Bad fruit, good fruit

I passed someone a few days back who smelled of watermelon. Whatever she had on I can't imagine it was a nose's interpretation of a fruit or fruit as a part of a balanced fragrance composition. This. Was. Fruit.

I think fruit in fragrance is great. I love the use of apricot in particular, but I like peach and plum too, and other things, depending on what they are paired with.

There are so many interesting and beautiful fruited perfumes out there, so why smell like a Jolly Rancher (this is an American candy, a fruit-flavoured sort of flat boiled sweet) when you can smell enticing, interesting, sophisticated, whathaveyou, rather than strange or juvenile?

The list of perfumes utilising fruit notes is long, from the mainstream to the obscure. Here are just a few I think are good (in no particular order): the strawberry-patchouli of Dior's Miss Dior Cherie; the animalic plum-cumin of Rochas Femme; the chypre peach of Guerlain Mitsouko; the jasmine, leather and melon of Frederic Malle's Le Parfum de Therese; the pineapple-vanilla of Histoires de Parfums George Sand; the grapefruit of Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Pamplelune; the dried fruit of Serge Lutens Arabie; the citrus tartness of Dior Eau Sauvage; the green mango of Hermes Un Jardin sur le Nil; the glorious figs of Diptyque Philosykos, Heeley's Figuer or L'Artisan Premier Figuer.

I'm missing out a million great things, I know: fragrances with apple as a note (eg, Donna Karan Be Delicious) and pear (Annick Goutal Petite Cherie) and more mango (sweeter this time, as in Annick Goutal Folavril). 

I keep meaning to try Badgley Mischka, which is supposed to be awesome: what a fruity-floral is meant to be.

In addition, I haven't even delved in the myriad of good colognes out there using lemon, grapefruit and/or bergamot.

The addition of a fruit note to a scent can add a bold aspect, luciousness, tartness, even make a fragrance more carnal (the honeyed aspect of apricot or peach). This all implies interesting, attractive, unusual, alluring concoctions.

So, the idea that someone would gravitate towards a truly banal and unattractive perfume seems so sad. Just a little research (maybe a google search using 'perfumes using fruit') would probably result in a long list of great things to sample, with many being available at local department store perfume counters and not costing the earth.

A New York map of smell

I came across this while reading the Sunday New York Times online. Much food for fragrant thought -- and if you are a perfumista visiting New York some interesting ideas.

This isn't so much an article as a 'map' of the interaction between how the writer thinks about and experiences scent and his exterior world.

So have a look at the link below.

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2009/08/29/opinion/20090829-smell-map-feature.html

A good secret

It is frustrating. So much rubbish out there in perfume land. So many fragrances released every year that should never have seen the light of day. Oh, the confused, the banal, the overly cute. Then, there's the simply awful in the beautiful bottle. It boggles the mind and the senses.

My brain went fizzy on Tuesday and refused to offer up a concept for a post. I decided I would take a stroll through John Lewis's perfume section yesterday in order to shake things up (couldn't make it into central London or, for that matter, to Primrose Hill or Notting Hill). I trolled (yes, trolled, not strolled) and mulled and pondered. Nothing... and then more nothing. We were on our way downstairs when we passed the Estee Lauder concession and, bingo! Found it.

Youth Dew.

Now, this isn't my kind of thing right now: heavy, unctious, powdery oriental. But, it reminds me of someone I lived with in college: a willowy Italian woman, with gorgeous thick brown hair (tossed around a lot), incredible style and a penchant for danger (she came back from Rome after Christmas break one year with a burgeoning heroin habit, which she kicked fairly quickly). Against all fragrant odds, she wore Youth Dew. Actually, she wore the bath oil rather than the edp, and wafted a dark, dense, dangerous sillage. There were always guys following her, looking blank, with lolling tongues. But she always had someone dark, interesting and a little dangerous on her arm -- oh, and smart: they had to be smart because she was and wouldn't tolerate pretty twits.

To quote Tania Sanchez writing in The Guide, "It's the scent that put Lauder (and American fragrance) on the map".

