Medusa00

If you think something risqué is coming, you’re mistaken. Christmas time is approaching, a joyful time, and soon Santa Claus will be near. So what could be more fitting than a review of a fragrance that Ernest Daltroff created in 1922 for his beloved Félicie Wanpoille, who loved Christmas very much? However, this EdT is a reissue from 1960.
Yes, dear good Santa Claus, don’t look at me so angrily. Put away your switch, I want to be good too. In the past, children were truly afraid of Santa Claus, and sometimes he wasn’t the friendly, jolly man who only brought wonderful gifts. Nevertheless, we should preserve the belief in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and, for that matter, the Pentecost Ox for the children. They grow up far too quickly anyway and lose all their illusions.
In the past, I mean long ago, Santa Claus didn’t wear a red coat with white plastic trim, baggy pants, polished boots, a hat, and a white fluffy beard. That’s an invention of Coca Cola. Seriously! Before this trend washed over to Europe, Santa Claus appeared rather shabby, and depending on how Catholic the area was, sometimes an angel or even a frightening figure accompanied him.
The reindeer and the idea of Santa flying through the chimney are also American inventions, although I find that quite charming. But in the absence of chimneys or suitable flues, Santa has to come through the door and knock loudly beforehand.
No one wants to find a mummified Santa in an unused flue after years.
Enough of the preamble. Let’s get to the fragrance. Now don’t get the idea that a perfume called Nuit de Noel somehow smells like gingerbread. There’s no cinnamon, no potash, no star anise, no rum punch, and certainly no mulled wine. It doesn’t smell like roasted almonds or chestnuts either.
Ernest Daltroff may have been inspired by his beloved’s preferences and created a chypre.
With a citrusy start. No, not a sour lemon that leaves you with puckered lips all Christmas long, but rather like a sweet lemon or real candied lemon peel.
Perhaps Ernest had a vision of a Santa Claus wearing silk briefs under his coat, which he had washed in rose water and were printed with many flowers. The pants released a lush wave of blossoms. In the absence of a typical Santa belly, they were stuffed with pillows that had been heavily powdered beforehand.
Santa Claus is also still quite green behind the ears. That’s moss! There’s only moss going on here. Oh, come all ye faithful……
With sandalwood sticks, you can play the song of the little drummer:
Through the silent night,
Pa ra pa pa pum
There went a little boy
Ra pa pa pum
Holding his toy drum
In his hand
Wanted to go to the stable,

Actually, the song isn’t funny, but I love it.
A beautiful fragrance. Unfortunately discontinued.
I wish you a wonderful, joyful, and reflective Christmas celebration, and in this sense: Dona nobis pacem.

…I have the perfect remedy here.
Actually, I had pushed this creation out of my memory, as the sample reached me while I was taking another break from perfumes. But recently, I was - unwittingly - reminded of it.
When I came home from the walk with my Fumico, my cat surprised me by… uh, having thrown up on the couch.
A sour smell, reminiscent of half-digested mush made from dry food, cat milk, and cat grass, wafted towards me. I struggled to remove the stuff from the sofa without leaving a trace and had to hold myself together to keep my breakfast from coming back up.
Well, one should be creative with such experiences, and that’s when I remembered Sombre.
If you ever need a break: Sombre! Spray it generously and then go to the doctor. However, it might happen that the ambulance is called right in the waiting room, suspecting that you have the plague - eradicated in Europe - because vomiting and sweating are also symptoms. The buboes that come with the plague will grow on you anyway, even though you don’t actually have the disease.
If you don’t end up in the clinic but in the consultation room, the doctor will admire your pallor and cautiously ask which funeral home he should contact in case of the worst and whether he should notify your relatives. Animal clouds come from flatulence. Your face turns green because you didn’t hold back when applying Sombre, but it could also be a sign of mold spreading in your hair. It’s advisable to shave your head bald and then scrub it with a chemical cleaner.
To get Sombre off again, I recommend bathing in sour donkey milk and then working with liquid chlorine.
The perfumer must have had an incredible amount of fun creating this thing. Good for him.

