A London visit in which I discover Cologne Absolue Pour Le Soir

We visited our closest friends this weekend, who live in London. They live close to Canary Wharf, which for those of you familiar with London, will know is now one of the financial hearts of London. I say one of, because the City is still another hub, as is London Bridge, where one of London's most exciting new buildings, the Shard, is being erected. Canary Wharf, for those of you interested in a rudimentary history lesson, was not that long ago (say thirty years,) a derelict wasteland of old docks, at the northerly reach of the Isle of Dogs. Now it is a slick and buzzing hub of gleaming skyscrapers and concrete walkways set between canals, inlets and other docks. Now if this sounds like a homage, it really isn't. If it weren't for the fact that our friends live close by, we probably would never come here, unless I was a banker, accountant, investment banker or maybe one of those enforcers at the FSA, the Financial Services Authority, who regulate banks and other financial service firms in the UK. If that didn't set off the yawns across the world, then I don't know what will...

So what has any of this to do with perfume and more specifically, Francis Kurkdjian's Cologne Pour Le Soir? Well, in a roundabout sort of way there are quite a lot of shops at Canary Wharf, including Space NK Apothecary, which is a chain of stores that stock fragrances, skin care and bath products and that sort of thing. I've written about Space NK before. I must admit that until fairly recently I wasn't that excited by them, but I've discovered that they stock a fairly decent range of perfumes, including Serge Lutens, Francis Kurkdjian, Diptyque, L'Artisan, Tom Ford, Antonia's Flowers, Honore des Pres, Nasomatto, Annick Goutal and a few others. They also stock candles by Carriere Freres. 

My local Tunbridge Wells branch does not stock all of the above, and unfortunately the last time I visited, weren't getting the Kurkdjians. While I was in Canary Wharf, I walked past a Space NK store that stocked these, so I popped in quickly to try a few. I must admit that up till now I haven't been overly impressed by the Kurkdjian line, but to be fair I've only tried a couple that were so-so, but hardly earth shattering. So I tried Cologne Absolue Pour Le Soir and Pour Le Matin. Firstly, I should say that Pour Le Matin is quite good. It was surprisingly good, at least for me, which I wasn't expecting for some reason. But Pour Le Soir - damn this is stupendously good! I don't generally like to to rave about a perfume, but I can't help but do so in this case. I feel excited just typing this now...

As far as I know, the Absolue is a more concentrated version of the Cologne, like an Eau de parfum. According to Luckscent, the notes include benzoin, cumin, ylang-ylang, cedar, sandalwood, incense, honey and rose. At first application, the honeyed sweetness is most evident. It smells startlingly like actual, gloopy honey out the jar, tinged with resins and a smooth rose note. This phase is very good, but as the fragrance progresses, this honey-rose is joined by a gorgeous, smoky incense accord, supported by smoky sandalwood and cedar. There is something animalic in here, but I have to admit that for me this is secondary, although I do detect it to an extent. I'm more interested in that incense accord, because it takes me right back to my childhood, to the Easter Vigil Mass at my Catholic church in the small town where I grew up in South Africa. Easter in the Southern Hemisphere is in autumn, as the seasons are reversed, and the Vigil mass, depending on when Easter falls, can take place on some very cool autumn evenings. I don't want to make this a religious lesson, because it isn't, but for background, the Vigil Mass takes place after Good Friday, on the Saturday evening, and starts off very solemn, usually outside the church, where the Easter Candle is studded with emblems that signify the death and resurrection of Christ, the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end, and is then lit from the embers of a fire burning outside. The congregation stands around the fire, usually on a dark evening where the wind is sighing through the pines, the incense wafting over from where the altar boys swing censors. Now this  might not mean much to you, but the incense in Cologne Pour Le Soir smells just like this evening to me - not just incense, not just catholic incense, but the whole. The smell of pine, incense, smoke, dust, wind, cool breeze, warm woods of the polished pews once inside and also for some reason, like rosemary, although that doesn't really fit with my earlier image. In a long-winded way, this perfume smells like a part of my childhood, of the rhythms of life ancient and assured, comforting even.