It was launched in 1953. I'm fascinated. Not to over-generalise about the 1950s (but I guess I will), while being a full-bodied, strong fragrance, this has a deceptively contained powdery top, initially giving the sense of restraint. As the skin heats it up, well... ohmygoodgod. This is hot -- a still-waters-run-deep sort of vibe. Notes for this (per NSTperfume.com) include orange, bergamot, peach, aldehydes, clove, rose, ylang-ylang, cinnamon, orchid, amber, tolu, patchouli, benzoin, and vanilla. This is amber as it should be: hot and spicy... and animalic, but not obviously so. It brings to mind the seemingly plain girl, who was ignored at stilted university parties of the time, who wrote poetry and didn't wear any underwear: ie, quietly confident of her own choices, ahead of her time.

And almost 30 years after launch, Italian Lisa from college, with her unstudied edginess, picked it for her own--and it fitted her perfectly.

It's now over 50 years since YD was launched. It remains an interesting (and beautiful) commentary on the enduring appeal of something borne of a great, slightly idiosyncratic concept and conceived with care and attention to detail.

The smell of blood?

I am unimpressed by the various vampire books targeted at teenagers that seem to have appeared in the wake of the Twilight series. They all lack the verve and the imagination of Stephenie Meyer's work (even if they do 'get' the overheated prose).

But then I saw some commentary on the True Blood series for HBO in the US and breathed a sigh of relief: vampires for adults--but modern, not stilted, and supposedly very well rendered.

I'm afraid my telly doesn't get the FX channel, but I've reserved the DVD set of the first series of True Blood on Amazon (it comes out here at the end of October) and I've got the first of Charlaine Harris's books, Dead Until Dark, winging its way to my local library this week. (The pic below is of True Blood leading vampire Bill Compton.)

Vampires are supposed to have heightened senses, which makes me wonder what sorts of smells they might like to smell or wear. I expect I'll have to revisit this idea once I've read some of the True Blood books. In the meantime, I recall Edward, the un-aging 17-year-old protaganist of Twilight, remarked on the wonderful floral fragrance of his beloved, Bella (lavender or freesia by his description -- not exactly similar fragrances). So, it appears some vampires might like florals, even innocent, soft ones.

But the vampires of True Blood live in Louisiana, well-known for its intense heat and humidity. Perhaps they would gravitate towards stronger things.

Maybe they might prefer full-blown rose perfumes, some of which have a metallic edge that might mimic that found in blood (which can smell rusty or mineral). I'm actually thinking of Serge Lutens' Sa Majeste La Rose, which I find colder than his other rose, Rose de Nuit, which is actually quite full on and hot. Perhaps a weird tuberose might suit, such as Thierry Mugler's A Travers le Miroir, with its bitter herbalness.

I wonder about the mineral-wood scent of vetiver or the cold rootiness of some iris fragrances ... or even strong incense.

Certainly Lalique's Encre Noir might do or Frederic Malle's Vetiver Extraordinaire, which Luca Turin labels an "angular" vetiver.

Another Lutens, Iris Silver Mist, would certainly fit here, with its metallic-carrot aspect.

Etro's Messe de Minuit or one of the Comme des Garcons Incense Series perfumes might do.

Divine's L'Homme de Coeur might attract, with its pepper, juniper and cyprus.

Finally, maybe a chypre (a vampire might find Mitsouko's remoteness attractive or Robert Piguet Bandit's cool bitterness inviting) or something with aldehydes (I find Chanel No 5 extremely cold or Paco Rabanne's Calandre, which I tried to like repeatedly years ago but I just find too cold and fizzy).

But maybe I'm mis-judging and the preference is for a heavy, hot ambre or a stonking leather or huge floral. Definitely over-generalising here.

But as I said, I'll definitely revisit the theme once I've had a chance to delve more deeply into True Blood.

In the garden of good and bad smells

The Philadelphus Belle Etoile is infested with something. I don't know whether it got this from the rose or the tomato, but it's got little white creatures roaming over it.

Trying to rid the plants of these invaders has upset the whole fragrant framework of my garden. While the spiders were working overtime to capture as many of these little beasts as possible, things just got out of hand. I brought in the chemicals.

