Mikadomann

"… Prick the dough several times with a fork and blind bake it for 10 minutes.
In the meantime: Whisk the eggs with the sugar until white and frothy. This can take a few minutes.
Add the grated lemon zest, cream, and half of the juice.
Pour the lemon cream onto the baked base…"

I bake a pretty good Tarte au Citron.
Like every hobby baker, I love to nibble on ingredients, doughs, and fillings, especially when they are still uncooked.
When baking the Tarte au Citron, the cream that I stir to pour onto the crust is particularly tempting for me when I taste it.
And it is exactly this flavor, or rather: exactly this scent that I remember when I first spray "Bal d’afrique".
At first, I have the association of this lemon cream.
Of course, I have already heard in other comments and statements about the creaminess and lemony fragrance of this perfume. However, I did not expect this strong tendency towards 'taste', towards the gustatory, the gourmand.

"Variant: Tarte tropicale …
You can also replace the lemon with a ripe mango.
Then use only half the cream and add the corresponding amount of coconut cream…"

However, after just a few minutes, I notice that this scent is less straightforward than I initially suspected.
While my impression remains on the level of taste associations, I suddenly have more of an idea of Piña Colada or mango-coconut cream.
This description can also be found in other comments and statements. I can easily relate to both associations. With frequent wear, I even get the impression that both fragrance descriptions fit well, complement each other, and possibly alternate.

I actually like the exotic note even a bit better. In my first perception of this note, I draw a parallel to the scent "Pacific Rock Moss", to which I have written a statement, and the surfer from that statement drinks a Piña Colada instead of beer here… He still remains cool…

"While the tart is baking, prepare the decoration.
Mix the water with the sugar and let it simmer lightly over medium heat for about 5 minutes.
Remove the syrup from the heat and dip the white flowers individually into the liquid.
Let the flowers drain on kitchen paper."

It would definitely not be correct to describe "Bal d’afrique" as a sweet scent. Nevertheless, the described creaminess remains very lovely for me throughout.
This best describes what other forum members have already referred to as "clean scent".
I don't have much experience with gourmand fragrances. However, I can say that I have not been particularly enthusiastic about alcoholic notes like rum or whisky or with chocolate and coffee in perfumes so far.
Therefore, I eagerly awaited the floral notes after the opening.
Now, it may well be due to my untrained nose: I hardly smell violets and only very little jasmine. And I was really looking forward to the flowers!
This leaves the scent quite limited for me, long linear, and in the end too much… cake-like.

"Let the tart cool completely before sprinkling the sugared flowers on top.
It looks particularly pretty when you serve the tart quite rustic on a wooden board."

At the very end - and this conclusion indicates a close perception for me even after eight hours - the scent becomes interesting for me once again.
While it is a constant companion throughout the day, regarding longevity, sometimes fading discreetly in the sillage, then rising again, it surprisingly turns woody at the end.
For me, it is only very faintly perceptible, but very pleasant. The scent gains warmth once more.
This warmth is, however, for the first time not associatively tropical - exotic, but truly and 'in itself'.

For me, "Bal d’afrique" is a beautiful scent in the best sense.
It is bright, creamy, clean, fruity. It is everything that is written in all comments and statements.
I feel well-groomed, clean with it.
I feel comfortable with this scent.
Like freshly showered.

And now I sit in my white bathrobe… and take a bite of a piece of Tarte au Citron.

And so the scent is:
Somehow homemade according to recipe.
Delicious!
But:
Patisserie is different.

And then also:
What on earth does this have to do with a "Bal d’afrique"...?

And above all else, I would also like to thank "The Scented Woman" for the excellent organization of the sharing.

The staff strikes the ground three times.
"LE ROI!!!"
Again: The staff.

Fabric rustles and shoes glide in a skillfully confident arc over the polished wooden floor as the attendees bow.

The celebration begins. Humid warmth in the hall. From candles. From perfume and oil-saturated air. Hardly any breeze through the open windows. Summer night air outside.

A murmur. The king enters.
Gold, white, yellow.
Directly behind him:

A... What? ... Tiered stand?
Man-high. Oh! Three times man-high!
On wheels. Pushed, pulled, guided by four footmen.

Music.

Sighs, murmurs, a suppressed cry behind a cloth.
"Mon dieu! Has that already...?"

On four steps overflowing with flowers, fruits.
Like the king's robe and shoes: white, yellow, gold.
Four figures. One on each side of the second tier.
You might think... they are so naturally crafted.

Suddenly the room smells like a spring field in the gardens.
Where white flowers grow untamed. Way back in the gardens. Where the gardeners artfully arrange it so that it looks as if no master gardener's hand has intervened in nature. Where the best make it seem as if they were never there.
Saturated with lily of the valley. Fully blooming jasmine. Buttercups.
Iris. And fully blooming jasmine. And roses.
Delicate yellow daffodils in between. Broom. Thousands of blossoms. Here cascading like water over the tiers of this lavish carriage.

