hortus conclusus

  Last night we had a 70th birthday party for my thesis advisor at our house and had a bunch of people—grad students and professors—over for a catered dinner from a local Thai place. Hoping to make the place smell good and look better, I gathered bunches of lilacs from the lilac bush outside our back door and placed them around the apartment. So far, so good. The problem was, one of my thesis advisors started having a MAJOR allergic reaction to something, and was clearly miserable. Of course, he stuck around e ven though he was sneezing continuously and dealing with a major runny nose and tearing eyes .  I felt terrible, as you can imagine, and eventually collected all my bouquets and put them outside. I joked that now I know his weakness, I am going to hide a huge bunch of lilacs in a corner for my doctoral defense; he will be too distracted by his allergies to give me too much trouble. He laughed, dryly. The problem with the smell of lilacs—both in perfumery and in bouque...

A lot of people take Chanel’s masterpiece (well, one of them) Cuir de Russie very seriously, rightly admiring its near-perfect combo of cigar, barnyard, and leather, overlaid with a sparkling aldehyde and floral mist. I love cuir de russie, but something about it also tickles my funnybone. I find it incredibly ‘historical’-feeling—which is a silly way of saying it fits—in my mind—into a very specific time and place. It really pushes my imagination towards the post-war years of the English aristocracy, and in particular, towards a certain type of girl, parodied hilariously by the ever pitch-perfect P.G. Wodehouse . This kind of girl—I am thinking of a character named Honoria Glossop in particular--possessed of a Teutonic hardiness, is never far from her horse or the golf and tennis courts, loves outdoor activities, is as strong as an ox, and always manages to get herself engaged to some insipid young upper-class gent. As Bertie, one of the insipid upper class gents lampooned in Wode...

I don’t know if you remember my post on trying to create an aftershave for my husband ? Well, it has macerated for long enough and I have bottled the resulting fragrance—a light vetiver splash,  along with a more spicy flower water intended for my mother and mother-in-law for Mothers Day. They are both good enough fragrances, but certainly not something I would review too kindly if they were made by a professional. Here’s the method I followed for the orange/spice fragrance, if you’re interested: one nutmeg, freshly ground, one teaspoon freshly ground cardamom one teaspoon freshly ground allspice a small amount of freshly ground clove one teaspoon ground ginger 5 tbs homemade vanilla extract 1 tablespoon freshly ground cinnamon 10 drops sandalwood oil 5 drops jasmine oil allow to macerate in small amount of alchohol for two weeks. add alcohol in which has been steeped grated pepper, nutmeg, and mandarin peel. Strain thoroughly. The result —a not un...

To me, there is nothing more comforting than spice; on my skin or inside of me, it makes no difference. I associate it with comfort, family, and delicious baked things. I am not a great baker, usually preferring to cook things rather than bake them, but my sister has inherited my mother’s knack for creating gorgeous grainy foodstuffs. I begged her to give me her recipe for the most incredible granola; she says she has basically been living off of it this entire semester.  She says  “I go to a grocery store where I can buy all of the ingredients in bulk--it's the cheapest way I think.” Here is her recipe for granola: “1 cup canola oil 1/2 cup water 3 T molasses  1 cup packed brown sugar 6 cups oats 2 cups finely shredded unsweetened coconut 1 cup sliced almonds 3/4 cup sesame seeds 3/4 cup walnuts 1 cup pumpkin seeds 3/4 cup peanuts 3/4 cup sunflower seeds 1 1/4 cup powdered milk 1 1/14 cup all-br...

I have been rereading the wonderful House of Mirth by Edith Wharton, and I am absolutely convinced that we are meant to read the lovely socialite protagonist as a study in the beauty and artifice of perfume.  Maybe I’m crazy…what else would you make of this: She paused before the mantelpiece, studying herself in the mirror while she adjusted her veil. The attitude revealed the long slope of her slender sides, which gave a kind of wild-wood grace to her outline – as though she were a captured dryad subdued to the conventions of the drawing-room; and Selden reflected that it was the same streak of sylvan freedom in her nature that lent such savour to her artificiality. (1.1.119) Isn’t that what perfume is, something elemental which is trapped in a slender bottle of great beauty which still intimates some wild, untamed beyond? It is a way to capture and restrain magic—like containing a sylvan creature like a dryad in an upper-class New York drawing room. Ok, if you still t...

I am getting ready for another round of academic interviews for professorships and have been plotting my fragrance strategy, and I figured other people would be interested in my quandary: what does a woman wear to an important job interview? She needs to feel empowered, subtly womanly, and happy, but she should obviously wear nothing that could put people off (so out goes one of my favorites, Samsara , which isn’t everyone’s), but what other criteria should she use to judge which fragrance would be best? Here is a list of criteria I came up with, but I’d be thrilled to get your input! the scent should be classic—nothing too unusual, exotic, or oddball, i.e. Chanel’s Cuir de Russie , not Thierry Mugler’s Angel.  the scent should skew masculine. Consider wearing a classic men’s cologne, like Guerlain Vetiver , Geo F. Trumper’s Royal Fern, or Caron Pour Homme. Although it is wrong that we still live in a sexist world, you might as well play the game an...

Go smell some flowers and dance outside! I am going right now!

