. How startling.

I wasn't aware of any perfumes smelling of daffodils and now I know why. I love the papery, almost sour-powdery animal smell of narcissus: it's strange and interesting and beautiful.

The daffs look lovely -- and a couple of bunches can currently be had for under £2.

But, alas, by evening I realised I had caught some sort of lurgy that has me aching and sore-eyed (been feeling odd the past few days and now I know why) -- and I think the smell of the daffs has contributed to the intensity of it and some squeamishness. So, I don't think I'll ever be able to buy them again now.

"I am the Cinnamon Peeler's Wife. Smell Me."

Been thinking about cinnamon -- a lot. Go figure. Maybe it's because Mother Nature is laughing at me and it is very cold again. Could be because I've been baking.

When I was a child, one of my favourite breakfasts was cinnamon toast: toast spread with butter and then sprinkled with some sugar and cinnamon. If you got the balance of cinnamon and sugar right, it wasn't too sweet but the roughness of the cinnamon was cut nicely.

My mum also put cinnamon in plain yogurt for us to eat -- again, with a bit of sugar. I think that's why I prefer plain yogurt, with maybe a bit of honey or cinnamon, as an adult.

Years later, when I was seeing an acupunturist after my son was born, she recommended that I eat more cinnamon, to warm myself up. It takes a lot of energy to look after a newborn and, as you know, I get cold easily. So, I was to eat more cinnamon and ginger to help things along.

I once bought cinnamon bark tea with the expectation of a very cinnamony black tea flavour. No such luck. Turned out to be both almost flavourless and scentless. Truly odd. And very disappointing. I consider it unfair when something that promises fragrance doesn't provide it.

Lots of gourmand fragrances have a hit of cinnamon, which can be quite lovely. On me, Tauer Perfumes' Une Rose Chypree is a wonderful astringent but warm rose-cinnamon veil.

The title of today's post comes from a poem by one of my absolute favourite writers, Michael Ondaatje. The poem is called The Cinnamon Peeler and you can find the full version by doing a web search. I'm not going to quote any more of it  here -- go find it and have a read. Truly beautiful.

Discombobulation

Yes, it's a word. Even my British english dictionary thinks so. It means to disturb, to disconnect. I'm not feeling that strongly, but I just have a lot to do, in different places, and I think Mother Nature is getting back at me for saying March had come in like a lamb.

I've also noticed something really strange happens when I try to access some of the blogs: they go whacky and start to replicate. This has, so far, only happened with those hosted on Blogspot. Has anyone else had trouble with a Blogspot blog? I'm wondering if they are harboring a virus. Please let me know.  This happened when I tried to open Style-Spy and Pink Manhattan. Have had to run extra anti-virus scans. Irritating.

NowSmellThis has an interesting thread on over-saturation of the perfume market and personal choices of the best releases from the past ten years (www.nstperfume.com).

I'm just about to give up on lipstick and just stick to tinted lip balm. I have quite pigmented lips for someone who is rather pale in contrast to very dark brown hair with a fair bit of grey. So, if you have a suggestion for a sheer lipstick (not gloss, please) I'd very much appreciate it. I've tried things like Lipstick Queen Medieval, which doesn't look right. So, I think I need a sheer light berry. Anyway, many thanks in advance for any suggestions.

Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Freezia d'Or

One of the other samples I was sent recently, along with the MPG Soie Rouge that I blogged about several days ago, was Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Freezia d'Or. Long long ago I think I liked freesias, when I was a teenager. Not now.

I'm definitely with the hard-ass editor in The Devil Wears Prada: Miranda didn't like freesias.

As soon as I put this on my wrist, the back of my throat started to itch. That's what we're starting from.

Anyway, I think freesias are nice enough looking. They last pretty well as cut flowers in water (not that I've bought them in a long time). There are a number of different colours, so you get choice.

If you haven't smelled them, freesias are sweet, not ethereal, with a underslip of very soft powder.

This is part of the Les Accords Mysteres grouping on the MPG website, which I don't get at all. There's a straight up floral grouping, which is where I would have naturally grouped it. It's.Not.Mysterious.

