Perfumery Materials: Neroli, Petit Grain, Orange Blossom, Bigarade

The Mediterranean basin could be described as one giant orangery during spring: the green trees, called bigaradiers, with their dense foliage of shiny leaves are seen sprouting small white blossoms; first, closed like Q-tips and then bursting into an orgy of fragrant flowers, emitting a sweet, yet delicate and fresh fragrance that travels long and far. These individual orangey trees belong in a unique order, bearing fruit still while at the same time blossoming! But you'd be hard-pressed to cut and eat that fruit; the orange-toned rind hides a very bitter flesh which is perfect however for proper marmelade or "spoon sweets". And they only turn their characteristic bright colour in the temperate Mediterranean climate: Spain, Greece, and also...California. Those growing in tropical climates, such as Florida or India or Ghana retain a yellow-greenish tinge.



The amazing tree which produces those wonders of nature is citrus aurantium var. amara (or bigaradia), commonly referred to as "bitter orange tree" (Also known as "Seville orange tree" due to the fact that the romantic city by the river is choke-full of them and because it was the centre of Moorish culture when the trees were first brought into the region from Arabia in the 9th century AD). Perfumers call it by another name, grosser but more accurate in terms of "giving": the pig of perfumery. Every part of this tree gives a lovely material.

The methods which produce different materials: neroli, orange blossom absolute, biagarade, petit-grain

David Seth Moltz, the nose behind D.S. & Durga, the Brooklyn-based perfume company, explains it well: Cold-pressing the fruit peel yields bigarade, the essential oil of the bitter orange; distilling the twigs gives you petitgrain (keep in mind that the same method gives petit-grain from other citrus trees such as lemon petit-grain, lime petit-grain etc); and the orange blossoms provide you with neroli (neroli comes from steam distillation of the flowers) while the same flowers can yield orange blossom absolute when treated with solvents to extract their essence. Distillation is usually carried out in such a way that 1 liter(1 kg) of distillation water (orange flower water) is obtained per 1 kilogram of charged orange flowers. This method incidentally, yields on the average about 1 gram of neroli oil.
That's not all, though: Distill the leaves, twigs and flowers together and you have "petitgrain sur le fleur." But it's still not over yet: Petitgrain water absolute or eau de brouts is the equivalent of orange flower water absolute and is obtained as a by-product from petitgrain bigarade oil. It enhances the 'naturalness' of several other fragrances, e.g. jasmine, neroli, ylang-ylang and gardenia.

"This one tree," Mr. Moltz explains, "gives you a range of citrus, wood, flower and all that lies in between—clean, fresh, dark, spicy." It is, in other words, a tree worthy of obsession! [1]


The differences in scent between the materials
Neroli has a sharper, more delicate aroma with a pleasantly bitter top note, a floral, herbal, green body and a floral, orange flower dry-out. It's lighter than the more overtly feminine orange blossom absolute which is more indolic and lusher, heavy and rich, warm, but also delicate and fresh, long-lasting odour, closely resembling the fragrance of fresh bitter orange blossoms. Its fragrance is not unlike that of jasmine, less intensely floral, but with a greater freshness. Petit grain is more bitter and has a masculine edge. And of course bigarade is the very flavour of morning marmelade.

List of fragrances to guide your nose through the raw materials

To experience bigarade the simplest means is to grab a jar of Bonne Maman marmelade and dip your nose and inhale: the sweetness cannot cut too much on the bitterness which leaves an almost sour aftertaste, resulting into an experience far removed from the more prosaic sweet orange or strawberry jam. Another, more perfume-oriented means would be to grab a bottle of Cologne Bigarade by Frederic Malle (composed by Jean Claude Ellena who excels into that sort of Mediterranean compositions) or his more concentrated and rubbery version with touches of cumin, Bigarade Concentree. Another alternative would be Creed's Citrus Bigarrade [sic].