The text on the bottle label takes pains to make the point that sulphur (the key ingredient) is a naturally occurring substance. I appreciate that.

There are some garden and forest smells that could be construed as being odd or strange that have still made it into perfumery (creosote, the wood preservative, is one). But the stuff I'm spraying around will never, ever make it. It just smells absolutely, positively awful. There's no other way to spin it.

I happen to love creosote, though. I find the acrid smell compelling. It reminds me of summers spent hiking in northern New England, where it is used to keep furred creatures from chewing up the wooden shelters in which hikers sleep.

According to Wikipedia, the creosote I'm referring to is coal tar-based, which is an EPA-registered (that's US Environmental Protection Agency) wood preservative. So, the coal tar is the basis for that strange but alluring fragrance.

The off-kilter and slightly harsh fragrance of creosote pops up at the beginning of Laura Mercier's Amber Passion (which I'm afraid doesn't raise much passion in me after that rather glorious beginning). It disappears too quickly, however, and Amber Passion moves on to become a fairly ho-hum (ie, too sweet and rather one-dimensional) amber perfume. 

Creosote is also an aspect of the Taurade, perfumer Andy Tauer's base for a number of his most beautiful fragrances, including the mind-bendingly beautiful L'Air du Desert Marocain. Incense in combination with herbs seems to be able to mimic the smell of creosote. LDDM is very much the smell of my teenage summers spent hiking. It captures the combination of creosoate, wood smoke from campfires, New England forest, and good clean sweat. Truly a sublime combination as far as I'm concerned.

Alas, as I mentioned above my bug spray isn't sublime. Rather, it's a necessary unpleasantness. Hopefully I can dispense with it soon (it looks like  the creatures are on the run or something more unpleasant for them). At the moment, however, the sulphurous smell is dominant in the garden and stuck in my nose. I am reminded that sometimes in order to get the good of the garden you have to put up with the bad.

Concentration

The rebuild continues -- and I will be occupied with it over the next few days. Thankfully, my son is doing pottery with a local potter along with a load of other children.

So, a very brief post for today.

I discovered that if I rub the wax samples I discussed yesterday on my wrist and then put my watch over that wrist I get hives (raised red blotches denoting a sensitivity reaction).

In any case, a brief musing on another SL.

I used the wax sample to put on Tubereuse Criminelle (and didn't put my watch on). The wax seems to impede the camphorous opening you get in the perfume, making this very heavy on the orange flower initially.

I adore tuberoses and usually buy the flowers when I can find them (the only place in London I have seen them on a consistent basis is the flower stall near the Seven Dials in Covent Garden).

I am ever on the lookout for a tuberose fragrance I can wear. I've tried a number of things (some of which I've blogged about) but I've yet to find something that I wear rather than the fragrance wearing me. I can wear lots of womanly perfumes, but the tuberose perfumes I have tried have tended to be too diva-ish for me. I'm just not a diva.

Alas, Tubereuse Criminelle is another no go, but not because it is too diva-ish and it wears me. Rather, its notes of tuberose, orange blossom, jasmine, musk, vanilla, styrax, nutmeg, clove and hyacinth translate into a rather jammy hot white floral.

TC is very nice. It is more than nice. But, there's just too much orange flower. I don't get the rubber of tuberose or the acrid aspect of hyacinth or spiciness of clove and nutmeg (well, maybe a bit of nutmeg if I sniff very hard).

So, the search continues.

A small surprise leads to a conundrum of pleasure

Yesterday, in the post, I received a small, heavy parchment envelope marked on the back with the address of Serge Lutens in the Palais Royale. I opened it last of the day's mail, thinking it might represent a treat of some sort.

Slicing open the envelope, I pulled out a small folder within which were wax samples of four Lutens perfumes.

If you've not had this experience before, let me explain. Lutens doesn't offer perfume samples. Instead, if you enquire about fragrances you are likely to be sent a small 'book' of little wax roundels for all the SL offerings. These 'samples' give you the chance to smell the fragrances and if you rub the wax onto skin you can get a reasonably decent sense of a particular perfume. In addition, if you request the 'book', this may well get you on the permanent mailing list, which might mean you get these little folders of fragrance every now and again.

