Macaron

The sun shines on the coast, the asphalt is burning hot.
I can hear it before I can see it, engine noises deafening my ears.
A deep black sports motorcycle zooms along the avenue by the California coast, driven by a man in aviator sunglasses.

Skillfully, he parks the two-wheeler at the roadside, the view of the Pacific Ocean is perfect.
The motorcyclist casually dismounts his machine and strolls over to the fruit stand on the charming beach promenade. The seller? A stunning woman in her twenties.
Here, fresh apples, juicy citrus fruits, and above all, sweet pears are offered. Chilled, of course. These fresh-fruity-sweet accords blend with an aquatic breeze straight from the Pacific. An insane olfactory opening.
He gets to try the watermelon, which unfortunately lacks intense flavor.
The man has all the fruits wrapped up and pays with a generous tip. As a small gesture, he receives a sugary sweet plum in his hand.

The air seems to smell of cinnamon, I only notice it now. Is that the perfume of the motorcyclist? Cinnamon-y yet fresh, fruity.

The man, outfitted in a leather jacket and Ray-Bans, heads straight for the water at the beach. The waves crash and wash wood onto the sandy shore. He picks up the driftwood and can smell three things: amber wood, sandalwood, and cedar wood. He tucks these pleasantly fragrant pieces into his jeans. Thus, his aura of fresh fruits and sweet plums is perfectly rounded off.

On his way back to his motorcycle, he passes a small green bush that suspiciously smells like patchouli. As he swings onto the Kawasaki with its crackling 4-cylinder engine to make it to his date on time, the sweet seller from the fruit stand winks at him. He responds to the hint with a relaxed, satisfied smile.

It is 1986 somewhere in California. It is Tom Cruise. A cheeky laugh plays around his lips as he starts the engine, and he is surrounded by a fantastic cloud of scent. The fragrance lasts just like him all day long without pause, and he is ready for the next thrill.

I find myself in a bazaar in the East and want to haggle.
By now, dusk is setting in, a fresh breeze caresses my skin, and only a bright strip of orange remains on the horizon. At night, it gets freezing cold even in this desert region.

I stroll further and now stand in front of a huge, but not overloaded display. The merchant in his travel cloak smiles at me just as much as his offered products.

The first thing that catches my eye is the pepper, what a punch! The dried pepper plant is bursting with strength. The merchant tells me that this variety is a special preparation made from unripe fruits. His secret: he mixes in fresh grapefruit juice. I take the fragrant grains in my hand, but I can’t detect any grapefruit no matter how hard I try. However, this certainly softens the truly extreme pepper note. I like this variety and have a generous portion weighed out for me.

While the businessman is busy, my gaze falls on a smaller container filled with wonderful cinnamon. The crispy cinnamon sticks smell festive, and according to the label on the sign, they were sourced from the Ceylon tree and are known for their high durability. A few selected sticks also find their way into my shopping basket.

The merchant is pleased with my interest in his other offerings. For a small fee, he wants to sell me saffron. The bitter-herb-spicy spice, he claims, was acquired in a special batch and he can therefore offer me a fantastic price. I smell the red threads and... don’t smell much. I politely decline with a smile, yet a small portion is added to my purchase. As a thank you, the merchant says kindly.

I have been lingering at this brightly scented stand for a while now, while the other merchants are packing up. I want to quickly check out the last product I can get here: there’s still a basket of loose tobacco. I think to myself that I’ve smelled this scent before, but now it’s stronger than ever. It’s a sweet vanilla tobacco that one lets smolder in an oriental pipe at low temperatures. Is this really tobacco? I take a deep puff and predominantly taste the vanilla notes. Wow, I really like this! It pairs perfectly with the cinnamon sticks. In the finish, I feel the pleasant tobacco note that skillfully rounds off the blend.

I take my bag with the spices and tobacco, pay the spice man a fair wage, and walk through the cool evening air to my accommodation. The shopping wasn’t cheap, but given the long shelf life and the intense aromas, the price is certainly more than justified! The potpourri in my tote bag leaves a strong scent trail behind it, wafting into the noses of the people to my right and left.

So here he is again, casually leaning against the bar with one arm.
His outfit? Simple. But still stylish, a leather jacket with a white T-shirt underneath. The inscription: Cedrat Boise.

I remember him from earlier years; not long ago, he was a big boxing professional. He was known for his incredible stamina in the ring. Once he got going, he could easily perform for 8 to 10 hours; he was noticed throughout the entire hall. Those were true giving qualities.

As I see him standing there, cigarette in hand, not much of his former greatness is recognizable anymore.
Of course, even today, you can still identify him by his typical traits: a refreshing aura at the beginning,
a leather jacket that is distinctly noticeable, and a bit of smoke hangs in the air.
Is that the tabletop that smells subtly of wood?
A great mixture that comes together.

The old boxer... he still goes to the gym occasionally and trains. He is no longer really competitive against the current competition. After 3 hours of shadowboxing, the fun is over; he simply doesn't have the strength to continue. In the boxing club, he is hardly noticed by the others anymore, even though he is still present.

This young upstart from Montblanc is making his life difficult; they call him the discoverer. This boy excites the audience, as the tickets for the show are significantly cheaper, and you get a longer performance than with our aged specimen.

Both are oriented towards their idol from Creed; they have copied the boxing style, the nuances, yes, the entire body. There are many others who strike the same chord. Is that the refined way to win? Certainly not.
But in the end, only the winner counts (and who can score best with the girls).

In that regard, our old boxer was once considered too smoky. However, in his current state, the old tobacco scent is hardly noticeable; he seems calmer, not as loud, fresh.

All in all, Mancera's Cedrat Boise has been significantly diluted. In the old formulation, it could cause headaches and was unbearable in the hot summer.
While I find the lack of performance disappointing and will not repurchase, the scent can now be used as an unproblematic summer fragrance.