Neroli has a romantic tale attached to its name: "In the 17th century, the princess of Nerola, Italy, used orange blossom to perfume her stationary, baths and, most famously, her gloves. As she gestured to her courtiers and lovers, a gentle wake of blossom must have trailed her hands. Now, neroli can be found in any number of perfumes, soaps and, according to myth, the secret recipe for Coca-Cola! It is the very essence of spring—that first bloom that promises sun and romance. And like romance, in the hands of a master perfumer, it can be heady or hesitating, sophisticated or innocent, sweet or dangerous. Mr. Moltz describes pure neroli as being "prim and proper." He likes to "dirty it up" with flowers that bring out neroli's wet and sexy vibe. [1] The major chemical components of neroli bigarade oil are: linalool, limonene, linalyl acetate, nerolidol, geraniol, and methyl anthranilate. Extraction of flowers with supercritical CO2 yields a neroli bigarade oil much richer in linalyl acetate (23%) than neroli oil obtained by water distillation. The content of methyl anthranilate (1%) is also significantly higher [2].
If you want to experience a soliflore neroli fragrance, try Annick Goutal's Néroli, a Parisian take on the Med idea . "The idea for Néroli was a warm wind blowing through a blooming orange grove," says Camille Goutal, the creative director after Annick's passing. "It was also inspired by a childhood memory: my uncle spent his holidays in Tunisia and would bring me back bouquets of orange flowers. Of course the main ingredient is the neroli, freshened by the petitgrain Paraguay (which is also tender and green) and petitgrain citronnier. The cypress and the galbanum bring a subtle woody note."
Chloé offers Eau de Fleurs Neroli for spring and summer, a fragrance which mixes an aromatic top with rosemary and clary sage with "clean" upbeat, contemporary notes of peony and white musk.

To get a good dosage of petit-grain, look no further than Miller Harris and Le Petit Grain. A unisex fragrance which brings on a garland of aromatics to boost the angular facets of the material, such as angelica root, tarragon, thyme and lavender. Refreshing due to its briskness, but not without its own depths thanks to patchouli and moss.


For orange blossom the choices are endless. You can check out several on our "Orange Blossom series" classified according to mood. But to recap some of the more characteristic:

Perhaps the loveliest and truest soliflore orange blossom rendition is L'Artisan's original Fleur d'Oranger harvest edition. Fresh, crystalline, projecting with needle-point precision but never too sharp, its melodious song is like a kiss on the lips from someone one had long longed for. The major drawback is it cost an arm & a leg and it was a one-time wonder, as the subsequent reissue from a few seasons ago is a little bit different.

Jo Malone's Orange Blossom cologne takes on a crisp but feminine interpretation of the flowers of the bitter orange tree: the composition is flanked by lemongrass and clementine oils on top (so that the fragrance retains a live-like freshness) and by lily and lilac notes on the bottom to soften and feminise it.

On the contrary Prada's Infusion de Fleurs d'Oranger [full review here] apart from a brief departure of orange flowers and neroli segues on into soapier arpegios with Serenolide (a synthetic musk), therefore being a less representative candidate.

Le Labo is one brand which features orange blossom at the heart of three of their fragrances: Fleur D'Oranger 27, (feminine with jasmine and sunny bergamot); Neroli 36, a playful mix of watermelon, salt, rose, mandarin and musk; and in Tubereuse 40, vibrating with the dynamism of tuberose, cedar, mimosa and petitgrain.

But perhaps the most majestic orange blossom absolute of them all is Fleurs D'Oranger by Serge Lutens. Far from being an orange blossom soliflore as its name suggests, this is a fragrance as beguiling as Salome dancing the dance of the seven veils. Upon each revelation, the anticipation heightens till the next one. The initial stage is one of soft orange blossom, in the words of Serge, the "strengthening of a breeze", hidding the more mysterious, invested interests in the background, emerging slowly like shadows from an orchard which suns itself somewhere off the Mediterranean coast. The accomplice in this is tuberose and its strange, wicked angularity creeps in beneath the shadows. But despite the fragrance's lushness and drama, it dries down to a delicate sweetness that resembles honeyed woman's skin; discreet and very, very sensual.

Last but not least the etymology is also interesting and quite mixed-up: The word orange (EN and FR), naranja (ES), arancia (IT) are all derived from the Persian naranj which in the contrary means bitter orange ("νεράτζι" i.e. nerantzi, in Greek), the place where the bitter variety of the tree comes from. The Iranians call oranges 'portoghal' which resembles the Greek word for sweet oranges, πορτοκάλι; to my knowledge, only in Greek among European languages has the Persian distinction been maintained. But how come the Greek call orange the ...Portugeuse fruit? (That's what the name means) It's because the Portugeuse traders brought sweet oranges into the Mediterranean basin from China centuries after the bitter oranges were brought to these shores...



[1] Ref. Wall Street Journal
[2]Ref. White Lotus Aromatics


Collage photo via beauty maverick. Photo of bitter orange tree by CorinthianGulf/flickr

Amouage "Library Collection" Opus I, II, III: exclusive fragrance previews

Few niche fragrance lines today are as devoted to opulence as the Omani firm of Amouage founded in 1983. Rich, multi-nuanced baroque tapestries of scent, so textured you feel like you can touch them, Amouage perfumes remind us of how perfumery used to be before restrictions and leaning-tricks gave perfumery its contemporary meagre look. The three upcoming additions Opus I, Opus II and Opus III in the "Library Collection" (which we announced the other day) do not disappoint.