Now, to the folder I received yesterday.

I am fascinated by the combination of scents included: Tubureuse Criminelle, Sarrasins, La Myrre and the new offering, Fourreau Noir. These are all included only in the Exclusive range, and so are available only from the Serge Lutens 'store' in the Palais Royale in Paris (you can purchase them online for shipping within Europe). These are bell jar fragrances (have a look at the following to learn more about Serge Lutens: http://sergelutens.blogspot.com/).

But back to this combo. I wondered if there was a reason these were grouped together. So, I had a look at the notes lists. No answer there. No seemingly common thread. 

Anyway, I hadn't yet had the chance to sample the new Exclusive Fourreau Noir, though I have read a number of reviews of it.

I rubbed the wax sample of that fragrance onto a finger and then rubbed the wax onto my wrist several times. Sniffed and then let it sit for a bit.

First, a bit of a cosmic aha. This had a somewhat camphorous opening, similar to that of Tubureuse Criminelle. Also, it started out ever so slightly cold, like La Myrrhe. So, maybe those are some common themes to this little folder after all.

But to Fourreau Noir. This is a lavender fragrance. Now, I've been thinking about lavender recently, so was very pleased to have a surprise chance to try this. There is another bell jar lavender, Encens et Lavande (Luca Turin wrote a rather amusing review of this in The Guide). But this is a different theme from EeL. In fact, it's rather different from other lavenders I've encountered. For one thing, very early on, an animalic undercurrent was very apparent. That didn't seem heavy or overwhelming, but it was very very there.

As the fragrance developed, the lavender seemed to push down on the animalic aspect, which receded somewhat. But, its early appearance was a wonderful and quite beautiful surprise. The notes list I've seen includes tonka bean, lavender, musk, almond and 'smoky accents'. These last two came out as the fragrance developed on my skin.

The drydown on me was lavender smoke, with the animalic aspect still ever so slightly apparent. I assume this fragrance is reasonably strong and tenacious in liquid form, as even from the wax sample it lasted reasonably well on my skin (still there eight hours after application).

Fourreau Noir is a glorious exercise in contrasts: herbal lavender, animalic, nutty smoke. It has a slightly peculiar beauty, which I think can be ascribed to its rather contrasting constituent part. All in, this is entrancing -- and exceptionally difficult to pin down.

Pocket of summer

I think we've had five consecutive days of sunshine and heat here in London.

There aren't too many things I yearn for about living in New York, but one is very hot, very humid August days interrupted briefly in late afternoon by a violent thunderstorm. Strange, I know.

The thing about humidity is that it keeps fragrance in the air -- and it's something wonderful when you pass a jasmine or honeysuckle vine, or a rose bush, and you get the equivalent of sillage: a sort of cloud of scent around the plant.

I used to live on a road in Stoke Newington, in the London borough of Hackney, where a nearby house was fronted by intertwined jasmine and honeysuckle vines. I went past there most days on the way to the bus to get to work. While the vines were in bloom, there was no way I could pass without stopping and standing for several minutes in the cloud of scent. It wasn't only that it smelled amazing, it felt amazing.

We had a proper hot summer when I lived there. So, the wet heat held the fragrance in such a palpable way that the brief process was physically pleasurable, the air around the plants a bit oily and unctious.

I can't think of many perfumes that have a similar vibe to them. But, I do recall Joy perfume being like this (I wore Joy very briefly many years ago). First by Van Cleef & Arpels does the same sort of thing. These big jasmine-rose fragrances go on almost oily in the heat and have serious sillage.

Some tuberose-based scents do this as well, with their rubber-butter intensity. By Kilian's Beyond Love certainly does. I wonder about Robert Piguet Fracas, which I still haven't gotten round to re-sampling. (Interestingly, Frederic Malle's gorgeous Carnal Flower does not do this. Perhaps it is the wet, green aspect to this fragrance that blocks such a reaction in the heat.)

In any case, our current pocket of summer has reminded me of the pleasures of animalic florals, whether in perfume or plant form. Long may it last.

No smells in the marshes?