When the film "Dirty Dancing" premiered in 1987, featuring (the sadly much too early departed) Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey in the lead roles, the mambo wave spread and other Latin American dances reflected the so-called "dirty" dance style. It was very expressive, physical, and sexy on the dance floor. And exactly in this lascivious explosion of feelings, Balahé (launched in 1983) fit in like the dancer's knee between the legs of his partner. Anyone who saw Patrick and Jennifer dance knows what I mean.
I situate my story about this dream fragrance somewhere in the land of 10,000 impossibilities, in a dance hall where there was no rushing about or, let alone, a greasy, overly loud disco where you just stand on the dance floor, head down, shaking greasy hair and other things hanging down. Here, a Cuban band plays. People wear stylish clothes. Heavy velvet curtains hang at the windows. Only the dance floor was illuminated; otherwise, it was dim, just table lamps.
At a table sat a few late girls who had probably lost track of time, hoping for a ladies' choice and sprightly gentlemen for slow dances. Young girls floated by, curling around their dancers. Balahé floated with them, sending a fruity herbal wave towards the older ladies with a slight plum kick. They dance to "The Time of my Life".
Dietlinde, lifted (just turned 69 for the 5th time) and with silicone breasts, saw her fortunes swimming away and hissed to Hedwig: "Look how she smells! And how she dances! That's obscene!"
Hedwig (had a child in her ear that wasn't working): "Of course, and isn't it beautiful!" The ladies get "Hungry Eyes".
Balahé enveloped the dancers with opulent, heavy blossoms. Tuberoses crawled into silk shirts and under the flowing skirts of the dancers.
"She's like the Wind".
Here, there's nothing like waltz, foxtrot, or polka, and the country boy has lost the urge to yodel because the chamois beard now serves as a powder puff.
Musk wafts voluptuously. Cuba Libre is spiced with vanilla. The civet purrs, and from its fur, furry sparks fly, as if electrically charged.
The late girls stomp off, bewildered. They have forgotten that they danced similarly dirty in the 50s when Elvis sang.
This dream fragrance never managed to become Leonard's big hit.
In 1985, Poison stole the show from it. Against this bombastic noise-maker from the house of Dior, Balahé had no chance. Balahé is no less beautiful, but not quite as filling and loud as Poison. Rather darker and much more subtle.
Oh Balahé "Be My Baby"!

Now you finally know where parts of the lost Amber Room have ended up. The witch has wallpapered the room in the tower, where she keeps Rapunzel, with amber. Amber is a yellow, golden, brownish fossilized resin, sometimes with inclusions.
Rapunzel is just hanging around in this room, waiting for her prince so she can let down her golden-blonde braid, so he can climb up and they can passionately musk together. The prince, who is actually a bit dim-witted, wears a cinnamon-colored velvet suit and has failed to make a rope ladder. He sprays the braid with limoncello, believing that it will make the hair grow faster, hoping that the stuff works like Red Bull for hair. The princess plucks geranium flowers from her balcony boxes and throws them at the prince.
At the edge of the forest, the wolf and Little Red Riding Hood are getting drunk on rum and cola. Meanwhile, they sing suggestive songs.
Hansel and Gretel have heated the oven with cedar branches, shove the witch inside, and while she merrily sizzles, they munch on gingerbread.
The Puss in Boots stomps through patchouli mud and twirls his whiskers with tonka beans. His name is Peter, and he is looking for his Petra, for whom he has 2 kg of dark chocolate in a little coat.
Petra is a vanilla-colored Somali cat with vetiver-green eyes. The capricious lady gives Peter a cool smile and whacks the lovesick cat with a cedar branch.
The little wooden table has been slightly scorched, and the vanilla pudding served on it is a bit burnt in the pot with the hot porridge.
This naturally annoys Hans in Luck, and he kisses Sleeping Beauty awake in the tower.
Conclusion: A perfume that starts warm, spicy, and piquant with a slightly tipsy note. For my taste, it then runs a bit unevenly due to too much prickly cedar. Redemption in the base with a dark chocolate tone and subtle tonka sweetness. Nevertheless, a successful scent, and it's a shame that the perfumer has given up.

Actually, I only wanted to write a statement about this perfume, but it requires several words.
Many years ago, the house of Nicolai was a wonderful discovery for me, and I fell in love with some beautiful scents, claiming a few as my own.
Then, after longer and shorter breaks from perfumes and emptying my bottles, I lost sight of the house, or rather, lost the scent, until a nice perfumer gifted me a few samples of the latest creations from P. de Nicolai some time ago. Among them were indeed some lovely fragrances, including Crème Ébène. Here, I seriously wonder what Madame de Nicolai was thinking.
Crème Ébène sends me back to a sauna trauma that I had almost forgotten. I used to enjoy going to the sauna, but the aforementioned cumin nugget thoroughly ruined that pleasure for me - at least in the mixed sauna (although I always wore a sauna kilt, I wasn't completely naked) - due to a very large, middle-aged man who kept edging closer to the women until they, frightened, ended their sauna session. During the breaks, he lay on the lounger munching on falafel with cumin.
But the scent is not only bursting with cumin falafel, but also with cardamom. Which actually doesn’t smell bad with its resemblance to nutmeg, but here the gingerbread is clearly overdone.
Still, these are spices that I actually like, even saffron, but that doesn’t make a difference here.
Then someone enters the sauna and makes a pour with the needles of various cedar species, and I am whipped with cedar branches. It's supposed to promote circulation, but what has been stimulated here is only my nose.
Where is the creaminess? There is no sweetness or hint of softness to counter the harsh cedar spectacle. Vanilla does not show itself, and musk has retreated to the farthest corners of the sauna.
Just ten years ago, the house de Nicolai was still considered a hidden gem, as Patricia comes from the great Guerlain family.
Now she is throwing fragrances onto the market in a staccato fashion. Does she have to keep up somehow? Oh dear Madame, with this scent, you have - at least for me - failed.