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10/25/2018
Meggi
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Meggi
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On the wrong track
One of the cutest Hägar comics for me is the one where Dr. Zook holds a test tube in his hand and decides to name the freshly developed brew after the first person he meets outside - and that's a guy named...Martini.
And that brings us to the subject: dealing with this extraordinarily unconventional rose fragrance has given me many a question mark and one or two surprises. The wine-like note of the opening reminds me within seconds of - clearly - Martini. That's why I figured it out. Soon, on the other hand, she assumes a Marsala sauce appearance with fig border crossings. It's a strange smell of roses. Time to read up on something.
The manufacturer speaks of Rosa alba instead of Zentifolie. I see. Now my copy of it, a "Rosa alba suaveolens", has long since withered for this year, of course. The name-addition hintendran means "sweetly fragrant". Well, "sweet" is relative to roses - but it doesn't smell like Marsala, my olfactory memory says. I'll check again next year. My Damascene rose, the "Rose de Resht", which is occasionally sorted with the Portland roses, blooms again and again, until autumn, but it does not smell of Italian sweet wine either. I'm afraid the matter has to remain unresolved for the moment.
In addition, there is a riddle about a mysterious Possible Wood. The provider explicitly mentions "Patagonian Rose". However, this obviously means a special kind of rosewood. I didn't find out much about it, but a "Patagonian Rose" as a flower doesn't seem to exist. A thought about wood fits the behaviour of the scent at all or at least allows itself to be rid of it. Aha, I ended up on the wrong track because of confusion?
My favorite colleague also diagnosed tea. I don't like the smell of this, but for further guesswork I throw the so-called tea-roses symbolically into the round, concerning which various explanatory approaches for the formation of the name buzz around. One of them is that the flowers supposedly smell of tea. I have no tea rose in my stock and therefore don't know.
Anyway, it doesn't smell much like rose. For hours, until the afternoon, I find the scent - pointed to the point - even more creamy-fruity-sweet than floral. Almost a border gourmand on the threshold of liqueur. It should be made clear that this may be found quite successfully in its reduced, consistent, unwavering way, it is just not flowery.
Only towards evening does the weight shift more towards what is generally known as the scent of roses. A dark, lush and voluminous variation. Nevertheless, a wine-like impact remains. And with him my helplessness.
I'd like to thank the robins for rehearsing.
And that brings us to the subject: dealing with this extraordinarily unconventional rose fragrance has given me many a question mark and one or two surprises. The wine-like note of the opening reminds me within seconds of - clearly - Martini. That's why I figured it out. Soon, on the other hand, she assumes a Marsala sauce appearance with fig border crossings. It's a strange smell of roses. Time to read up on something.
The manufacturer speaks of Rosa alba instead of Zentifolie. I see. Now my copy of it, a "Rosa alba suaveolens", has long since withered for this year, of course. The name-addition hintendran means "sweetly fragrant". Well, "sweet" is relative to roses - but it doesn't smell like Marsala, my olfactory memory says. I'll check again next year. My Damascene rose, the "Rose de Resht", which is occasionally sorted with the Portland roses, blooms again and again, until autumn, but it does not smell of Italian sweet wine either. I'm afraid the matter has to remain unresolved for the moment.
In addition, there is a riddle about a mysterious Possible Wood. The provider explicitly mentions "Patagonian Rose". However, this obviously means a special kind of rosewood. I didn't find out much about it, but a "Patagonian Rose" as a flower doesn't seem to exist. A thought about wood fits the behaviour of the scent at all or at least allows itself to be rid of it. Aha, I ended up on the wrong track because of confusion?
My favorite colleague also diagnosed tea. I don't like the smell of this, but for further guesswork I throw the so-called tea-roses symbolically into the round, concerning which various explanatory approaches for the formation of the name buzz around. One of them is that the flowers supposedly smell of tea. I have no tea rose in my stock and therefore don't know.
Anyway, it doesn't smell much like rose. For hours, until the afternoon, I find the scent - pointed to the point - even more creamy-fruity-sweet than floral. Almost a border gourmand on the threshold of liqueur. It should be made clear that this may be found quite successfully in its reduced, consistent, unwavering way, it is just not flowery.
Only towards evening does the weight shift more towards what is generally known as the scent of roses. A dark, lush and voluminous variation. Nevertheless, a wine-like impact remains. And with him my helplessness.
I'd like to thank the robins for rehearsing.
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