Another L'Artisan Parfumeur Discontinuation

Many have lamented the passing of successful fragrances, artistically masterful and commercially popular, and one always wonders why this happens. L'Artisan Parfumeur has its own share of that (I'm still inwardly yielding my fist with rage at the discontinuation of Oeillet Sauvage and Jacinthe des Bois; both lovely, both initially limited editions and then brought into the main line in total uniformity with the rest of the bottles, a move which promised at least a marital contract and then derailed into a custody figh with plates thrown around).

Vanilia which gave its place to Vanille Absolument (or Havana Vanille as the successor was originally launched; it's hard to keep track, but we did announce the discontinuing there on the link first) was the proverbial straw which broke the camel's back. It seemed most uncomprehensible and caused a rucous online.

But now L'Artisan Parfumeur is axing another oldie with a cult following, namely Tea for Two (2000).
I fear for some of the quirkier/slower seller favourites along the line as well (Navegar, L'Eau de Navigateur, Dzing!).

I understand the need for a streamlined line-up and all that, it aids selection, but perhaps a more limited distribution or a special size for collectors or even a seasonal re-issue (like Clinique does with Wrappings every Christmas) would be appreciated by those who dearly love the fragrance in the first place.

Question: Is L'Artisan Parfumeur growing too corporate for its own good?

Lancome La Valee Bleue: vintage fragrance review

La Vallée Bleue from 1943, smack between the Occupation of Paris and the turmoil of WWII, comes in a moment in history rich in intrigue, ravages and the desire to escape them; which was puzzling me when I first discovered it exactly due to its timing. The perfume is also a poignant station in a long line of nowadays largely unknown Lancôme perfumes: the first five with which the firm was established in 1935 by Armand Petitjean -previously manager director at Coty- on occasion of the Brussels Exhibition (Bocages, Conquête, Kypre, Tendres Nuits, Tropiques, alongside Etiquette Noire, Cachet Bleu from the same year), Révolte (1936), Peut-Être (1937 and briefly re-issued in the late 2000s), Gardénia (1937), Flèches (1938), Fête de Paris (1938), Chèvrefeuille (1939) and of course Cuir (the changed name of the original Révolte) also from 1939.

These intermittent years of the war saw not only one, but four Lancome perfumes introduced: Les Oiseaux from 1944 as well as Ange and Lavandes in 1945. There is also La Nativité, briefly issued in 1945, relaunched in 1952 and then discontinued. Perhaps it is our twisted perception of the war-time era which accounts for our perplexment at this.

We tend to either overdramatize the plight, imagining that everything disappeared as if stolen by aliens, or we tend to imagine that the situation was more heroic than it was seeing numerous French resistance fighters where there were instead many collaborators and attendates (people remaining silent, just watching to see what happens). The truth is many commodities, even luxury commodities, continued to circulate, either for those in positions of power (be it the position of conqueror or of black-market profiteer) or for those who could still afford to get them in some way. At a time of strict rationing, women still permed their hair and bought cosmetics to boost their morale. L'Oréal, the famous French company starting in hair-dyes under the brand name Auréole (and who ultimately bought Lancôme out in 1965 after Petitjean's retirement in 1963), was so energetic that even the outbreak of World War II in 1939 failed to curb the company's growth and they continued to produce cosmetics throughout: Oréol, the first cold permanent wave, was introduced in 1945 when the war was drawing to an end. La Valée Bleue isn't totally incogruent with this frame.

The intoduction of Lancôme in the USA after WWII saw a proliferation of perfumes issued: A new trio for 1946: Marrakech, Nutrix and Qui Sait, Bel Automne (1947), Joyeux Eté (1947), Minlys (1949), Magie (1950), Lait des Hesperides (1950), Galateis (1951), Trésor (1952), Eau de Senteur de Lancôme (1952), Plaisir (1952), Grâces du Printemps (1952), Envol (1952), Seul Tresor (1955), Flèches D'Or (1957), Lancôme d'Abord (1958), Fêtes de l'Hiver (1959) all the way to Climat by 1967, which was introduced under the new ownership.