Across the River Lea from Springfield Park, located at the northern edge of Hackney, lies Walthamstow Marsh Nature Reserve. The Marsh boasts cut paths and some wooden walkways which wind through marsh grasses and various wild plants and flowers. You sometimes get to see various herons flying overhead or resting in the grasses.

It's a wonderful place for an afternoon's walking, plus at this time of year there are loads of blackberries. (Sometimes you find cows wandering on the grasses and there's a riding stable.)

The marsh landscape makes me think of lavender, even though I've never encountered any during visits. I think it's the rough look of the other plant life that does it.

Interestingly, however, there aren't strong smells in the Marsh. I made a point of concentrating on what I smelled while walking there recently and came away with no specific recollections.

I lived near salt marshes in southern New Hampshire for several summers, where the smells were strongly, unsurprisingly, of salt and sulphur from leaves and plant matter decomposing in the salt water.

In the marshes around the Hamptons area of Long Island, in New York, you get the smells of salt air and beach rose, which are beautifully incorporated in Antonia's Flowers' Tiempe Passate.

Thus, I find it somewhat perplexing that I came across no strong odors at the Walthamstow Marsh. I wonder if this is because these marshes are quite broad and open, and not that wet at the moment (it's been reasonably sunny here for the past week).

In any case, I couldn't get the idea out of my head that lavender should grow in the Marsh and thus started thinking about lavender-based perfumes. Three quite disparate ones sprang to mind.

First off, was Tauer Perfumes' Reverie au Jardin (I've got it in my head since I've got bottles of it in the house waiting for when the estore is up and running -- should be no more than a couple of weeks now). This lavender-vanilla is much more composed garden to me than wild marshland. It is a refined lavender, a rather restrained fragrance that makes me think of afternoon garden parties and women wearing tea dresses. It is the prominence of vanilla, I suppose, which smoothes out lavender's rough edges somewhat.

Second was Lostmarc'h L'Eau de L'Hermine, a gentle, fruited (grapefruit and bergamot) lavender  (again, I am in close proximity to the bottles for this). This is definitely breezy seaside. But, it is the fragrance of a refined woman walking along an upmarket promenade in the early evening, not sand dunes and fragrant grasses. It makes me think of late summer: still warm, still light in the evening. Interestingly, the effect of the citrus sparkle here is to ease the roughness of the lavender.

Third was Serge Lutens' slightly strange and sombre Encens et Lavande. I get much more incense than lavender from this, which makes it a bit colder than the other two I mentioned. It is a mysterious, smoky fragrance, a cool-weather perfume: autumn in Paris, walking among swirling leaves wrapped in a shawl. Refined and chic, it is still retains a slight undercurrent of roughness that makes it ever so slightly edgy.

What is common to all these perfumes is lavender's floral-herbal aspect, its straddling of the line between the two, which also makes it a sort of non-gendered smell. It also has a very gentle earthiness and I think that is why it came to mind in the Marsh. Next visit, I'll try walking another direction and see if maybe, indeed, it is actually part of the landscape after all.

Some random thoughts for Friday

1) A woman passed me the other day who I'm sure was wearing Robert Piguet's tuberose fragrance Fracas (incredible sillage), and wearing it very well. I've tried this loads of times but never 'gotten' its appeal. I think it's time to try it again.

2) The 24-hour market near where I live has the most wonderful ripe peaches at the moment (well, for the past few weeks). We go through three or four a day right now. Makes me aware I haven't visited my bottle of Mitsouko parfum in around a month. Time to do that.

3) I can't get Dior Eau Noire out of my head (I couldn't find an advertising pic for this but I think M Delon makes the point). I think I feel a decant coming on.

4) Last Christmas, I gave the now 20-year-old son of very good friends a sample of Philosykos, the milky fig fragrance by Diptyque. Recently, he asked me where could he get hold of the "scent you gave me that starts with a fff sound". My work is done here.

5) Last night, I dreamt about Roger Daltry of The Who and his love of perfume. Explain that one.

Definitely chic... but a bit out there

Coco Before Chanel was released here at the end of July. I haven't seen it. In fact, the last film I saw was Ice Age 3 (in 3-D). I'm not sure I will see the Chanel film, but every time I see the posters for it, I think of Paris and perfume. Not terribly original thinking, I know.