FdO on me starts out straight up sweet and slightly mettalic powder. Warm and sweet. Powdery and sweet. Almost the smell of those powdery candies you grind between your teeth which make the sides of your tongue hurt.

There's something lemony in this, but not tart lemon -- actually, lemon drop candy (can we feel a trend) and a bit of mint.

I don't usually push what I'm smelling so much when I'm sampling but it was necessary to get past the sweet metallic powder.

I think this is fragrance rudeness: not that the perfume itself is rude (or skanky or pongy), rather I feel the need to be rude to it. I feel irritated and I am being rude.

I had difficulty finding a notes list for this. Bits and pieces add up to freesia, green notes, tuberose and musk.

And, you know: I'm going to  have to wash this off. I have very mild asthma. The only times I ever get breathless now and need my meds are during infrequent very bad colds. Perfume never bothers me -- until this. My chest is getting tight. Off to take a shower.

Celebration

Yesterday evening, I pitched up for a celebratory dinner with two friends at the Empress of India (yeah, I know, I have a 'thing' for this place, same as for Bea's of Bloomsbury).

The point was to toast, so to speak, a number of positive events experienced by each of us during the past few months.

After a three-bus journey (it seemed the best method at the time) I rolled into the restaurant 15 minutes late knowing Alison and Jane would be even later for our 6 PM reservation (the downside of working in the research deparment of an investment bank -- the upside being fairly obvious).

I settled in with a glass of Prosecco, the bread basket and my current book, with the Blackberry propped on the table and blipping every now and again to let me know of their progress. They rolled in just around 7.

Once they had their own glasses, we started in -- the toast and the discussions about all and sundry.

I've known both women for a fair number of years, but interestingly don't know that much about either. So, each time we get together something new pops up.

Both have been tremendously supportive of me regarding the website -- and both are customers, to my immense pleasure.

Jane is a Tauer girl, having fallen hard for L'Air du Desert Marocain immediately after sampling.

Alison seems to prefer citrus, having purchased Lostmarc'h Din Dan and Hilde Soliani's beautiful and strange Stecca.

It gives me no end of delight to have introduced these friends to the world of niche perfumes and to have been the enabler in their pleasure.

Anyway, we did a few hours of wine and lovely food, and they got to tease me mercilessly about my newest reading material (no, I'm still not going to say what it is -- can't go there).

I got home quite late last night (thank goodness the man-cub is still stomping through mud in Kent) and woke this morning, stumbled down the stairs and made tea. No breakfast, as the food, wine and talk had left me wonderfully full. Around noontime, I finally felt as if I needed something to eat.

A wonderful evening -- with a bit of the bitter-sweet, as Jane will be moving away from England soon. In all, though, a true celebration.

Does 'in like a lamb' mean 'out like a lion'?

Well, February certainly left like a lion here: pounding rain and gale-force winds. Yesterday, however, the 1st of March, was sunny and calm. Weather's supposed to be the same today. Wonder if that has some sort of mystical meaning: reversal of the cosmos etc. According to the BBC website, we're in for a bouncy ride over the next week, though.

The wonderful woman who enabled me regarding my big decant of Dior Eau Noire (I've got 30ml of the juice, which will hold me for a good while, I think) also sent along some surprises, including a sample of Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Soie Rouge. Now, every MPG I've tried until now hasn't loved me, which is fine by me. The less I yearn for perfume-wise, the better.

I don't love Soie Rouge but it is interesting and not a little surprising -- at least to start out with.

This was released in 1988. Created by Jean Laporte it is powdery, but this powder has absolutely nothing to do with babies.

Notes include peach, exotic fruits, pineapple, carnation, iris, heliotrope, apricot, jasmine, musk, sandalwood and ambergris.

When I was looking around for a notes list, I happened upon a very brief review on the Bois de Jasmin blog from 2005. The comment in her post that stood out to me is that the characteristic musk of MPGs overwhelmed this. I kept that in mind through the development of Soie Rouge on my skin.

