Top Notes 
Orange
Ginger
Walnut
Heart Notes 
Cinnamon
Biscuit
Coffee
Base Notes 
Honey
Vanilla05/23/2025
Elysium
887 Reviews
Elysium
4
Melomakarona recipe (Greek Christmas Honey Cookies)
Honey and cinnamon together are like a slow dance between two old souls who decided that life is better when you’re both a little sticky and a little spicy. Honey — golden, viscous, suspiciously too perfect — feels like sunlight that got bored with shining and decided to melt into sugar. Cinnamon — that bark-ground powder of mild chaos — smells like memory itself, like the ghost of warm kitchens and small rebellions. When they blend, it’s not subtle. It’s like two minor gods from ancient folklore conspiring to wrap your senses in something you can’t untangle: heat, sweetness, nostalgia, desire, and a vague feeling you should probably sit down and rethink your life choices, because nothing you make will ever taste as rich as that smell feels.
Biscotto seems to be a spicy gourmand with sweet and citrus elements. It is a combination that recalls warm, enveloping and winter scents, with an interesting mix of food notes (biscuit, coffee, honey) and spices. The initial encounter with Profumeria Artistica’s Biscotto is a masterclass in controlled contradiction—orange zest erupts not with the expected citrus sharpness, but with a mellow radiance that filters through the composition like late autumn sunlight through amber-tinted windows. This isn’t the bright, morning-fresh orange of summer colognes; rather, it resembles candied peel warmed between careful fingers, releasing oils that speak more of harvests and hearthsides than of orchards and optimism. For more that a moment, I get a boozy candied orange, as if there were a glass of rum flavored with sweet orange peels.
The walnut note emerges almost immediately, not as an afterthought but as a deliberate counterpoint—introducing a dry, tannic quality that prevents the orange from veering into simplistic sweetness. There’s something almost architectural about this nutty dimension—it constructs wooden beams that frame and support what’s coming. Ginger arrives as the third narrative voice, bringing a crystalline heat that doesn’t burn but rather illuminates—like embers glowing behind fireplace grates, promising warmth without threatening flame.
As the fragrance evolves into its heart, time itself seems to slow down. Cinnamon unfurls not as the sharp, synthetic spice of holiday candles, but as freshly ground bark that carries both sweetness and woody intensity—the spice cabinet of a generation-old bakery opened for the first time each morning. It is dark, and deep, and lasts until the end, caressing all the other notes. Coffee follows, vivid, not with the acrid edge of over-extraction, but as beans freshly crushed, releasing oils that evoke distant mountains and careful cultivation. Then comes what may be the fragrance’s most remarkable illusion: the biscuit accord. Rather than a literal biscotto note, the effect seems to emerge from a medley of gourmand, buttery, and roasted nuances—an accord that evokes the sensation of golden-baked dough cooling on metal racks, without ever stating it outright. It’s a textural miracle, translating the comfort of fresh pastries into olfactory form. I get a sort of aniseed biscuits, which are crunchy and fragrant sweets that resemble, as shape and texture, the classic Tuscan biscuits called “cantucci.”
In the base, the fragrance settles into an olfactory sanctuary where its narrative fully matures. Vanilla presents itself not as the thin, saccharine screech found in many commercial blends, but as the complex profile of aged beans—simultaneously sweet, woody, and faintly leathery, as if steeped in memory. The honey note delivers the final masterstroke. Rather than a pale, floral sweetness, it leans toward something darker and more feral—a forest honey, thick and resinous, sticky with wildness. It doesn’t merely sweeten; it transforms the entire composition into something alive and breathing, imparting a palpable viscosity that clings to both skin and memory.
This scent reaches its full narrative potential during fall’s golden hours and winter’s intimate interludes. It wraps itself most completely around the wearer during unhurried weekend mornings, fireside contemplations, and those rare moments of solitude reclaimed between obligations. While perhaps too enveloping for summer heat or sterile office settings, it becomes the perfect companion for casual gatherings where comfort and authenticity reign supreme. It speaks most eloquently in the waning light of day, when its golden warmth glows against the encroaching dusk. The performance unfolds with remarkable patience—projection maintains a dignified distance, creating a personal atmosphere that invites rather than announces. Longevity manifests as a gentle persistence, clinging close to the skin while occasionally blooming with movement or a change in temperature.