One of the houses that seems to pop up with some frequency I wouldn't think is viewed as either classically French or of typifying classical French perfumery.

I don't think you'd smell its offerings on loads of Parisians, although I expect they are reasonably popular. To me, they are interesting and quirky, not classically perfumy. Having said this about them, although they may not be haute French, they are most definitely and unquestionably chic.

The house I'm referring to is Serge Lutens. The label's perfumes aren't really mainstream, but they are well-known enough and have a certain in-the-know cache. To me, certain SL scents seem a fragrant embodiment of different faces of a certain type of Parisian chic.

I have never visited the Paris 'headquarters' for Serge Lutens, the Salons located in the Palais Royale. I have seen pictures, and read and listened to impressions from others who have. It has always been on the list of Paris holiday things to do that, alas, I've never gotten round to.

As to some of the fragrances, beyond its camphorous opening, Tubereuse Criminelle comes to mind as, perhaps, the badly kept secret of those black-clad fashionistas strolling around during fashion week: definitely diva-ish, but certainly not a run-of-the-mill one. A very 'thinking' diva, with original ideas and a strong and complex imagination.

Then, there's off-kilter (the herbalness) gargantuanly sexy Ambre Sultan, maybe worn by the very sexy man wearing a wonderful suit and three days' stubble rushing to his next meeting.  He could even work in banking, but would be the guy who has a not that well hidden other life, which his fascinated colleagues are a bit jealous of.

The hot honey and tobacco of Chergui has a tremendous, though slightly offputting, allure: it seems to offer comforting smells, but when you get up close there's something dark and a little sinister in there.

While I find the coldly metallic Iris Silver Mist unwearable, I could see it being used by some remote Parisian beauty to perfect icy effect as a polar-opposite of a come-hither signature scent.

None of these are Lutens I am able to wear. I do, however, own the dark, animalic, apricot-tinged Rose de Nuit. I am also very taken by the souk-inspired dried fruit and spices of Arabie.

Taken altogether, Serge Lutens' perfumes seem to me one sort of embodiment of certain aspects of Paris: grand and seemingly classical, but with flashes of exoticism, and extraordinarily alluring while remaining slightly remote.

Immortelle flower

Went to the butterfly exhibition at the Natural History Museum, which I don't really recommend. Too small, not enough butterflies. The museum had a bigger, more interesting butterfly exhibition last year. This is the second special (ie, pay to enter) exhibition I've been to there in the past six months, the other being the Darwin. It too was disappointing. Too much crammed into not enough space. Very crowded, which made viewing exhibits difficult. I'm thinking of writing to the museum to express my frustration and disappointment.

But that is a digression from the subject of immortelle flower. After the museum, it was off to Harrods -- because the department store, with its very very large and well stocked perfume halls, is easy walking distance from the museum.

I don't like Harrods. It's pretentious and crowded. However, it's worth a breathe-through if in the neighbourhood.

So, I tried Dior's cologne Eau Noire, which was something I'd been thinking about on and off for quite a while after reading a really fulsome writeup about it somewhere (probably something Turin or Sanchez wrote).

Immortelle flower, also called Everlasting or Strawflower (botanical name: Helichrysum angustifolium), grows in the Mediterranean region, Africa and France. Apparently it is useful for its anti-inflammatory, analgesic and regenerative properties. It is also known for its ability to stimulate the production of new skin cells, thus its use in anti-aging products.

But wowee does it smell interesting. I think it smells good but not good in a everyday sort of way. This is 'good' in an unusual, almost-on-the-edge-of-bad sort of way -- similar to some facial beauties that sit right on the edge of ugly without tipping over into it.

Luca Turin has been quoted as describing immortelle as having "an odd, fenegreek-like smell halfway between curry and burnt sugar". Yes, but with a bit of mildew in there too -- and maybe some honey and too-ripe apricot. That might sound absolutely terrible, but it's not. Rather, it's so strange it pulls you back to smell again and again.

The only other immortelle-based perfume I've sampled is Annick Goutal's Sables and I found that way too maple-syrupy, as if the composition picked up on the over-ripe fruit aspect of the fragrance. Eau Noire is more spare and I think that suits immortelle's strangeness much better.

