The Golden Sunshine of Saffron 1: The History

Saffron, ζαφορά, زَعْفَرَان ...However you decide to call it, the yellowish-red stigmata of saffron spice have mesmerised people and their imagination for millenia rendering it perhaps the costliest spice by weight in the world, its worth comparable to the gold-like hue it imparts to anything it touches. Prized for its contribution of both colour and flavour in food and drink (especially wine) as well as in the preparation of various unguents and cosmetics its history is lost back in civilizations lost under the ashes and the sand of long ago. The resourceful Cleopatra of Egypt used saffron in her warm bath for its colouring and cosmetic traits, but also before encounters with men, believing that saffron would give lovemaking more pleasure. Less venereally-predisposed people scattered saffron threads across beds and mixed into hot teas as a curative for bouts of melancholy. But what is this mysterious saffron spice and how did it became the stuff of legend, war and the coveted item of every connoiseur on the planet?

Saffron is nothing less than the three stigmata (Greek plural for stigma) of each saffron crocus blossom (Crocus sativus), a species of crocus of the Iridaceae family. The word originates from the 12th-century Old French term safran, which itself derives from the Latin safranum (The modern Italian zafferano and the Spanish azafrán comprise natural linguistic evolution). The Arabs called it aṣfar (أَصْفَر‎), which means "yellow," via the Persian paronymous zaʻfarān (زَعْفَرَان‎)and it was thus transported to the Greek as zafora/ζαφορά. The wild precursor of domesticated crocus was Crocus cartwrightianus, native in Crete, Greece, and it seems that human cultivators bred wild specimens selecting them for their long stigmata. The result was that a sterile mutant form, the afore mentioned Crocus sativus, emerged in late Bronze Age. The beauty of the Minoan frescoes in the Cretan palaces and the mansions at the nearby colony island of Santorini is a glimpse into a happy civilization that luxuriated in peace and harmony with nature. The "Saffron Gatherers" fresco appearing on the walls of Xeste 3 building (1600–1500 BC) at the Akrotiri site, Santorini, depicts women one with a shaved and dyed head, another with thick black curls in colourful robes that leave their whitechests free from constraint gathering saffron blossoms and stigmata for aromatizing and therapeutical purposes.
In the Minoan palace of Knossos, the famous Crocosyllektis/Κροκοσυλλέκτης (=saffron-gatherer) fresco of a blue monkey (erroneously re-assembled as a man by Sir Athur Evans, but later re-instated in its true form) reminds us how much vivid the cultivation was in people's consciousness. Another fresco on Santorini has a Goddess supervising the harvesting of saffron, her unerring eye intent on the gatherers, while a woman close by is trating her ailing foot with saffron. The volcanic eruption of Thera/Santorini buried the frescoes into ash for the safe-keeping of centuries to come, leaving legends recounting tales of brazen sailors embarking on perilous voyages to Soli in Cicilia in the hunt for saffron to use for ointments and perfumes. In one of the most tragic tales, reprised by Ovid in his Metamorphoses, the handsome youth Crocus sets out in pursuit of the nymph Smilax in the woods near Athens. But despite her initial interest, Smilax soon bores of him and transforms Crocus into a saffron crocus flower, the radiant stigmata the only manifestation of his virile and passionate desire for Smilax. It is therefore no coincidence that saffron was widely associated with professional courtesans, known in Greek as heterae/ἑταῖραι who used saffron for igniting passions. Even primitive mascara was coloured and aromatized with saffron to render eyelashes more alluring. The intense hay-like scent of saffron with its slightly metallic edge also made it a perfect deodoriser, prompting townsfolk in the island of Rhodes to wear pouches of the spice on their person in order to mask the presence of malodorous fellow citizens during outings to the theatre.