To start off with, this is peppery carnation on me and, indeed, very powdery -- and, there is something papery and rough, like fur smoothed the wrong way. I think the powder is the work of the pepper-carnation combo. It isn't unpleasant. It is, however, very heavy for a top of a perfume.

From the get-go, this is decidedly carnal. Carnation can have that aspect, but I haven't experienced it so up front in a fragrance.

After around an hour, the papery (iris-heliotrope?) aspect settles down somewhat and I get an inkling of pineapple (really, I do). And, this becomes more strongly musky. I think the muskiness interferes with the carnation, which is too bad.

After a good 4-5 hours, this falls off a cliff. It just becomes a soft peppery musk scent. Close to the skin, a bit silky, this has lost all of its initial power and uniqueness.

Even though I could never see myself buying this, at least at the beginning it had some oomph and distinctiveness.

This comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.  With regard to weather, that's a good thing. As to perfume, no, it's not. Too bad. Really too bad.

Penhaligon's Amaranthine

My son set off this morning for Kent for 2.5-day visit with his school class to an educational/environmental centre. Deep, deep excitement. He had trouble getting to sleep last night. Was up with the birds this morning. Jumped up and down repeating the name of where he was going. Got a text at midday from school saying they've arrived etc. I am sooooo tired.

Load of things done this morning: the bank, the post office, etc.

Got to have lunch at Bea's of Bloomsbury as a reward for the fact I can still stand up. Brought home a piece of their chocolate brownie cheesecake. Nirvana. If you're ever passing by and they have it -- don't hesitate.

And then, I finally got a sample of Penhaligon's Amaranthine. This precipitated so much noise on the blogs several months ago.

Man oh man, does it deserve it. I had smelled it on others: gorgeous, unusual oriental-ish fragrance. A real departure from any other scent from this house I have smelled.

I was soooo sure this would not on my chemistry. It is outrageously beautiful and gloriously skanky. And after a great start, no, alas (or maybe that's a good thing) it.just.does.not.do.it.

Initially, I couldn't get my nose off my wrist. A full half hour of buttery gorgeous skank.

But no. Indeed, my sample will go out in the post tomorrow to my friend Maureen, who is my scent opposite (if you check out the MUA fragrance board, people talk about having scent twins -- people who love and wear the same perfumes as each other). She can wear, oh so well, Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur (pale vanilla on me), Ormonde Jayne Ormonde Woman (beautiful fragrance, but absolutely not right on me), Knize Lady (powder on me). So, I figured she should get the Amaranthine.

Anyway. This was composed by Bertrand Duchafour and the SA at Penhaligon's made a point of saying the company had thrown a load of dosh at this. After putting the tender to about a dozen noses, they chose the BD's composition.

Notes are green tea, white freesia, banana tree leaf, coriander seed oil, cardamom absolute, rose, carnation, clove oil, orange blossom, ylang ylang oil, Egyptian jasmine absolute, musk, vanilla, sandalwood, condensed milk and tonka bean absolute.

On me, it starts buttery (ylang ylang? and cardamom) and green (coriander) and the banana. I get a bit of tea and some clove. It is oh so lovely.

But then we do a slider and I get the freesia. Big time. Uh, no. I can't do freesia. The carnation chases it, and I love carnation, but um... no. I think that's finished things for me.

And then, and then... well, I went to do some samples for an order and the next time I smelled my wrist all I got was Hilde Soliani Stecca (which I love). But, the Amaranthine was gone.

So, the moral of this post is 1) don't do samples when you're trying to focus on one perfume and 2) you really should get a sample of Amaranthine and try it because if it works on your chemistry, you're one lucky perfume bunny.

Cumin

I love curry. London is a good place for Indian food. Even the mediocre stuff is reasonably good. After years of New York's East Sixth Street for Indian, moving here made me realise how subpar the food was there -- no matter which restaurant I visited. There are lots of other types of foods that are great in the US, but Indian just wasn't among them.

I recall many visits during my mid-teen-years, with my best friend, to a place called Shabhag where we always had onion bhajis, vegetable samosas, vegetable biriani, naan and lassis. It was wonderful (but this may also have been the experience of two teenage girls getting to eat dinner on their own -- that frisson of freedom and intimacy), but I know now how vague the flavours were.