The nose for Eau Noire, Francis Kurkdjian, produced this for Hedi Slimane while he was working at Dior. Eau Noire was apparently meant to fit in with the black tie world of Dior Homme and I think I get the point. This definitely has a left-field elegance to it. Utterly memorable.

It has very good staying power for a cologne-type fragrance and very strong but not obtrusive sillage (I think that sounds like a contradiction in terms: I mean it's strong enough to be smelled several feet from the object on which it's sprayed, but it doesn't thwack the nose).

I would love to smell this on a man. However, I have a very hard time imagining there are many men out there that are brave enough to wear this, which is really really too bad.

The smell of flowers from the market

A couple of weekends back, a friend took us to a farmers' market located reasonably nearby, in Queens Park at Salusbury Primary School on Salusbury Road (NW6 if you're in the neighbourhood).

It's a Sunday only thing (10-2), pretty small, with fruit and veg stalls; a couple of butchers; a fishmonger; cheese; bread; sometimes jams, pickles and chutneys; and plants and flowers. We returned on our own this past Sunday.

My list and budget were very exact. Otherwise, it's just too tempting and I would end up with lots of lovely stuff having spent way too much money.

I know I usually stick this sort of thing in Interesting destinations, but the market was so full of lovely fragrances, it made it into a regular post. On a sunny day, you get strawberry and other heated fruit scents; herbs from the plants available for purchase; and the wonderful odours of cooking onions and meat from the sausage stand. These are just a few of the scents wafting around.

But it was the flowers that really got to me this past Sunday. The fragrance of roses. But not regular nice smelly roses. These were incredibly stong, full-blown, sweet and almost pongy -- and astonishingly fresh smelling. They were blood red, pale pink, and white tinged with blush. It's been quite a while since I've experienced cut flowers for sale, rather than growing in a garden, which were quite as enticing and inviting as these were.

Alas, flowers were not on my very specific list. So, I enjoyed their smells while we lingered at the market and thought about rose perfumes.

Roses are one of the few florals of perfume that really work on my chemistry. I've blogged about various rose scents (YSL Paris, Agent Provocateur, Serge Lutens Rose de Nuit). I may not love a rose perfume, but even if I don't I can be pretty sure I'll find it wearable. Alas, this doesn't happen frequently with jasmine, a flower I adore, or tuberose, another favourite.

The only rose I own at the moment is Rose de Nuit, which is rose almost past its prime with apricot over a decidedly animalic base. The antithethis of the rose I smelled on Sunday. I enjoy RdN immensely and find it an extremely provocative fragrance -- I have to be in the right mood to wear it.

At the scent gathering I blogged about a few weeks ago, one of the women said one of her favourite perfumes was Jean Patou Joy, a gorgeous rose-jasmine. It's a full blown floral with a very musky drydown. Very beautiful. Very womanly. Very classical perfumery.

Many years ago, a woman I lived with at university wore Perfumers' Workshop Tea Rose. She only seemed to wear it when she went out with her boyfriend, though, on Saturday nights. A rose soliflore, she consistently oversprayed, so the very true (and very strong) fragrance of tea rose lingered on through the rest of the weekend.  This was ok if you were in the mood for it, but headache-inducing if you too had been out late that Saturday night.

In any case, I've decided to work visits to the farmers' market into our Sundays for the rest of August. And next Sunday, I'll definitely have to work a bunch of roses into the budget.

Update

I Profumi di Firenze: Vaniglia del Madagascar

Several years ago I asked on the Makeup Alley fragrance board for some recommendations for vanilla scents. Among the names that came back at me was I Profumi di Firenze's Vaniglia del Madagascar -- and one of the perfumistas that recommended it even offered to send me a sample (which she did).

I'm not a huge vanilla girl but I like the comforting, gourmand aspect of this note every now and again. After I had tried the sample on skin, it stayed with me -- and every so often I'd dig it out.

This fragrances had an arresting effect on those around me when I wore it. With much frequency, someone would comment: "Something smells absolutely delicious. Where is that coming from?" And I would offer my wrist.