Biscotto isn’t merely a gourmand fragrance—it’s an olfactory storytelling. Each wearing becomes more than just the application of scent; it feels like a return to somewhere half-remembered and wholly imagined. A place constructed from comfort, memory, and the nostalgia of things we’ve never quite lived, but recognize in the deepest corners of ourselves.
I wrote my thoughts based on a bottle I’ve owned since April 2025 (BC 20225134)
-Elysium
Biscotto seems to be a spicy gourmand with sweet and citrus elements. It is a combination that recalls warm, enveloping and winter scents, with an interesting mix of food notes (biscuit, coffee, honey) and spices. The initial encounter with Profumeria Artistica’s Biscotto is a masterclass in controlled contradiction—orange zest erupts not with the expected citrus sharpness, but with a mellow radiance that filters through the composition like late autumn sunlight through amber-tinted windows. This isn’t the bright, morning-fresh orange of summer colognes; rather, it resembles candied peel warmed between careful fingers, releasing oils that speak more of harvests and hearthsides than of orchards and optimism. For more that a moment, I get a boozy candied orange, as if there were a glass of rum flavored with sweet orange peels.
The walnut note emerges almost immediately, not as an afterthought but as a deliberate counterpoint—introducing a dry, tannic quality that prevents the orange from veering into simplistic sweetness. There’s something almost architectural about this nutty dimension—it constructs wooden beams that frame and support what’s coming. Ginger arrives as the third narrative voice, bringing a crystalline heat that doesn’t burn but rather illuminates—like embers glowing behind fireplace grates, promising warmth without threatening flame.
As the fragrance evolves into its heart, time itself seems to slow down. Cinnamon unfurls not as the sharp, synthetic spice of holiday candles, but as freshly ground bark that carries both sweetness and woody intensity—the spice cabinet of a generation-old bakery opened for the first time each morning. It is dark, and deep, and lasts until the end, caressing all the other notes. Coffee follows, vivid, not with the acrid edge of over-extraction, but as beans freshly crushed, releasing oils that evoke distant mountains and careful cultivation. Then comes what may be the fragrance’s most remarkable illusion: the biscuit accord. Rather than a literal biscotto note, the effect seems to emerge from a medley of gourmand, buttery, and roasted nuances—an accord that evokes the sensation of golden-baked dough cooling on metal racks, without ever stating it outright. It’s a textural miracle, translating the comfort of fresh pastries into olfactory form. I get a sort of aniseed biscuits, which are crunchy and fragrant sweets that resemble, as shape and texture, the classic Tuscan biscuits called “cantucci.”
In the base, the fragrance settles into an olfactory sanctuary where its narrative fully matures. Vanilla presents itself not as the thin, saccharine screech found in many commercial blends, but as the complex profile of aged beans—simultaneously sweet, woody, and faintly leathery, as if steeped in memory. The honey note delivers the final masterstroke. Rather than a pale, floral sweetness, it leans toward something darker and more feral—a forest honey, thick and resinous, sticky with wildness. It doesn’t merely sweeten; it transforms the entire composition into something alive and breathing, imparting a palpable viscosity that clings to both skin and memory.
This scent reaches its full narrative potential during fall’s golden hours and winter’s intimate interludes. It wraps itself most completely around the wearer during unhurried weekend mornings, fireside contemplations, and those rare moments of solitude reclaimed between obligations. While perhaps too enveloping for summer heat or sterile office settings, it becomes the perfect companion for casual gatherings where comfort and authenticity reign supreme. It speaks most eloquently in the waning light of day, when its golden warmth glows against the encroaching dusk. The performance unfolds with remarkable patience—projection maintains a dignified distance, creating a personal atmosphere that invites rather than announces. Longevity manifests as a gentle persistence, clinging close to the skin while occasionally blooming with movement or a change in temperature.
Biscotto isn’t merely a gourmand fragrance—it’s an olfactory storytelling. Each wearing becomes more than just the application of scent; it feels like a return to somewhere half-remembered and wholly imagined. A place constructed from comfort, memory, and the nostalgia of things we’ve never quite lived, but recognize in the deepest corners of ourselves.
I wrote my thoughts based on a bottle I’ve owned since April 2025 (BC 20225134)
-Elysium
Elysium