In between. Real water. A fountain on the upper surface. Sprinkles water over this floral splendor. Makes them smell fresher. Lighter. Or does the water itself smell? It flows into the bowl that one of the figures carries...

"I’m going to faint!"
"The scent steals my breath...!"
"The world loves me - And I love myself too!"
"Duc!"
"Vicomte?"
"I can hardly breathe!"
"But au contraire! I can only breathe now!"

Soft woody-resinous smoke threads rise. Thinly curling in the air, they get caught in the flowers. Fade away. Spicy and fresh. Perhaps making the heavy sweetness bearable. Cooling the humidity. Like a light breeze. It seems to be carried from the forest. Pine resinous.

"Take my glass and see!"
"What?"
"Look at the figure. There! In that corner, next to the one with the bowl. And that one too!!!"
"…!!!"

The recently marble-like figure slowly, barely perceptibly, brings the fruit to its mouth. Juicy-sweet peach. Dripping down lips, chin, neck. Then: another yellow fruit. Also bursting with yellow, fresh juice.

And there! The stone figure!!!
She too... bites, kisses, and tastes the fruit...
What fruit is that?
"I don’t know..."
Pineapple, mirabelle, passion fruit, apricot, mango, reineclaude, nectarine and all yellow unknowns together, intertwined... and all nectar! Heavenly! Fruity! Sweet and fresh.

Again menthol-resinous freshness. Almost the carriage with the tiered stand has passed. Above the water basin, smoke rises. Uninvolved, the recently stone-carved figure carrying it smiles sweetly, blowing wood smoke over the crowd, which now closes behind the carriage with disbelief in their gaze and posture.

The king stands in the center of the hall. Satisfied, smiling behind the carriage.
Then he turns to the crowd.

Rustling, gliding.
The staff.
"LE ROI DANSE!"

…

"CUT! We have the scene in the can!"
"A bit over the top, I think. A little too much... A bit of an overdose, right?"
"Yes! Indeed:
Overdose! … JUST RIGHT!"

"L'important c'est la rose"

"What really matters is the rose..." one might loosely translate the title of the chanson by Louis Amade and Gilbert Bécaud from 1967.
Loss of love, the pursuit of success, and loneliness are sketched in just a few lines, only to conclude at the end of each verse and counter the sadness with: "What really matters is the rose..."

"Lyric Man" -
For me, it is from the very beginning: Rose!
Yes, one might perceive a slight citrus note at the very start.
Perhaps there is a hint of lime. Maybe bergamot plays a role in the top notes.
But that is secondary.
For me, it is from the very beginning: Rose!
And: for me, it is from the very beginning beauty and pure joy!
And I understand: "L'important c'est la rose..."

Although the reference note, the rose, quickly comes to the forefront, it is by no means unequivocal for me. The scent is challenging, it does not remain flat and one-dimensional. For there is immediately something that one must chase after.
And as one immerses oneself in the fragrance, a rose emerges.
This rose blooms silver-white and delicate.
Its petals are translucent, finely fragrant, the wind moves them as it gently caresses them, and when one looks through one of the petals, one still perceives the outlines of things.
It is indeed a lyrical rose.
I take a breath and feel: "L'important c'est la rose..."

In the delicacy of this rose, the opulence and the self-evident power of its scent are strong, surprising, and breathtaking.
How can something so ephemeral, gentle, airy smell so seductive, crystal-clear, and self-assured?
Through the fragrance, the rose becomes.
It positions itself:
I am here.
Smell me!
Don't think you can understand me so quickly.
Perceive me.
Truly perceive me!
For do not forget:
"L'important c'est la rose!"


And then it happens:
Suddenly, green flecks appear in the silver-white petals, and these also manifest in the scent.
Can this be? Or are they the dark green leaves on the dark green stems?
Suddenly, the opulence of the rose scent recedes into the background.
One almost gets the impression that this dark green scent is even more captivating than the rose scent itself.
Like a congenial break, like an antithesis to the rose, another fundamental tone develops that captivates on its own and overshadows the delicacy of the rose while simultaneously highlighting it again.
For this rose never gets lost.
The two notes do not fight with each other; rather, they caress each other, dance together, striving to support and let each other shine.
Silvery white and moist dark green: A dance of fragrances, a chord of colors.
In my mind, a cascade of fireworks is created!
Exploding in the air, this cascade spills in silver threads to the ground, until suddenly dark green tips flash at the ends of these fire threads.
And another one!
This time, however, glowing dark green light stripes unexpectedly run out in shimmering silver. In the splendor of sparks, a colored veil.
The rhythm quickens, alternating colors, one after the other, together, overlapping.
Only moments, often fractions of seconds. Swelling, tipping, crescendo, harmony, soft tones…
A fireworks display of scent. And colors in the mind. And sound.
But always, as a leitmotif, the rose remains.
For:
"L'important c'est la rose!"

And while one surrenders to this fragrance intoxication, one suddenly understands that this scent is so much more complex than initially believed. For suddenly, the top note becomes important again, as the lime briefly shines through in the heart and base. Whether the dark green notes are due to angelica or galbanum, I do not know. In the heart note, I perceive very softly a hint of saffron.