This is made up of vanilla bean and vanilla orchid. I would hazard there's some incense and musk in there too.

Vaniglia del Madagascar is not an innocent fragrance. It certainly isn't along the lines of the overly sweet fruity-florals aimed at the youthful market. It's got oomph.

It is not a deeply complicated vanilla, but it is complex enough to be more than the fragrance of something baking which includes vanilla essence. There is enough of a burnt caramel aspect to keep its sweetness contained. The floral aspect adds some lightness and astringency. A slightly musky drydown underscores and deepens things.

This is not a powdery vanilla. And while I tend not to layer perfumes unless by accident, I could see this being wonderful in combination with an incense fragrance.

Vaniglia del Madagascar is eau de parfum concentration and comes in 50ml bottles.

Some thoughts on tobacco

Last weekend, my son and I were walking along the main drag near our house when he commented, "Something smells really good, mummy". Indeed, something did. Sweet, but not cloying -- and rich, but not heavy. I looked around and realised it was from a narghile on the terrace of the Shisha bar nearby: gently flavoured tobacco smoke wafting into the air.

I am not that familiar with tobacco scents and until recently wasn't overly interested. I'd tried Caron's Tabac Blond and found it too sweet. I had smelled Molinard Habanita on a friend, on whom it is absolutely tremendous. I have never had a chance to sample Serge Lutens' Fumerie Turque, which is among his Bell Jar fragrances. Then, I smelled Hilde Soliani's tobacco and coffee Bell'Antonio and finally I got the point and was smitten.

I think tobacco can be a difficult note for perfumery. If it is too close to the scent of commercial cigarettes, many people find that off-putting. Still, the fragrance of tobacco leaf is attractive and can make for great perfumery.

On my friend, Habanita smells both rough and sweet, but not too sweet. It is, like Bell'Antonio, comforting without being the smell equivalent of a saccharine sentiment.

I went in search of the notes for Habanita: bergamot, peach, strawberry, orange blossom, rose orientale, ylang-ylang, orris, lilac, leather, vanilla, cedarwood and benzoin. Am I missing something? I know this is a tobacco fragrance.

I do think these are very adult fragrances. I don't mean that a younger person couldn't wear them. Rather, that he or she would need to have some gravitas and some experience of the world -- not be an innocent or a naif. I just don't think these would fit such a personality.

In any case, I have tucked away a note in my travel notebook saying the next time I visit Paris I must make the effort to visit the Palais Royale and sample Fumerie Turque. Another excuse to plan a visit.

Lostmarc'h Ael-Mat

I adore the beach. I have seashells collected on my travels (and purchased at aquariums and fishmongers) in baskets all over my house. However, I have only lived near the seaside was for short spurts on college summer holidays with my parents: for a period, they lived near the 30 miles of New Hampshire's Atlantic Coast.

The Lostmarc'h perfume Ael-Mat captures the fragrance of the sea, sand and dune plants of the beach. It is a mixture of the scents of salt, sand, loose dirt and gorse. Comforting, but in a rough-hewn way.

The saltiness of Ael-Mat is different from that of The Different Company's Sel de Vetiver and Antonia's Flowers Tiempe Passate. The former is the smell of skin drying after a swim in the sea; the latter is much more overtly floral, with the saltiness coming from Montauk Rose. Ael-Mat's is much more the salt air of beach.

Ael-Mat makes me think of sitting up in the dune grasses, above the beach proper: the breeze is scented a gentle beach-mixture smell.

The site's description for this mentions it reflecting the fragrance of heather, gorse, salt spray and seaweed. The notes include jasmine and camomile over a soft musky base. This is the least indolic jasmine I've encountered for a while. It is soft and slightly soapy -- beautiful and gentle. The camomile adds an herbal astringency that acts as a foil to the soapiness. 

I find this beguiling. A friend tried it recently. I described it and the notes. She sat up straight after smelling it and said, "Oh... Oh my... That is beautiful".

Once again, the bottle decorations designed by Lostmarc'h are gorgeous. Definitely the type of bottle to be displayed on your dressing table or dresser.

This is eau de toilette and comes in a 100ml bottle.