Does this all seem a bit strange? Writing this now, it does, but honestly, that is what Cologne Pour Le Soir does to me, and represents for me. On paper, one could easily reduce this to a description that says this is a rose, incense and honeyed woods perfume. Simple. But it is so much more, masterfully crafted in my opinion. It has everything, and very well balanced at that. Yes it is slightly feral, but this is counterbalanced by all the other subtle facets, not competing and jostling for room, but in perfect harmony, with just enough off-kilter to keep it interesting and compelling. Lasting power is very good too - it lasted for about 10 to 12 hours on my skin and I can still smell it on a paper strip two days later. My only complaint is that Space NK in my town doesn't stock it, and Luckscent aren't selling samples. Damn, I'll have to visit Canary Wharf again!

Image credit - http://www.luckyscent.com/

Olfactory fatigue

Recently I've started to feel ever so slightly panicky. I've been suffering from a lot of colds and sinus infections over the last 12 months, with numerous stuffy and blocked noses. It's worse in winter, but even this summer it started affecting me. I often wake up in the night with a blocked nose, seemingly for no reason at all.

Type any of these symptoms into that wonder of the modern world, our friend and mentor Google, and you will find afflictions ranging from dust mite allergies to bent septums. I don't really know what I've got, but if this doesn't improve this summer I'm going to a proper doctor...

I'm not looking for sympathy, mind you. However, as an avid perfume nut, as you might appreciate, a sense of smell is quite essential to the whole process of appreciating perfume. Otherwise it defeats the objective, right? I've recently noticed that it seems to take a lot more effort on my part to smell perfumes. A lot of them seem quite slight to me. Now, I'm quite worried that this is more down to my olfactory ailments rather than the perfumes themselves.

I read a post earlier today, and it is really bugging me, because I can't remember whose it was, that mentioned how the writer wasn't sure if she had got to the stage where she has tried so many different perfumes that hardly any new releases excite her, because she had smelled it all, or if it was down to the possibility that so many new releases are actually unremarkable. As I wear and sample more and more styles of perfume, I wonder the same thing too. Don't get me wrong - I still love perfume and don't feel jaded, yet, but I do find that it takes a lot more to really move me. Is this like the drug addict, who needs more and more of the good stuff to get the same high? I don't know! Another thought crossed my mind - how much of this feeling could be credited to my sinus and other nasal afflictions? Could I reach the point where I can hardly smell at all, cursing the latest weak, pissy release, whereas in reality I am overwhelming all and sundry with my grotesque and choking sillage? I hope to goodness this is not the case!

Miller Harris - Terre de Bois

Miller Harris Terre de Bois is a fragrance that frankly has baffled me for quite a long time now. I can't quite pinpoint the reason. I sort of like it, yet there is something about it that I find faintly disturbing. Not that it is in-your-face, or animalic. Rather, it has to my nose a weirdly unique smell that I haven't smelled anywhere else.

Miller Harris describe Terre de Bois as a woody fragrance, with notes of vetiver, patchouli and verbena. Other notes I've gleaned elsewhere include galbanum, juniper, clary sage, indian spices and ambergris. I've also seen a note called Persian fennel resin, which is listed on the carded sample I have. 

Terre de Bois opens with a very herbal and tangy citrus blast. This phase lasts quite a long time, with a very lemony feel, that I think must come from the verbena. In fact, this verbena note lasts right through to the base, if I'm not mistaken, augmented by vetiver. Initially this is a very intense fragrance, smelling very green, almost weedy even, with a hefty dose of galbanum.  At this stage Terre de Bois reminds me of spring, even though it isn't a particularly light fragrance at all. I think it's all the herbs, lemon and galbanum, which do lend a bracing feel to the composition. As the fragrance progresses, I do detect a faint anise note, which perhaps is preempted by the fact that I know there is a resin of Persian fennel in here! Later on the vetiver starts to emerge, but this is not to my nose a vetiver-focused perfume. It gets quite masked by all the other green notes. I don't personally find a lot of patchouli in here either, although I'm sure it is the note that lends a more earthy, woody feel in the dry down. The name Terre de Bois is quite apt, because this is quite an earthy, woody fragrance, although probably not woody in the way one might expect. It smells less of actual woods than of being in a wooded, leafy area, to me anyway.

So why do I find Terre de Bois faintly disturbing? I wish I knew, because as I said, I can't pinpoint why. It just does, and thus I am fairly neutral about this perfume. Thinking about it, Terre de Bois in a strange way smells like something and yet nothing I've smelled before, which rankles somewhat. I've read some reviews which describe Terre de Bois as fading quite rapidly after the top notes, but on my skin it is robust and quite distinctive, with a definite sillage. If you haven't tried it, I would certainly say give it a go anyway. it certainly isn't a poor perfume.