Saffron-based pigments were found in prehistoric paint used in 50,000 year-old cave art found in today's Iraq, leading us to believe that crocus was transported to other regions very far back. And although the Sumerians did not cultivate it but imported it from the West they did use saffron as an ingredient in their remedies and magical potions. The first written documentation in the Middle East happens in a 7th century BC Assyrian botanical reference compiled under Ashurbanipal while it famously makes its appearence in King Solomon's Song of Songs. Dye works operating in Sidon and Tyre used saffron baths to give a less intense purple (ie.regal) hue to royal pretenders and commoners, by bathing the garments in one infusion of πορφύρα (a sea urchin giving an intense red-purple dye) and two dips of saffron instead of the original three of the former for royals. Ancient Persians used it as both a drug and an aphrodisiac and when the Greek king Alexander the Great campaigned in Asia, he used Persian saffron in his infusions, rice, and baths, thus having his troops mimicking him (saffron was considered an excellent cure for battle wounds) and bringing saffron-bathing back to Greece after centuries.

Phoenicians, the dynamic uber-merchants of antiquity took it upon themselves to spread saffron to the edges of the Mediterranean: Perfumers in Rosetta and medicine-men in Gaza bought their product and thus Romans later on embraced saffron as a panacea: Stirred it into their wines, strewing it in halls and streets as potpourri, and makeing scented offering to their gods. Emperor Nero entered Rome stepping on saffron stigmata and petals along the streets (one would shudder to think of the sheer waste of energy and money in this), doctors used it in the famous Mithridatum (an anti-poison remedy created by legendary king Mithridates VI of Pontus, who thus became immune to poisons), while the wealthy classes daily bathed in saffron-infused water. Although according to Willard (2001) Roman colonists transported saffron to southern Gaul whent they settled there, resulting in extensive cultivation until 271AD whereupon Italy was invaded by barbarian hordes en masse, other researchers such as Goyns (1999) claim saffron returned to France either with 8th-century Moors or with the Avignon Papacy in the 14th century. Of course the 14th century was literally plagued by greater concerns: The Black Death, an epidemic of bubonic plague that cost Europe one third of its population, raised the demand for saffron-based medicine. Importation was done via Venetian and Genoan ships from southern and Mediterranean lands such as Rhodes, Greece. When one shipment of the precious essence was stolen a fourteen-week long "Saffron War" erupted! From then on saffron cultivation spread throughout Europe, arriving in Norfolk and Suffolk, Engalnd. Even a whole town was named after saffron: Saffron Walden in Essex, the prime trading epicentre for saffron. Yet the influx of more exotic spices such as chocolate, coffee, tea, and vanilla from newly contacted colonies caused European cultivation and usage of saffron to slowly decline. But histry is full of irony and as tobacco, chocolate and potatoes were imported from the Americas, saffron was brought to them when immigrant members of the Schwenkfelder Church left Europe with a trunk containing saffron corms resulting in increasing cultivations in the state of Pensylvannia, surviving even to our days.

Less concrete is the history of the expansion of saffron in the Far East, as contradicting accounts of Kasmir and China sources claim Persian transplantation of saffron via the invasion and colonization of Kashmir (It's interesting to note however that the traditional saffron-hued robes of Buddhist monks in India after Siddharta Gautama's demise are not actually dyed with saffron, but with less expensive turmeric, another spice). Eevn to this day, the 17.8 m monolith of Gomateshwara, dating to 978–993 AD, is anointed with saffron every 12 years by thousands of devotees as part of the Mahamastakabhisheka festival.
Other sources attribute saffron's introduction to China to Mongol invaders by way of Persia. On the other hand, saffron is mentioned in ancient Chinese medical texts, such as the Shennong Bencaojing pharmacopoeia, a tome dating from 200–300 BC. Traditionally attributed to the legendary Yan ("Fire") Emperor Shennong, it documents hundreds of phytochemical-based medical preparations. It's contradictory to what the Chinese themselves however say, when they give saffron a Kashmiri provenance in the 3rd century AD.

Whatever the edge between truth and legend is, the sunshine spice of saffron is a fascinating exploration into the very core of history's fiber.