It is with great pleasure that I introduce them to you, writing down my impressions as I test them again and again on my skin these past few days. A few of you might get to try them out in the special preview scheduled in a couple of days (details at the bottom), the rest are urged to seek them out later on when the launch officially. They're true to form and one among them is truly surprising.


Artistic direction is everything when it comes to positioning a perfume brand: Remember Christian Astuguevieille for Comme des Garçons, Lutens for Shiseido and his own eponymous line etc. Likewise, the multi-faceted ~opera, fashion and semiotics among his studies~creative director Christopher Chong has helped Amouage gain the credibility which niche lines are (sometimes only) dreaming of: unflagging consistency, luxury, specific vision, collaboration with top perfumers. His musical background I guess is the reason why the three new Opera (or musically referenced, Opi) were thus baptized. The library standing as the capsule for keeping the creative process contained in tangible, approachable form.

Initially I was a bit sceptical when I heard of a new Collection, especially with arithmetical numbering: These days niche frag "collections" are a dime a dozen and for some weird reason everyone wants to bring out one, semi-establishing themselves as authors of a body of work at the drop of a hat. But in the case of Amouage there is already a line-up of impressive creations, thus crossing effectively that motive off the list. Still, three fragrances in one go seem like one or two would overshadow the rest. But if the Arabian-inspired house has proven anything to us, it's that more is sometimes more, after all! There is nothing minimalistic about Amouage and the new triptych will find its dedicated fans as well, walking the fine line between wearability and artistry successfully.

• Opus I is the most surprising new Amouage in the Library Collection, not from a structural point of view but one of juxtaposing two antithetical elements which miraculously fuse into one another in a case of reverse engineering. Although officially classed as a chypre, Opus I feels like a lush floral with a jarring, really great bitter bigarade top note (like traditional bitter citrus rind confit, almost Roudnitska drool-worthy) which contrasts with tuberose and dominant ylang ylang; both flowers treated into a mentholated ribbon flowing in the wind underneath a plummy accord which is round, fleshy, pudding-rich. The bitterness of bigarade and the tarry notes offsets the salicylates of the flowers, while the sweet elements (tonka, plum accord) brings out the nectarous qualities. The most pyramidal of the three, where there is a clear and distinct progression from top to heart and then slowly segueing into base.

• Opus II promised to be evocative of "old books, dark wooden shelves and antique leather armchairs" and only because I already knew that from the announcement of the new line, I purposely jumpled the samples around, as if.... Proclivities are almost hard-wired and both nature & nurture seems to conspire making me always gravitate towards such compositions. If I were to sum it up I would proclaim Opus II a spicy incense fragrance and in that field it plays seamlessly. The core of frankincense reveals a zesty freshness the way the natural resin tears have a lemony, orange-y freshness as they smoke serenely on the censer. Contrary to Opus I, which starts refreshingly bitter and turns sweeter and lush, Opus II goes for the reverse: A warm, soothing opening of rosy spice and absinth liquer (see our Series) becomes cooler and more celebral as the time passes; while the final warm sweetish remnants on skin project at a low hum like bass heard from a distance. Unquestionably my favourite, it reflects what Christopher had said: "The Amouage customer is an international traveler who has picked up antiques and items of furniture while travelling around the world and has built a home reflecting a global approach to design, but housed within an Omani-inspired space."

• Opus III is built around violets, clearly detectable from the very start, taking on nuances of both candied petals and greener, leafier verdancy with a sage-like tone. The aromatic top has a quirky nuance, with pungent, bracken and honeyed tonalities, turbidity set against a woody base. Even though violets are usually thought of as feminine and retro-glamorous, reminiscent of makeup paraphernalia, here they're treated in both directions of sweet and mainly green, rendering the finished scent suitable for both sexes. Opus III feels linear, united into one ultra-complex chord which projects with unwavering assurance.

All three fragrances in the Library Collection bear the sign of Frankincense, the emblem of the luxurious fragrance line, sensed in various degrees and they all smell full and rich, the way we're used to from the Sultanate of Oman.

The three scents in the Amouage Library Collection are extremely lasting on skin (a full 12 hours and they were still going strong!) and leaving a delicious trail behind without becoming intruding or cloying. Please refer to this post for the exact notes of each.

A sneak preview of the "Library Collection" Opus I, Opus II and Opus III will be taking place at Aedes de Venustas, 9 Christopher Street, New York on Thursday, July 1st, 2010 from 5-8pm and cocktails will be served. It's worth the trip if you're near. The sampler set is endearing, small sprayers encased in pearl white silk-lined matchboxes.

All photos by Elena Vosnaki. Click to enlarge.
Painting of The Queen's Library at St.James's Palace, from The History of the Royal Residences, engraved by Richard Reeve, by William Henry Pyne.
In the interests of full disclosure I was sent 3 preview samples by the company.