The scent of La Valée Bleue was not languishing though, as attested by the fact that it used to circulate in antique French coffrets including 4 Lancôme perfume bottles: Conquête, La Vallée Bleue, Bocages, Tendres Nuits. One alonside the 1935 classics, so to speak. Someone was buying this stuff regularly to make it popular enough, if it formed part of a selection to be offered as a gift.

La Valée Bleue smells like a vintage, but not necessarily too dated, too dark or thick and somewhat musty as some of the old perfumes do. The freshness of the composition, which rested on lime and lemon essences, refreshing with winey rosy terpenic nuances on a bed of herbaceous, cooling lavender, light amber and sandlwood, gave the perfume a character that is not contrasted too sharply with today's sensibilities. Sensibilities which demand a balance of fresh and warm, a balance between emotional and reserved. Even though the lavender is central in the plot, the fragrance smells like a composite mosaic in the SanVitale basilica in Ravenna rather than the central theme in a kid's 10-piece puzzle. Obviously the ravages of time and war have burnished some of the sheen of the vintage I have tried, so it's difficult to pinpoint exactly what goes into it. The general feel however is one of innocent nostalgia and mystery, reinforced by the landscape-evocative name and the timing of this elusive Lancôme perfume.

Pics thanks to the generosity and assistance of Lovelyhazel/MUA & her photographing husband. All copyright is theirs. Used here with permission.

The Nose is Never Wrong: Doubting One's Sense of Smell & Interpreting Fact into Words

The nose is never wrong. You read this right, the nose, any nose, is never wrong! Like the eye or the ear, the nose is a means to an end, a cluster of neurons transmitting factual information to the brain, where a complex
procedure is taking place into interpretating reality. We all see tiles in blue, but how many of us will describe them as cerulean, glaucous, Yale blue or azulejo? It all depends on our cultural and personal associations, our language's sophistication and our sensitivity to slight nuances. The same applies with smells. We've all heard of the limbic system, scent & pheromones, smell triggers memories, blah blah blah. How come if you take a hundred people in a room and ask them to smell the same thing you will have at least 20 different descriptors?

Because the fragrance industry has been cryptic for so long; because perfume writing and press material has been resting on familiar "structures" into communicating perfume a certain way; because sales associates have been instructed to just give out "notes" without furthering a dialogue with the potential consumer. For all these reasons, more often than not, a perfume lover is left doubting their own nose rather than contradict received knowledge. Let's illustrate our point with examples.

A common occurence is hair-tearing despair at the perfume counter when the sales assistant swears blind that the banana note you're smelling in a given perfume just isn't there. Who's right? (Probably your nose, banana is a natural facet of both jasmine sambac and ylang-ylang flowers, common ingredients in many fragrances). Another, a bit more elevated in the sophistication stakes, is arguing on the classification of a well-known perfume. Perfume enthusiasts know Dioressence by Dior is a revered classic. Some consider it an oriental; others classify it as a chypre. The same happens with Lancome's Magie Noire. What's the deal?
Oriental and chypre are two very distinct fragrance families with a different character and perceived effect: how can so many people err so much? Again, everyone's nose is on the right place, so to speak. The people who smell Dioressence and Magie Noire as oriental perfumes are smelling an older batch (or are going by received knowledge by perfume writing in books and blogs). The people who smell them as chypres are not wrong; they're smelling the leaned out, altered form of a newer reformulation, which gave a push to the direction of mossier, woodier (reminiscent correctly of chypre)! The industry is toying with us, hiding the years of reformulations unlike with wines which bear vintage year on their label, confusing us and making us doubt ourselves.