My ex-husband, who is British, called this the empire theory of food. So, in the US, things like Mexican are infinitely better than they are here, but the Indian is better here and Indonesian is very good in the Netherlands (if ever you visit Amsterdam, check out Tempo Doeloe on Utrechtsestraat).

And I am told the New York Mexican is not as good as that in Texas or California.

In fact, the Mexican food I've had here is searingly bland (is that an oxymoron?) -- no heat, little real distinction between flavours, an inability to make good guacamole.

But, even the best Indian I had in NY paled in comparison to your basic neighbourhood place here. And then I've never been to Southall in all the years I've lived here. Still, the glorious Keralan vegetarian restaurant in Stoke Newington, Rasa, always provided great taste surprises and enormous satisfaction.

Right. On to cumin in perfume, which is where comtemplating curry this morning has led me.

I love spice notes in my fragrances: cardamon and cinnamon are both appreciated. But I loooooove cumin. It's that pong lover in me. I don't know how many times I've wanted to test a fragrance because someone has said (either positively or negatively) that something has that worn knickers cumin thing going.

Cumin gives animalic in a somewhat different way than musk, civet or amber. To me, it's sharper than musk, a bit lighter than civet and and much less sweet than amber. Perhaps almost nutty as well. So, slightly sharp, slightly nutty, but still a very strong and on the good side of clean dirty, and perhaps ever so slightly manky.

It's great with the plum in Rochas Femme. It's interesting in the mostly, I find, unwearable Diptyque L'Autre, which is curry central. It was quite peculiar teamed with the cola note in a very cultish fragrance that had its five minutes of fame on the Makeup Alley fragrance board around five years ago (I can't recall the name -- I'm completely defeated on this). I know it was included in Alexander McQueen's Kingdom but I haven't ever sampled that perfume.

Where else?

It's a gentle pong in my beloved TF Scent. It's there as support in some Serge Lutens fragrances: Arabie, Cuir Mauresque and Santal de Mysore. Apparently it has a place in two great Carons, Yatagan and Le Troisieme Homme. It makes an appearance in the one Miller Harris fragrance I think is great (but wouldn't wear), L'Air de Rien.

Of the fragrances in the paragraph above, I haven't sampled Cuir Mauresque or Santal de Mysore. The rest I have and at the very least find interesting. I think Arabie would collapse into sweetness without the cumin.

I've said it a number of times on this blog and in a number of different ways: I don't like clean, innocent or gentle in my fragrances. I just don't get the attraction -- in particular of clean. Maybe I'm just hopelessly twisted. 

In any case, no gentle fragrances here. No clean. No innocent. Thank goodness and thanks to cumin.

Thank you, Mother Nature -- and some thoughts on saffron

Yesterday, it was 10 degrees here (that's 50 in farenheit). Positively balmy after what we've had recently. It rained. Who cares. I did a metaphorical happy dance as I went, comfortably, about my business.

Today, it's 10 again, and it's not raining. Hurrah!

The crocuses are up. So, we're gonna talk saffron in perfume.

Three fragrances, in fact: my adored Theo Fennell Scent, L'Artisan Safran Troublant and Ormonde Jayne Ta'if.

Three very different perfumes, the first of which I can wear; the other two I can't.

Theo Fennell Scent gets five stars from Luca Turin in The Guide. It's a very interesting review, noting that the fragrance is rather classical and does some very interesting cliff-hanging. Worth reading. The Guide's brief label for this is 'saffron musk'. On me, it has a bitter aspect (saffron can be bad sour or good sour, I find) which is just glorious, lightening the muskiness in a way that makes the perfume slightly powdery and alluring while still being profoundly animalic. Strangely, to my nose (and my pleasure), this isn't dry or musty. Rather, it lends an astringency that is profoundly attractive. Notes: saffron, cardamom, lily, rose, orchid, jasmine sambac, orange flower, cumin, cinnamon, patchouli, tonka bean, labdanum, sandalwood and benzoin (per NSTPerfume). No musk in the notes. Maybe it is the labdanum-sandalwood-benzoin combo that led LT and TS to label it saffron-musk. Maybe the cumin helps with the musky kick. In any case, gorgeous hot fragrance.