Realted reading on Perfume Shrine: the Saffron Series

Fresco "Saffron Gatherers" from Akrotiti, Santorini and "Saffron-gatherer" from Knossos, Crete, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

New Serge Lutens: Nuit de Cellophane (Night of Cellophane)

"Serge Lutens’ new fragrance, Nuit de Cellophane, will be launched in January 2009… Nothing is known as of yet about its composition – according to rumors, it could be based on the osmanthus blossom, whose apricot-suede facets are almost already a perfume in themselves. Is cellophane an allusion to transparence (which isn’t the predominant characteristic of lutensian compositions), or to the source of the material, wood (cellophane is manufactured with cellulose, the main constituent of wood)?" Thus muses Denyse Beaulieu who had the scoop.

What an intriguing and out there name, don't you agree? Cellophane is not exactly what one associates with fragrance, unless we're thinking of the outer packaging of course! Its allusion to the tactile is at odds with the olfactory, yet the protection of the cloak of the night being compared to a cellophane wrap that doesn't let anything out or anything in is poetic in its own terms. Cellophane was discovered by Dr Jacques Edwin Brandenberger, when the idea for a clear and protective packaging layer came to him in 1900, sourcing it via regenerated cellulose. Its low permeability to air, oils, grease, and bacteria is perhaps the reason why it evokes images of clinical austerity to our mind and why it's supremely fit for packaging food. Which poses another interesting question: Will Lutens use the concept to introduce an innovative gourmand that will juxtapose elements of woodiness to elements of culinary notes? Or will he eschew our preconceptions altogether to give a glimpse of osmanthus flowers through the diaphanous crispness of a protective -and rather fetishy- florist's crisp wrap?

Judging by his recent excellent releases, El Attarine and Serge Noire, the anticipation is high. This one looks to be an export fragrance too, judging by the time frame. We're only one month away from finding out for ourselves!

EDIT TO ADD on 12/11: Preliminary whiffs confirm it is indeed osmanthus-based, rather mainstream for a Lutens fragrance, beautiful and fresh. We will return with a full review as soon as sufficient quantity ends on our lap.

EDIT TO ADD on 2/11: Read my full review of Nuit de Cellophane clicking this link.

Thanks to my friend Denyse (Grain de musc) for the news.

Pic by Tim Walker for a Vogue shoot, courtesy of telegraph.co.uk.

Cuir Beluga by Guerlain: fragrance review

"Beluga" in most people’s minds is tied to caviar associations, the richest and costliest variety actually, yet not the one on top of every gourmet’s list who often go for Sevruga with its more delicate, less fatty taste and smaller dark beads.
I was therefore surprised to find out that apart from Guerlain's exclusive fragrance Cuir Béluga , the name also refers to a species of small whale (Delphinapterus leucas) that is almost white in colour and completely endearing to watch. Beluga after all is white in Russian! The full name of course hints at some terrible cruelty that would have Brigitte Bardot up in arms, and justifiably so.
However no whale hide is necessary for the production of this scent and there is no other leather smell discernible to me or anyone else either. The chemical ingredient isobutyl quinoline that is most often used to render such a note is hard to miss, due to its bombastic character that has the ability to obliterate other scents. Even in Shalimar, the quinolines are there, under the plush. Thus, Cuir Béluga resembles a trompe l’oeil, the artistic effect of visually hinting at something that isn’t actually there; or even the manner of painter Magritte and his way of making us think in a completely different way than usual.

Created by Olivier Polge, son of famous Chanel nose Jacques Polge, the man who created such commercially successful numbers as Coco Mademoiselle and Allure, it promised the innovation and dare of a person who is young and willing to take a risk; the stance of someone who has artistic freedom to do as he pleases. However, regarding Cuir Béluga a risk it certainly does not take.
The Guerlain brief says about it: "A fragrance suggesting the absolute, contemporary luxury of leather. An initial burst of aldehydic mandarin orange, strengthened by everlasting flowers/immortelle contributes a luminosity all its own, then merges into deeper, sophisticated notes of leather, amber, heliotrope and vanilla".
The immortelle note, often compared to fenugreek, is nowhere near the omnipresence found in Annick Goutal’s Sables , the intense Middle Estern reference of El Attarine or even in the much tamer L de Lolita Lempicka. The hard, craggy Mediterranean beach cannot survive in the pedigreed salons of Paris, that’s understood. But neither is amber particularly present, never managing to make a full appearance on the dry down phase, making the composition somewhat linear.