Image credit - http://www.luckyscent.com/

Ayala Moriel - Vetiver Racinettes

I went through a phase when I was trying every vetiver fragrance under the sun. Since then I've lost a bit of interest, not because I don't like the smell, but well, there is a lot of other stuff out there to try. 

I recently sampled a perfume called Vetiver Racinettes by Ayala Moriel. It is the first perfume I've tried in her line and it is lovely. Vetiver is a very distinctive smell I find. Once you've smelled it, you are unlikely to forget it, I think. It is sometimes described as citrusy and grassy, and yes, it may conjure up these smells, but it is so much more complex than just that. My taste in vetiver tends towards the more earthy, fungal and rooty facets, rather than the sweeter and nutty facets. Vetiver Racinettes falls firmly into my favourite category and it reminds me of some of my favourite vetiver perfumes, including Route de Vetiver by Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier, Turtle Vetiver by Les Nez, and even Vetiver Extraordinaire by Frederic Malle. 

Vetiver Racinettes is meant to include cardamom, coffee and even tarragon, but despite these supporting roles, the fragrance smells intensely of the vetiver root: this is vetiver straight up, intense and undiminished, so if you don't like vetiver very much, watch out! I find it to be relatively linear, like a lot of vetiver fragrances, and while there are some spices and herbs, I don't notice a particularly distinctive coffee note. As the fragrance develops, it becomes quite earthy, revealing an accord that smells dank, fungal and of mouldering leaves. If this seems unappealing, it really isn't. Think of a walk in some woods on a damp autumn day, kicking through a pile of slightly wet leaves and you get the picture.

Vetiver Racinettes lasts well on my skin, although it is by no means a forceful perfume. I found it a comforting and very appealing fragrance and would recommend it to any fan of vetiver.

Image credit - http://www.theherbcottage.com/

DSH Sandalo Inspiritu and Festive

I've been working my way through some recently acquired DSH samples, courtesy of kind Carol from Waft, What a Fragrancefanatic Thinks. Two that stand out for me so far are Sandalo Inspiritu and Festive.

I love the smell of sandalwood, whether it be a perfume, soap or shaving soap. My earliest memory of sandalwood was in the form of a soap by Roger et Gallet, which my mum always used to have in her linen cupboard, gently scenting our laundry. It's a very smooth, soothing, contemplative smell I find. Sandalo Inspiritu is a very apt name for this perfume, as it is very much about sandalwood, and if I have interpreted the name correctly, is quite spiritual and contemplative. The opening is quite smoky and almost incense-like, not sweet and only gently spicy. The sandalwood is evident from the start, but it is neither creamy nor sweet, as some can be. Rather, its use here reminds me quite a lot of Santal Noble by Maitre Perfumeur et Gantier. As the fragrance develops, the sandalwood does soften and become slightly sweeter and creamy, but it remains a fairly simple and linear construction on my skin. Not that this is a criticism mind you. I think it's this linearity that lends it its contemplative and calming feel, which I like.

Festive surprised me firstly by being in oil format, which I was not expecting. As a result the opening is rather subdued as it takes time to warm up on skin. I initially smell something quite smoky, mixed with clove and a hint of orange. At the time I was wearing this, our shops were full of intense orange and clove pomanders, their scent wafting along shopping corridors and out shopfronts. Festive to me smells just like this. In addition to the aforementioned notes, I also detect pine, fir and incense, which add to the Christmasy feel. I was also surprised to find Festive a bit soapy. Again, for some reason this was the last thing I was expecting, but here it works surprisingly well. It's not a distraction to me, as the soapiness is more like the astringency one associates with crushed rosemary - perhaps this soapiness actually comes from the pine/fir notes. Although miles away in smell to Sandalo Inspiritu, Festive is also quite linear and ultimately I find it equally contemplative and calming, albeit in quite a different fashion, but no less pleasing. If I have one criticism of both, its that I find them relatively short-lived on my skin, but then I do tend to sway towards stronger perfumes.

Image credit - http://photos.demandstudios.com

Fragrant musings, pans and bottles

I was cooking dinner on New Year's Eve. I was making a risotto, one that I've done countless times before, to the extent that it has become almost automatic to me. The process of gently sweating finely chopped garlic, onion, celery and some herbs in a little olive oil. Then adding the rice and when it is ever so slightly translucent, adding a glass of vermouth to bubble away and reduce. Then I add ladlefuls of chicken stock mixed with the water of reconstituted porcini mushrooms, bit by bit, until the rice is cooked, creamy but still al dente. Finally, I add some fried-off mushrooms and pancetta, and finish with a generous knob of butter and a large handful of grated parmesan cheese. 