Safran Troublant is a very different saffron story. I am aware many people love this milky fragrance -- and it is beautiful on the friend to whom I ceded my sample. It is a gourmand and lots of reviews refer to rice pudding. But for me in this instance the saffron sours the milkiness in a way that is absolutely strange and almost unpleasant. What I mean is that this isn't a scrubber on me, but it becomes like a milk-based sweet that is past its sell-by date. In the vial, it had a vanillic creaminess. Not so on my skin. Notes: saffron, vanilla, sandalwood and rose (per The Perfumed Court).

As to Ormonde Jayne Ta'if: I had a number of compliments, in particular from men, when I test-drove this. It certainly is a pongy rose, with the saffron and pepper. However, while this seemed to reach some men as hot, I was smelling something slightly sour-metallic on my skin and just couldn't see my way to wearing it after around three test drives. Notes: pink pepper, saffron, dates, rose oil, freesia, orange flower absolute, jasmine, broom and amber (per MUA review by paschat).

"Vampire squid"

The title of today's post is taken from a quotation from the writer Matt Taibbi, writing about the investment bank Goldman Sachs. More fully it descibes GS as, "a great vampire squid wrapped around the face of humanity". I just think this is so wonderfully apt I had to share.

And, yes, I'm still at loose ends topic-wise. I feel on the waiting edge of things: for spring, for my decant of Eau Noire. So, I haven't been able to settle to one fragrance topic.

A few things.

I have decided that the new glasses maybe aren't so bad after all. Maybe I can work the librarian look.

I have become obsessed with the smell of anise, as the glassed back room of my house still smells of it from the fennel tea box I left out there. I replaced the fennel tea and have been thinking about perfume with anise as a note. I can't come up with many, and the one I keep returning to I never got to smell before it was discontinued (in 2006, according to NowSmellThis). Slatkin's Black Fig and Absinthe was available at Takashimaya in New York when I still lived there. I recall seeing the bottle but I never got round to sampling it. The reviews I've read are mixed, as befits such a fragrance, I think.

I had to visit the MUA reviews and NowSmellThis for more info on this. This is what is got: a lot of 'rich', 'strong', 'dark', etc. Most reviewers said there wasn't a lot of fig but certainly this smelled strongly of licorice. It's was one of those love it or hate it things -- no middle ground.

Apparently Lolita Lempicka has a strong anise aspect. I have yet to sample this but will now make the effort.

Let me know of others you are aware of, please.

But, you know having written the word 'vampire' that I couldn't post without a short bit on my newest reading material and that, to my delight, the vampires are very into smells.

Having finished the first in the series (I've got at least six more to go), I have to say the writing is very very good (I imagine the author is frighteningly articulate and takes a great deal of pleasure in what she is creating); the vampire characteristics and world are well imagined (and different from anything else I've read in the genre); and the whole thing, to my pleasure, has enough irony to keep it from tipping over into gooey sentiment.

So perfume then. Unlike Edward in The Twilight Series, the protaganist in my current read is articulate and precise in describing the smell of his beloved. Her scent, he says, is of night blooming roses. Well, to me that means lush, dark, animalic. Makes me think of Serge Lutens Rose de Nuit, which is no dewy innocent rose (roses, apricot, musk). Perfect. Agent Provocateur (roses, saffron, patchouli) comes to mind too. Ormonde Jayne Ta'if (roses, pepper, saffron again) is a maybe -- it isn't quite dark enough, I think.

But, you get the gist. A grown up smell for an adult character. Oh, and the vampires in this series like to eat strawberries -- and peaches too. So, maybe someone will smell like Mitsouko as we go along (this makes me think I'm going to have to have another go at MDCI Peche Cardinal, which I wasn't mad about first time round). And then there's Rochas Femme for plum.

Anyway, I am hoping to be able to mine my reading for more fragrant ideas over the next couple of months.

And, no, sorry, I'm not going to divulge what I'm reading. It's just way too embarrassing.