In the end, for me after about 8 hours, the scent becomes quiet. Then I perceive a gentle, soft sweetness that reminds me of amyris. Perhaps it is also the sandalwood.
Then the rose seems to darken.
It does not change color. Only the tone.
Right at the end, it displays its full beauty once more. In the last moments, very close, it becomes gentle again.
And in this moment, the rose takes the upper hand.
On an empty stage, just before the curtain falls, it lies there.
The last light on it.
Everything else has disappeared.

"L'important c'est la rose, crois-moi..."

Today in the seminar -

The desk becomes a picnic blanket,
in the coffee cup, cider froths,
the ivy spreads the scent of a mountain meadow,
the desk lamp radiates sunny warmth,
the annual calendar was painted by Cézanne,
the entries in the planner are noted by Proust
and the postman looks like Delon from behind.
The administrative employee is on the phone in French
and on my way to the copier, I throw on the blue-striped sweater.
With a light hand, I open the cover because I want to feel the breeze of the elevator.
It's only one floor to the sea.
“Come on, get in!”, I laugh.
And we race down the serpentine roads.
Life and nothing else...

I haven't been active in this forum for long. However, from the very beginning, I was captivated by the passion and the challenge of learning more about the vast world of fragrances.
After spending the last few weeks reading through comments and the nomenclature for describing scents, I decided to delve a bit deeper into the fragrance families.

Since I could imagine the least about the fragrance family of classic Fougères, I purchased one of the reference fragrances for this family here in the Souk: Fougère Royale as EdP.

Now I lie alone on the couch... Just me and Fougère Royale.

Among the many fragrance enthusiasts and especially experienced fragrance analysts here in this forum, who have impressed me with their expertise since I registered a few months ago, I belong to those who have developed a passion for the wonderful world of perfume but do not possess the ability to analyze and describe fragrance notes without supportive cues.

Thus, the description that Terra posted here a few years ago has helped me formulate my first impression after spraying the scent. I also smell, initially quite intensely, the aromas of woodruff. However, I associate less with an artificially green jelly and more with the actual herb. It is sweet, but natural. And just as it happened when I discovered this herb with its special aroma as a child, I can't help but smile a little.

I perceive bergamot and citrus as refreshing, but only briefly and just at the beginning. The woodruff scent quickly recedes into the background, and chamomile makes its presence known. It doesn't come to the forefront either, but lingers until the end, creating an association of familiarity, solid seriousness, but also a reserved, shy gentlemanliness.

Here’s a brief thought:
I have often thought while testing a fragrance: “Do you want to be a person to whom such a scent suits well? Do you want to be a person who can wear this scent well?” More often, the question is posed differently. One asks: “Does the scent suit me?” or “Which scent suits me?”
But what if one thinks of “reserved, shy gentlemanliness”? Do you want to be a person who wears such a scent well?

But then comes a first remarkable turn. Suddenly - and I really mean suddenly - a completely new scent structure develops. I have the impression that this happens from one second to the next. I even lift my head to sniff again, wondering if the scent of the nearby balcony flowers is deceiving me.
But I don't think of flowers first; rather, I think of the leaves of plants. These are not smooth, lush green leaves. They are more like firm, somewhat fuzzy, hairy leaves. Perhaps the leaves of petunias, geraniums, or lady's mantle.

And images form in my mind:
As a child, I went with my mother into the woods to pick blueberries. In the spots of the forest where the sun shone hotly, a scent developed that was sweet and herbal. The scent of sunlit ferns and at the same time the faint scent of decaying plant matter, transience, and sweet overripe things.

And again a turn:
I bring my nose close to my forearm, where I sprayed the perfume, and exhale.
What happens is comparable to the experience one has when exhaling while drinking a wine that is still on the tongue.
The scent becomes more perceptible to me. I now smell plant parts, herbs more distinctly. The fragrance becomes spicy, complex, and gains immensely.
The herbs dominate. Chamomile still plays a part, but it is now only a small portion, and I have associations of a fine herbal liqueur. It is not a trendy liqueur served on ice. It is rather a room-temperature, well-balanced liqueur or a good dark vermouth. This impression remains until the end.

The floral aspect hardly develops for me.
Again, it is more about leaves that one rubs between their fingers, and there’s always a faint hint of something animalistic.

After about 4 hours, the scent becomes very close to my skin but remains gentle until late evening, lasting almost 10 hours.

In the last hours, an incredible cleanliness remains on my arm. This is not the cozy, comforting cleanliness of freshly washed laundry. And it is also not a scent of soapy cleanliness.
Rather, it is the dignified cleanliness of a gentleman in a brushed coat...

The next day:
After my first experience and my intense sniffing, I wear Fougère Royale again.
And a wonderful scent that envelops me, providing me with comforting and homely support, carries me through a demanding day at the office.

Do I want to be a man to whom this scent suits well? Do I want to be a man who can wear this scent well?

Reserved, shy gentlemanliness... There seem to be days when I am like that.