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Fish Oil?

Contrary to most writing rules, I'm opening this post with a question, rather than a statement. Fish oil is one of those things that I always heard awful things about growing up - how awful it tasted, and how my parents (growing up in the 50's) had to swallow it daily.

And here I am finding myself fishing for some oil and spilling half of it on my hands as I try to measure out the right amount. I know it also come in capsules, but I've been swallowing so many anti-inflammatory drugs recently in order to convince a herniated disc to go back to where it belongs; that avoiding more pills, even if it means swallowing some disturbing and smell stuff seems rather appealing.

With it's "great lemony flavour" it actually does not taste all that bad. But it leaves a streak of scent on my fingers no matter how hard I try not to spill. Lemon and fish oil. Sigh... And guess what? I'm finding it strangely appealing. Sort of like a low concentration of calone. Almost like the aquatic men's cologne that's been permeating the elevator in my building for the past week or so (Aqua de Gio or something along these lines).

That lemon and fish scent reminds me of Orcas' interplay between seaweed and lime (although it's not nearly as fishy); and makes a little turn to bring me to the Coal Harbour perfume, juxtaposing rather horrific man-made scents with the delightful nature contrasting it - diesel lawn-mawer and cut grass; ocean breeze and jet fuel; decaying polluted sealife and airy flowering trees...
I promise it will end up being wearable. But it will take a while...

Patchouli Magique


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

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

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

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

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

Must Read: Olfactory Journey Around the World - by Anastasia Deniskova

Join Anastasia Deniskova (aka Muza who comments frequently on SmellyBlog) and inidie noses for an around-the-world olfactory journey, where each perfumer introduces you to their city and paint an olfactory portrait of it.
I'm thrilled to be traveling with wonderful talents such as Anna Zworykina, Andy Tauer, Bogdan Zubchenko, Francesco van Eerd, Geoffrey Nejman, Neil Morris, Oliver Valverde Risquez, and yours truly.
9 perfumers, 9 cities - enjoy your trip!

Harbour Green

Harbour Green by Ayala Moriel
Harbour Green, a photo by Ayala Moriel on Flickr.
Well, I just went through a lot of trouble typing out a whole blogpost, only to have it entirely deleted by a Flickr hiccup... It was about my Coal Harbour perfume experiment which I unearthed from last year's archived mods.

What originally smelled as rather skunky and morbid, even (the seaweed absolute is an extremely difficult note to work with, and smells like decomposing bodies of seashore lives - seaweed, clams, crabs...) has turned out to be, what I was hoping for.

I place a drop of essence on my wrist, and like a seed in fast-forward motion it sprouts and grows into this luscious garden - Harbour Green, to be precise: fresh cut grass on a summer's day; kelp growing on the rocks underneath the docks; daisies and fuchsias alongside the trail; and somewhere in the very background the whiff of summer-blooming trees - linden and elder; Oh, and is that aquaplane in the background taking off or landing?

And just like the original blogpost, the formula is entirely lost. I have searched high and low and the temporary lab recording card must have slipped out of my formulae sketch book and has grown feet of its own that took it away from all its like-minded friends...
So I will have to wait a long long time before I know if my attempt to revive the Coal Harbour experience is successful or not.
Sigh... The woes of a perfumer's life.

Rose Berlin

How about a visual review for a change?With Serge Lutens' newest perume release for 2013, La Fille de Berlin, I was expecting this:
Makani Terror by _MissAgentCooper
Makani Terror, a photo by _MissAgentCooper on Flickr.
But got this instead:
Hybrid Tea Rose 2012 by neggatiff
Hybrid Tea Rose 2012, a photo by neggatiff on Flickr.

What will lure you in immediately are the distinctive tea rose with only the slightest soapiness - the iconic and familiar sharpness of the Perfumers' Workshop Tea Rose immediately comes to mind. Once it touches your skin, La Fille de Berlin quickly turns into an uber-sweet tea rose and violet-candy affair, reminiscent of the sweet-spoken Bvlgari pour Femme, only with a higher price point and slightly intriguing spice to stop it from being as cloying. Musky woody notes at the base give this retro theme a more current flavour; and a hint of leathery saffron note is the only thing that gives it a “niche” edge. Other than that, Serge Lutens’ La Fille de Berlin is a crowd-pleasing 2-syllables rose, obvious and leaving no room for guessing. The dryout is continously rosy, changing into plum-like damascones and raspberry-jam darkness that's reminiscent of Ivoire's dying words; and a very subtle animalic aspect of sandalwood against the smooth-warm-cool wood of Moroccan cedar lurks underneath, very subtly and surprisingly does not embody what you'd expect from Lutens - or from a Berlin girl. I really expected some more thorns and instead got a very conventional, although well-made sugary rose.

Top notes: Tea Rose, Black Pepper
Heart notes: Rose, Crystallized Violet, Safranal
Base notes: Musk, Atlas Cedar, Raspberry, Sandalwood
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