Chypre in particular is a tortured term: You see it brandished for every sophisticated blend in existence. It's perfumy, it's elegant, it's uncommon and smells like a million bucks? It must be a chypre! Not so, necessarily. There are quite a few wonderfully sophisticated and a bit green floral aldehydics, green florals and orientals with green elements out there which aren't technically chypres. Plus "nouveau chypres" (i.e. chypres technically enginered to avoid the obstacle of restricked oakmoss) are a bit different in smell anyway.
Chypre is a technical classification denoting a very specific structure and using the term is a very deliberate move on a speaker's/writer's part. We can't blanket-term using perfumery jargon! We can't use objective terms to convey subjective impressions or personal opinions. It's like bad journalism: "A fierce dog has bitten on an innocent citizen", jumbling opinion and fact, to reference Umberto Eco.

But the thing is what most people lack isn't a good grasp of scent (unless of course some medical peculiarity is present, but that's rare), but the best possible interpretative methodology into translating what they smell into a clear, coherent message. This can be down to education ~or more specifically the lack of simple & concise educational tools pertaining to olfaction. This is why we have insisted on Perfume Shrine on providing such tools through our Perfume Vocabulary posts and our Definition and Raw Materials articles, so as to facilitate the dialogue between people who wear and enjoy perfume.

Because ultimately, sharing the joy of perfume involves talking about it as well.

pic via americantransman.com

Frederic Malle is on Facebook: Hints, Tips & Insiders' Info

Sounds good? Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle has been operating an official Facebook page for some time now (since last autumn actually). What makes it follow-worthy and news-worthy is how it's set to provide insights into the inspiration behind the Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle collection, including Les Fleurs du Malle, a look at key floral notes integrated in Editions de Parfums fragrances, the F.Malle home collection, and weekly tips on fragrance.

However, most recently on the Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle Facebook page the team has been sharing quotes and passages that derive from Frédéric Malle’s new book “Frédéric Malle: On Perfume Making” (De l'Art du Parfum in French) which we had reported on Perfume Shrine first, like this one:
On the language of scent, Frédéric Malle says, “Many people believe that our work is quite intellectual and that we make endless references to other arts to feed our research. This is rarely the case.” The reasons for this can be found in “Frédéric Malle: On Perfume Making,” illustrated by Konstantin Kakanias, which launched exclusively at Barney’s in December and is set for wider availability this March.

This is also where Catherine Deneuve's tips on her own fragrance wearing come from, as she writes the foreword on the Malle book, showing her preference for Malle fragrances alongside her firm favourite L'Heure Bleue by Guerlain (and the rest of her fascinating perfume collection here). The soignée Iris Poudré was inspired by the classic film Belle de Jour after all, as Pierre Bourdon was intrigued by the introverted, shy yet passionately sensual personality of Séverine. And as to La Deneuve wearing Lipstick Rose, what can be more feminine than that?
We also learn many other small delights, such as that Christian Louboutin plies his best girlfriends with the gorgeous and fresh lily of Malle's Lys Méditerranée.

Looking ahead, the Facebook team looks into providing Facebook fans exclusive access to Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle perfumers, so as to give fragrance lovers an insider’s look at the driving forces behind the collection.

Visit the official F.Malle Facebook page here

Illustration by Robert Beck via AnOther Mag

Seker Pare & Halva: Semolina Recipes to Usher the Cold in with Glee

The Arabian word ḥalwà is mellifluous enough, rolling off the tongue, to induce fantasies of a Sarayı drenched in moonlight. But learn that the Turkish Şekerpare means "the dancer's bellybutton" and let the imagination roll...Seker Pare are mouth-watering "cookies" if you will, made with fine semolina, baked until golden and then soaked in sweet syrup. The rounded curves of the pastry recall the plump and inviting belly of a belly dancer, the almond in the middle is...the belly button. But no, the pedestrian reality is that Şeker means sugar in Turkish and Pare is the Persian word for "piece". The fantasy version is so much more creative though, isn't it?