In Salman Rushdie’s Moor’s Last Sigh , a spice heiress and a manager succumb to their passion for one another and make love on sacks of pepper. This scene won Rushdie the award for bad sex writing . I guess the line that seems to especially offend people’s sensitivities is the admittedly very stupid-sounding: “For ever they sweated pepper n’ spice sweat.” Ok, fair enough, that sounds pretty mojo-killing. But I remember the first time I read this novel (when it came out. I admit to being a Rushdie fan), and I remember that I thought this scene was pretty hot. not the terrible n’,  but the scene in general. Reader, what do you think: link to this page of the The Moor’s Last Sigh I found myself thinking of it again, dear readers, when I spritzed on The Different Company’s Rose Poivrée —after the inevitable sneeze, I thought, what a sexy scent, with its pepper, civet, rose, cumin, and coriander, and then all these images of sexy Indian heiresses and their str...

I make all sorts of different chais-it is said that nearly every part of India serves a different sort of chai (the name just means tea—c.f. Japanese ‘cha’) and so do I. Some kinds I make are cinnamon-heavy. Others are garam masala based. others utilize fresh ginger. Still others are a blend of all the spices I can get my hands on. But one of my favorites, the one I recommend your making for your pepper adventure , is my pepper-cardamom-nutmeg chai. This is very piquant, and quite lovely, if I do say so myself. Give it a try, and tell me what you think. Pepper Cardamom Chai bring 4 c. water, one ground nutmeg, a teaspoon of ground cardamom, and a teaspoon of pepper to a boil in a large pot. Allow to simmer for 10 minutes, then add tea of choice (I usePG Tips), three tbsp, sugar or to taste, and 3 c. milk. When chai is almost at a boil, strain or serve with mate straws. Enjoy!  

We live in an age of superspecialization; it’s been said many times and I’m gonna say it again.  My favorite example of this phenomenon is Pandora , the online radio station, which allows one to suggest one’s favorite song, then produces the songs and albums its special generator thinks you might like. If you don’t like the suggestions, give it a thumbs down—it’ll recalibrate and try to find the exact right thing for your tastes and expectations. So far so good, right? You get exactly what you want for your mood, and discover new artists in the process, right? The problem, in my eyes, lies in the fact that a person could listen to nothing but artists who all have something in common with David Bowie , for example, and never come into contact with any other genres or music al ideas, for the rest of her life. New music is always coming out, and she can just specialize in that niche. The same trend holds true for perfume. New fragrances are always being launched, in every...

Ok, it’s the second day of my monthly lunar insomnia, so here’s my second musing on the link between the moon and perfume. I was thinking about D&G’s recent attempt to offer a niche line with their generally disappointing tarot-inspired fragrances (what is with the naked models as tarot cards anyway?) and their interpretation of the moon tarot card with a rather insipid fruity floral/woody scent, La Lune . Of all things, this is just the wrong fragrance for this mysterious card. Not to get all new-agey on you (I’m not usually) but I have spent some time with the Tarot in my life—I am a medievalist, after all, and the allegory of the Tarot appeals to my sensibilities—and the moon is one of the most powerful and ambiguous cards in the deck. In the Tarot, the moon—the most powerful sign of mutability next to the Wheel of Fortune—has both positive and negative meanings. As you can imagine, it is associated with women, with their monthly cycles, and with their fertility. It ...

It is a full moon today, and I feel myself becoming owly. Question: is there such a thing as a lunar note in perfume. Lately I've seen a lot of frags list solar accord in their notes, which is supposed to smell like the sun on skin, but is there one that captures the clammy, mystical fragrance of the full moon? Arguably, the whole genre of white flowers combined with exotic woods is intended to evoke the feeling of a luminous night of love on the full moon, but these are all very Southerly visions of what a walk in a garden in the moonlight in India or the deep South or Persia might smell like, with night-blooming jasmine, moonflower, lotus, gardenia, camellia, rose, etc. Is there an equivalent 'lunar' scent for, say, an English garden, or more perversely, a winter solstice night in the far North? My dad, who used to be a choral director in a high school, says that he would always notice the kids acting strangely at certain times of the month. There would be more fi...

This week I spent five days in the city, and have been away from the blogosphere, but now I’m back to share all my news! The question is, what is the most exciting thing that happened to me fragrancewise? With my busy fragrance schedule (see my Birthday Pilgrimage) it’s hard to say, and I will surely be mulling over all my experiences online over the course of this week, but I think I must first come out with the most exciting news of all: I fell in love. And bought the bottle (thank God Bergdorf-Goodman was having a $25 off sale)  The lucky fragrance? Robert Piguet’s Fracas. I had never really understood what all the fuss over tuberose was about until I wore this. Yes, I’ve sniffed it before, and other insanely bold tuberoses like Tuberose Criminelle and Carnal Flower, but wearing 4 spritzes (overkill, I know!) of Fracas around Greenwich Village on this past Thursday night made me understand. On me, Fracas smells like tuberose, yeast, and butter—and warm, unwashed sheets. A...

I never realized how closely related carnations and cloves were until cdg connected the dots. While a superrealistic carnation scent, the clove supports and brings it out and the two notes dance together in a dipping and weaving mating dance; sometimes I smell clove, sometimes carnation, sometimes just enhanced carnation.  I also get an oxidized tea note. SO I wouldn't consider this a soliflore, although some may be inclined to, since the clove, tea, pepper, and rose notes only serve to round out and enhance the carnation scent, which is certainly the star of the show here. But to me, since the clove plays such an important role in the understanding and development of this scent, this becomes an elegant study in the ways the smell of chloroforms er, chlorophyll, and spice work together—how they are all part of a great continuum. I am getting dimly remembered shades from my childhood of high school dances on the reservation, that my dad would chaperone when he was a teacher th...