In my latest FT column, Pink Pepper Perfumes, I look at the mysterious “pink berries.”

For an introduction, you can also take a look at my Speaking Perfume: A-Z Glossary. It was written four years ago, but is still one of the most quoted articles from Bois de Jasmin. Also, the individual essays on raw materials and accords might be helpful.

“A list of notes describes a perfume’s smell as well as an enumeration of pigments captures Mona Lisa’s smile. While notes can suggest whether a fragrance is predominantly floral, leathery or spicy, they can also be misleading. One example is pink berries. To continue, please click here.”

I wrote the article before I tried the most recent Aedes perfume, Grenadille d’Afrique, but it would be a perfect contender for an innovative take on pink pepper. It was created by Alberto Morillas.

Photography of pink pepper by Bois de Jasmin

A group of students was standing in front of the Mark Rothko painting taking notes as the museum guide talked about the artist’s life and his inspirations. I would have walked past the crowd had the curator not suddenly dropped one phrase, “As we all know, minimalism in art was invented in the West.” I was admiring Rothko’s use of vermilion red, an intense hue that made me think of Indian kumkum (the crimson powder Hindu women use to draw a mark on their foreheads) and Russian lacquers, when the West claimed Minimalism.

Leaving aside the absurdity of referring to Rothko as a “minimalist”–a label he would have rejected outright, it’s senseless to separate artistic achievements by arbitrary parameters. To see why, one should leave the halls devoted to 20th century art and walk through, say, the expositions usually housed in the Eastern wings. If the museum in question is the Met in New York, then the Department of Islamic Art is where I would take you.

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When: October 2o-24, 2016. Where: Luberon, France. What: The Secret of Scent, a three day perfume course that I will be co-authoring with Luca Turin. The organizers tell me that we can still accommodate a couple of spots, so this is just a reminder. More details can be found via Science and Vacation and my previous post.

Those who have already emailed me about attending, I look forward to meeting you later this fall.

Whether you’re attending or not, I’d love to hear what fragrances you would most like to try in their original formulations?

Photography by Bois de Jasmin, my vintage Coty Chypre is part of the plan!

The smell of a ripe apricot is mesmerizing enough to make me want to give up perfumery and tend an orchard instead.   It smells of cream, sweet orange, bitter almond, and a hint of rose. Unfortunately, unless you have access to an apricot grove, finding such a perfect specimen is difficult. Apricots are invariably picked green, and even if they soften, they never develop the perfume of tree-ripened fruit.

There is, however, one technique to unlock some of the apricot’s fragrant potential. It’s to cook it. Even the hard supermarket variety becomes luscious and perfumed, especially if you add a touch of vanilla. I often sprinkle apricots with vanilla sugar and rosewater and roast them just until they start to turn jammy and tender. You can add cream, but that’s already gilding the lily. Or I make a poppyseed cake topped with apricots, an ideal late summer-early fall dessert.

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What were your scented summer highlights? What interesting fragrances (bottled or otherwise) have you discovered?

For most of the summer I was on the road, but even so, I tried and fell in love with Hermès Eau de Rhubarbe Écarlate and Néroli Doré, by Kilian Moonlight in Heaven, Antonio Alessandria Fleurs et Flammes, Rubini Fundamental and The Different Company Adjatay, a deliciously dark leather.

The best discovery, however, was courtesy of an eight year old who took part in a perfume class I organized for children in Ukraine. She combined blackcurrant and orange, with a generous dose of rose–no prompts from me, I should add. The result was dramatic and complex.

Photography by Bois de Jasmin