Devouring the popular Greek food magazine "Gastronomos" (literally arbitrer of the belly) I happened upon Ketty Koufonikola, owner of Cafe Avissinia (tfuno  navigate site!) in Athens' Monastiraki district, who presented a recipe for Şekerpare; here slightly adapted for home preparation. Kaiti's cooking combines the distinct cuisines of Constantinople/Istanbul and Northern Greece and this recipe is no exception.

As to halva (a popular dessert in both the Middle East, the Balkans and India) I need to point that in Greece we tend to eat both types of halva: the sticky semolina type and the crumbly sesame paste type (made with tahini), what the Jewish call "halvah", though made without the soapwort. But only one of these is made at home, the former, which accounts for the use of "grocer's halvah" appelation that the latter type still retains among the elders; a small quantity bought for the days of Lent ensured ample nutrition for the family. Interestingly, it's the sesame paste type that has been handed down through classical times, a no doubt proof of the fact that adiposity is the path to an ethnos's spiritual ruin. But I digress.
It is the semolina type halva, in various orchestrations/twists, which has marked many wintry afternoons of my childhood, as we stirred with big wooden spatulae, me and my mother, on pots with olive oil and golden dust, to make a yummy dessert which aromatized the whole house with its spicy bouquet. Its super-easy recipe to remember, short-handed into "1:2:3:4", as it calls for one unit of oil, two of semolina, three of sugar and four of water, is etched in my memory.

Recipe for Greek Semolina Halva

1 cup of extra virgin olive oil
2 cups of wheat semolina, rough grind
3 cups of white granulated sugar
4 cups of water
2-3 cinnamon sticks
5-10 cloves
1/3 cup raisins
1/3 cup pine nuts

Put the oil and semolina in a big pot under slow fire on the stove and stir slowly until golden. Then add the raisins and pine nuts and keep on the stove for a little longer, till the pine nuts are golden too.

In the meantime, get the water to boil with the sugar and the aromatics in another pot. When it's bubbling vigorously, pour slowly into the pot with the semolina, stirring quickly (and carefully, it will bubble and might sprinkle you with hot material!) until thoroughly mixed.

Stir, stir and stir some more over the stove, until it doesn't stick to the pot and most water has seemingly evaporated. Pour over a deep bowl and let it sit covered with a thin napkin (it will still steam a bit and you want as much water evaporated as possible, as this will make it lighter on the stomach). You can then decorate with blanched almonds, shredded walnuts or raisins, sprinkle with grounded cinnamon and serve when cool.

Καλή όρεξη!

Recipe for Turkish Şekerpare

2 sticks butter at room temperature
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs

2 1/2 cups flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/3 cup fine semolina

1/3 cup whole blanched almonds

for the syrup:

2 cups water

2 cups sugar

orange blossom water/hydrosol
lemon peel
2 vanilla pods

Pre-heat the oven to 190C/375F degrees. Whisk together the flour and baking powder in a bowl and set aside. Cream the butter and sugar together until fluffy. Add the eggs stirring carefully. Stir in the semolina and mix lightly. Add the flour and mix until the dough no longer sticks to the sides of the bowl (use a bit more flour if necessary).

Line a cookie sheet with parchment. Form the dough into balls the size of a chestnut and place on the parchment. Place a whole almond in the center of each ball, pushing it halfway in. Bake until light golden. 

In the meantime, heat 2 cups of water with 2 cups of sugar, add  and bring to a boil. Add a 3-inch piece of lemon peel and two vanilla pods, opened & scraped, and let it simmer.

Remove the cookies from the oven, and immediately pour thehot syrup with a spoon on each and every one of them, allowing them to absorb the syrup. They should be spongy but not soggy.
Eat at room temperature and keep in an air-tight tin box.

pic of sekerpare via otikatsi-soula.blogspot.com, pic of halva via cretaolympias.gr