Starting and finishing with a lullaby of soft suede-soft vanilla, with elements of slight bittersweet taste that is the heliotrope note echoing the minimalist composition of Eau d’hiver by Frederic Malle or Etro’s Heliotrope (but less sweet), it resembles the classic Hans Christian Andersen tale of the girl who sold matches: she glimpses the warmth of the rich house with the garlanded Christmas tree and the table full of delicacies, but it’s only behind the cold pane of glass. Never in my life have I smelled such an aloof vanilla. Although it has a very pleasant effect and is undoubtedly a delectable smell that would never become suffocating and heavy like many vanillic perfumes inadvertently do, it somehow cannot justify the cachet of exclusivity when it could just as easily sit on the shelf of a less exclusive store making gigantic sales by its lovely inoffensiveness. Wish it were widely available!

Notes for Cuir Beluga by Guerlain:
immortelle (everlasting flower), leather, amber, vanilla, mandarin, heliotrope

Cuir Béluga forms part of the L'Art et la Matière line sold exclusively at boutiques Guerlain and the Guerlain espace at Begdrof Goodman, in tall architectural bottles with the name on the side in a wide golden "band" and an optional bulb atomiser included (My advice on those is not to leave them attached on the bottle as they allow evaporation of the juice).

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: the Guerlain series, the Leather Series

Painting A couple by Fernando Botero via art.com. Pic of Beluga whale via wikimedia. Pic of bottles via Guerlain.

The winner of the Parure draw is....

....none other than VIOLETNOIR! Please email me with a mailing address, using the profile email on the right, so I can send your prize your way soon.

Thank you all for the participation and your continuous support!

Nahema by Guerlain: fragrance review

Nahéma...The sonorous name comes from the 1001 Nights, in a story by Scheherazade recounted on the one and only day of her storytelling. Scheherazade is also the name of a symphonic suite by Rimsky Korsakov, worth exploring; nevertheless the effect of Nahéma more closely resembles the climactic experience of Ravel's Bolero. The Arabian story involved the fate of two abducted princesses: one warm and compassionate, the other called Nahéma, meaning “daughter of fire” of a passionate disposition. No one on the various boards actively bothers to find out the name of the other one, but here at Perfume Shrine we like to question the unquestioned and support the underdog. Mahané was the name of the other princess, then. So now you know, in case you wondered!

Created in 1979 with Catherine Deneuve in mind by Jean Paul Guerlain who had been fascinated by her in the film "Benjamin", Nahéma follows the fiery character of the fictional heroine who was ruled by passion and the imagery of Deneuve in a gold cage surrounded by roses (as depicted in the film) aiming to express the duality of woman. Although La Deneuve has been tied with Chanel #5 to the collective unconscious, largely due to the hyper successful campaign (that aimed to the American market though and not France), she proclaims to be deeply into all things Guerlain naming her signature scent as L’Heure Bleue. However she is a regular perfume collector too and has an extensive collection indeed that can be viewed on my Celebrities and the Perfumes they Wear list. This comes as no surprise and definitely justifies my opinion that Nahéma doesn’t really suit Deneuve’s icy exterior, which forms however a significant part of her appeal. On the other hand there are other devotees of Nahéma who love it with a passion: “I feel completely unlike myself if I don’t wear Nahéma. It’s a strange scent, but I love it, and I confess it’s a luxury I can barely live without.” Thus waxes poetically about it Shirley Manson of Garbage rock-group-fame.