What struck me most about the preparation of this relatively simple meal was not the wonderful and comforting smells emanating as I went along, but rather the colour of the bottom of my Le Creuset pot. This may seem a little strange, and in a way it felt strange, but after using this pot for about seven years now, I've never stopped to look inside it, at least not in a meaningful way. It's not beautiful by any means. In fact, the enamel has worn away to reveal a stained, brownish cast iron surface that is blemished and scratched. Someone who didn't know better might even look at it and tut tut remorsefully, saying: "Michael, such an expensive pan, and you haven't even looked after it properly." Well, on reflection, this pan bottom to me is like the lined and creased skin of a man or woman that has really lived, and has the tales to tell, full of character and feeling. And indeed, we have cooked countless wonderful meals in this very pot. I can still remember and smell some of these today. I can't forget the aromatic curry, cooked from scratch, from dry-frying the spices whole to frying onions, garlic and chili paste. Or what about the lamb shank stew, cooked with tomatoes, onions and carrots on a low heat in the oven for about four hours, until the meat falls off the chunky bones to meld with the unctuous sauce beneath, served with creamy mashed potatoes? I could go on and on.

So what has this to do with perfume? Well, if I'm being honest, very little, but I wanted to share this relatively banal story because it goes to show that fragrance is so much more than just perfume, wonderful as it is. Just looking at an ordinary and mundane cooking pot brought back a flood of memories of good food, shared with my family and other wonderful people over the years, and all the smells that go with such ordinary day-to-day events. 

After thinking about food and its associated fragrance memories, I starting thinking about perfume bottles, and whether looking at them might evoke similar memories and emotions. I have to admit that I don't own a lot of full bottles of perfume, much as I would like to, so bottles haven't featured extensively in my consciousness. I do know of course that there are some very expensive, rare and highly sought after perfume bottles, and that bottle collecting is a major hobby in its own right. I confess to loving looking at pictures of vintage or rare perfume bottles and I do enjoy many of the Guerlain bottles in particular. When I was younger I never kept any of my bottles once the juice was finished. I just used to throw them away. Now however, I am certain I will keep what bottles I have once they are used up.

I can imagine rummaging through a cupboard in a couple of decades time, only to open an old box containing some old bottles. The contents will be long gone, but in a corner of the clear glass, and around the spray nozzle will be some amber, concentrated remnants of the perfume, which when held to my nose, will hopefully whisper some of my perfume tales from yesteryear. 

Oh dear, the holidays are almost over (and Magie Noire)

Like a few others, I'm due to start work again this week and I can't say that I am overflowing with motivation. I know that once I'm back for a couple of days it will feel like I was never away and all will be fine, but I've actually enjoyed this time off, not having had a break since September.

The shops are just crazy around Tunbridge Wells, where I live. Of course, these days the new year sales actually start on Boxing Day, and in some cases even before Christmas, but nevertheless the crowds are getting to me. I don't know where these people get the money to shop, but hey ho.

I popped into Boots today, which is a national chemist chain in the UK. They stock a surprisingly good and comprehensive variety of mainstream fragrances and I occasionally have a look at what they've got, in case I spot something out of the ordinary (which I haven't seen really, but one can hope). Interestingly, I notice Boots are carrying a larger line of Guerlain these days. About eighteen months or so ago they stocked Guerlain Homme and Insolence, no doubt a bid to attract a younger market, but today I also spotted Samsara and Mitsouko, of all things. Perhaps the larger Boots have always stocked these, I don't know, but I certainly haven't seen them before.

I tried Magie Noire by Lancome. Now I don't know much about the Lancome perfumes, but I did read a while back that Magie Noire has been reformulated and is nothing like previous incarnations. I'm 100% certain that what I tried today is the current stuff and actually I quite enjoyed it. I mean, it wasn't revelationary (is this a proper word?) but it smelled quite dark, for want of a better word, with a nice touch of light florals and even what I perceived as some incense. I certainly would wear it again. As I said, I have no idea what it smelled like previously, so would be interested in hearing from anyone who has tried the pre-reformulated juice.