What fragrance are you wearing today? What does your hometown smell like in the spring, and is there a perfume that captures this scent?

After a long stretch of unseasonably cold months, the temperatures suddenly climbed high enough for all of the blooms to open up at once. The scent is even stronger in the morning, when the air is fresh and clean. As I walk down the street, I’m intoxicated by the scents of magnolia (lemon zest and melted vanilla ice cream) and hyacinths (earth caked roses and cloves). The scent is strong enough that I don’t even need to wear perfume; the fragrance in the air is enough to make me feel butterflies in my stomach for no reason.

If I were to pick a commercial fragrance that captures the scent of Brussels these days, it would be Annick Goutal Grand Amour. With its lush but airy bouquet of rose and hyacinth, it has a vibrant, bold character. The fresh green melody of Parfums de Nicolaï Le Temps d’une Fête is another perfume I will reach for to remind myself of these spring days.

Luckily for all of us, there is no bottled essence of the Brussels subway (I doubt that musty and acrid odors are in much demand).

Photography by Bois de Jasmin

While we’re at the tail end of our cold spring days–or so I hope, I still crave warm, rich flavors. On hot summer days, I often steam spinach and then dress it lightly with lemon juice, olive oil, salt, and pepper, but when I arrive home soaked with rain, I want something more comforting. That’s how spinach ends up married to pomegranate molasses and honey in my kitchen. It’s a light dish, but its flavor is bold and lush.

Pomegranate molasses is a trendy ingredient right now with chefs, but it’s a traditional ingredient in Eastern countries, from Turkey to Iran. I first tried it at the table of my Azeri relatives, and I’ve been in love ever since. In Azerbaijan, a former Soviet republic on the Caspian Sea, this tart condiment is commonly served as a dipping sauce and in numerous vegetable preparations. In the Ukraine of my childhood, where mayonnaise was the most exotic condiment, it seemed like something out of One Thousand and One Nights. But before long it became as ubiquitous in my pantry as mustard.
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When I reviewed Annick Goutal colognes recently, I mentioned that the trio would be great for those who are new to this fresh citrusy genre. The Hermès cologne collection would be my other recommendation. You can have a cologne flight starting from the champagne dryness of Eau d’Orange Verte and continuing with the white wine effervescence of Eau de Pamplemousse Rose. If you’re ready to try something more challenging, Eau de Gentiane Blanche offers a cocktail of green peppers and milky sap oozing from dandelions.

With Eau de Narcisse Bleu and Eau de Mandarine Ambrée having recently joined the collection, you have even more interesting choices. The fragrances round out Hermès’s cologne offerings with the elegant interpretation of spring flowers and sweet citrus. Both fragrances are polished and refined in a way that is typical of most fragrances by Jean-Claude Ellena, and either would be equally suited to both men and women.

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I find endlessly fascinating the “stories” created around perfumes; the one concocted for Atelier Cologne Rose Anonyme is briefer than many but is still dramatic:  “She turned the dial until the safe opened, revealing the diamond. She had stolen jewels before, but none compared with this one. She left a single rose and the scent of her perfume in its place for him to find. In a moment she’d be halfway around the world and he would be in pursuit. The chase began again…”

More useful for someone wondering whether he or she might enjoy the fragrance is a sentence about “a breathtaking seductress caught in a stolen affair between light and dark.”  Forget the seductress and go right to the light and dark part.  This isn’t fiction.  Rose Anonyme contains mostly dark elements that can easily topple a less carefully considered fragrance. But it’s so smoothly blended that the perfume feels like something that one slides into rather than something one sprays on.

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What fragrances, if any, feel so glamorous to you that you feel like you have to dress up for them?

At one point I would approach venerable classics–Chanel No 5, Christian Dior Miss Dior, or Guerlain Mitsouko–with some trepidation. I often felt that their legendary status and impressive history necessitated at least some lipstick on my part. I saved my Mitsouko for special occasions. The only problem was that the glamorous occasions were–and still are–few and far between, and my Mitsouko languished, ignored and unworn. That’s why I decided that I will wear all of my grand parfums whenever the mood strikes. These days I even don Mitsouko or Amouage Gold to clean my apartment, and they make this unexciting task seem more interesting.

On many days, the most glamorous part about me is my perfume, and as much as I respect them, I have a more relaxed attitude to classics. But there are some perfumes that feel too glamorous and imposing. Jean Patou 1000 is one example. It’s a gorgeous, lush composition that would be perfect to wear to a ball at the Winter Palace, but I don’t enjoy its grand and elaborate character. Or perhaps, I need to wait till I get that Winter Palace invitation.

Photography by Bois de Jasmin