However Nahéma didn’t do very well, sales-wise ,and thus is not so easy to find at Guerlain counters, but of course it is not extremely rare either. Its being a commercial flop might be attributed to the fact that it was ahead of its time, introducing the fruity floral concept 20 years before its heyday. It came out at a time when light streamlined chypres like Charlie had already established the image of the independent woman and the new thing were the spicy, mysterious orientals that followed the success of Opium. Nahéma was neither.

On the contrary, Nahéma is a very feisty affair of honeyed rose backed up with intense fruity and balsamic notes such as passion fruit and benzoin, respectively. The initial start has the intense blast of aldehydes redolent of a classic French perfume, so giving it a little time before judging is strongly advised. The heart also encompasses ylang-ylang, jasmine and lily of the valley, as well as an accent of sweet hyacinth (the most characteristic blossom of Chamade): notes which take the supporting role of subtly underscoring the rose. To my nose however the real mate for the rose is peach and plummy nuances: rich and juicy and sunnier than either the note of peach skin in Mitsouko (undecalactone gamma) or Parure, here rendered by the use of lush damascones, at the time just recently discovered (damascones are natural isolates from the rose, giving rose its very rosiness). The rose-fruits combination as well as the richness of damascenones have been reprised by Sophia Grojsman, notably in Trésor in the early 90’s rendering it an instant best seller. In that case nevertheless it’s much more powdery, sweeter, overwhelming and heavy-handed in my opinion. The moderately powdery, liquor-like rose bouquet in Nahema allegedly comes from no less than five elements: Rose de Mai (Grasse or Centifolia rose)absolute and essential oil, Bulgarian rose (Rosa Damascena) absolute and essential oil and the above mentioned damascenones. However other sources, such as Luca Turin, proclaim "the rose at Nahéma's core [...] a geometric locus bounded by a dozen facets, each due to a different ingredient" making it "too rich even for analytical chemistry to make sense of" (By which I deduce he hasn't had the privilege of running this through a gas chromatograph and mass spectometer).
A little while into the drydown of Nahéma clearly detectable sandalwood, Peru balsam and that prerequisite of orientalia, so beloved by Guerlain, vanilla, make their appearance. Guerlain vanilla is unlike anything else out there – it positively smolders. Deep, rich, completely alien to the concept of teenagers seeking a low-calorie substitute to their Haagen Dazs ice cream, it manages to ignite interest even in people who do not normally appreciate vanillic scents. Suffice to say this is not for those who like lighter or “clean” scents, although I do not detect particularly naughty or indolic notes.
The Nahema parfum in the squat bottle with the quadrilobe stopper (same as Jicky, but with a red label) is rosier and smoother, as usual with Guerlain fragrances, as well as to a lesser degree is the 80s concentration of Parfum de toilette and the more recent Eau de Parfum. Yet the Eau de toilette is not unpleasant either, although the initial opening might seem completely aggressive and thin in comparison. Compared with the retro-chic and light-heartedness of Guerlain's Rose Barbare , Nahema is fiery, voluminous and single-minded to the point of stubborness but generous and expansive.

The advertising makes use of the fiery heroine, always depicting women clad in orientalised robes of red and flames shaped like a wreath surrounding the bottle.In my mind Nahéma can be polarizing, making people react viscerally to it. To my detriment, I am not truly enamored with it, mainly because I am no great lover of roses or peach or passionfruit, so another bottle of it is not in my future, however I can’t fail to appreciate the audacity and pedigree of the composition and keeping a small quantity at my side is a lesson in letting the genie out of the bottle.



Notes for Guerlain Nahema:
Top: Peach, bergamot, hesperides, aldehydes, green notes
Heart: rose, jasmine, lilac, hyacinth, lily of the valley, ylang-ylang, passionfruit
Bottom: Perum balsam, vanilla, vetiver, sandalwood


A small sample of Nahéma parfum will be given to one lucky reader. State your interest!

Pic of
The name of the Rose mock-manuscript via Wikimedia Commons. Bottle pic through Fragrantica. Clip of the 2nd part of Ravel's Bolero to a choreography of Maurice Bejart, originally uploaded by audiodeluxe on Youtube.