Mikadomann

"... prick the dough several times with a fork and bake it blind for 10 minutes.
In the meantime: Beat the eggs with the sugar until white-frothy. This may take a few minutes
Add the grated lemon peel, cream and half of the juice.
Pour the lemon cream on the baked base..."

I bake a pretty good tarte au citron
Like every hobby baker, I love to snack on ingredients, dough and fillings, preferably when they are not yet cooked.
When baking the Tarte au Citron, the cream that I stir to spread on the bottom of the dough is particularly tempting for me when I snack on it.
And exactly this taste, or: exactly this smell I remember when I first sprayed "Bal d'afrique".
I have at first the association of this lemon cream.
Now, of course, I have already heard about the creaminess and lemony fragrance of this perfume in other comments and statements. However, I didn't expect this strong tendency to 'taste', to the gustatory, to the gourmand.

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

After only a few minutes, however, I notice that this scent is less clear than I had first suspected.
Although 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 understand both associations well. If I wear them frequently, I even get the impression that both fragrance descriptions fit well, complement each other, possibly alternate.

I like the exotic scent even more. In the first perception of this note I draw a parallel to the fragrance "Pacific Rock Moss", for which I wrote a statement and the surfer from this statement drinks a Piña Colada instead of beer... He still stays cool...

"During the baking time you prepare the decoration.
Mix the water with the sugar and let it simmer gently over medium heat for about 5 minutes.
Take the syrup from the hot plate and one by one the white flowers through the liquid.
Let the flowers drip off on kitchen paper."

It would definitely not be correct to describe "Bal d'afrique" as a sweet scent. Nevertheless, the described creaminess remains very sweet for me during the whole time.
For me, this best describes what other forists have already described with the term "clean scent".
I do not have much experience with gourmand fragrances. However, I can say that I have not been particularly enthusiastic about alcohol notes like rum or whisky or with chocolate and coffee in perfumes so far.
So after the prelude I eagerly waited for the floral notes.
Now it may well be due to my untrained nose: I hardly smell any violets and also very little jasmine. And now I was really looking forward to the flowers!
So the scent remains for me quite limited, long linear and in the end too much ... cake-like.

"Leave the tart to cool completely before sprinkling the sugared flowers on top
It looks particularly pretty if you serve the tarte in a rustic style on a wooden board."

At the very end - and this conclusion describes a skin-near perceptibility for me even after eight hours - the fragrance becomes interesting for me once again.
While it is a constant companion throughout the day, in terms of durability, and sometimes flattens more subtly in the Sillage, but then rises again, it turns surprisingly into the woody at the end.
For me it is only very quietly perceptible, but very pleasant. The scent gains warmth once again.
But for the first time this warmth is not associatively tropical - exotic, but true and 'in itself'.

For me "Bal d'afrique" is a beautiful fragrance in the best sense of the word.
It is light, creamy, clean, fruity. It is everything that is written in all comments and statements.
It makes me feel neat, clean.
I'm comfortable with that scent.
Like freshly showered.

And now I'm sitting in my white bathrobe... biting into a piece of tarte au citron

And that's the smell:
Somehow homemade according to a recipe.
Yummy!
But:
Patisserie is different.

And then there's
What has this - by all means - to do with a "Bal d'afrique"...?

And most of all:
I would like to thank the "Duften Frau" for the excellent organization of the sharing.

The rod hits the ground three times.
"LE ROI!!!"
Again, the staff.

Clothes rustle and shoes drag across the polished wooden floor in a skilfully safe arc when those present bow.

The party begins. Sultry heat in the hall. Of candles. Air saturated with perfume and oil. Hardly any wind through the open windows. Summer night air outside.

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

A... What? ... Etagere?
Man-sized. Oh! Three times as tall as a man!
On wheels. Pushed, pulled, guided by four lackeys.

Music

Sighing, murmuring, a cry suppressed behind a cloth.
"Mon dieu! Has that been...?"

On four levels over and overflowing with flowers, fruits.
Like the king's skirt and shoes: white, yellow, gold
Four figures, one on each side of the second floor.
You'd think... so naturally they are worked.

All of a sudden the room smells like a spring field in the garden.
Where white flowers grow unrestrained. At the back of the gardens. Where the gardeners artistically arrange it in such a way that it looks as if no garden master had interfered with nature. Where the best make it look as if they had never been there
Full of lilies of the valley. Full-blooming jasmine. Buttercup.
Iris. And full-blooded jasmine. And roses
Pale yellow between daffodils. Gorse. Thousands of flowers. Here in cascades falling like water over the floors of this magnificent carriage

In between. Really water. A fountain on the upper surface. Sprinkle water over this flowerage. Makes them smell fresher. Lighter. Or does the water itself smell? It flows into the bowl that holds one of the figures...

"I'm gonna faint!"
"The smell robs me...!"
"The world loves me - and I love me too!"
"Duc!"
"Viscount?"
"I can hardly breathe!"
"Mais au contraire! I can only breathe now!"

Gently woody-resinous smoke trails rise. Thinly they ripple in the air, get caught in the flowers. Perish. Spicy and fresh. Perhaps the heavy sweetness makes it bearable at first. Cool the sultriness. Like a light breeze. Carried from the forest, it seems. Fir resinous.

"Take my glass and see!"
"What?"
"Behold the figure. There! On the corner there, next to the one with the bowl. And that one there too!!!"
"...!!"

The marble, which was just a few moments ago, slowly, hardly noticeably, brings the fruit to the mouth. Juicy sweet peach. Runs down the lips, chin, throat. Then: another yellow fruit. Also bursting full of the yellow, fresh juice.

And there! The Stones!!!
She too...bites, kisses and tastes the fruit...
Which fruit is that?
"Je ne sais pas..."
Pineapplemirabelle passion fruit taffy apricot mangoeine-claude nectarine and all yellow unknowns together, into each other... and all nectar! Heavenly! Fruity Sweet and fresh

Mentholated freshness again. Almost the car with the Etagere is over. Smoke is rising above the water basin. Smiling and uninvolved, the stone chiseler who carries it blows sweet wood smoke over the crowd which now closes behind the wagon with disbelief in his gaze and attitude.

The king stands in the middle of the hall. Smiling contentedly behind the carriage
Then turns to the quantity.

Noise, loops.
The staff.
"LE ROI DANSE!"

...

"CUT! We got the scene!"
"A little excessive, I think. A bit over... A bit overdone, isn't it?"
"Yes! In fact:
Overdose! ... Exactly correct! "

"L'important c'est la rose"

"What really counts is the rose...", so freely one could translate the title of the chanson by Louis Amade and Gilbert Bécaud from 1967.
Loss of love, striving for success and loneliness are sketched out in the text in a few lines, only to state at the end of each verse and to counter the dreariness: "What really counts is the rose...".

"Lyric Man" -
For me, it's from the beginning: Rose!
Yes, one may perceive a slight citric note in the head at the very beginning.
Maybe there's a hint of lime. Maybe bergamot plays into the top note.
But that's beside the point.
For me, it's from the beginning: Rose!
And: for me it is beauty and pure joy from the very beginning!
And I understand: "L'important c'est la rose..."

Although the reference note, the rose, moves so quickly to the centre of attention, it remains by no means clear to me. The fragrance is challenging, does not remain flat and one-dimensional. Because there's something there immediately that you have to smell.
And as you immerse yourself in the fragrance, a rose emerges - a rose.
This rose blooms silvery white and delicate.
Its petals are translucent, delicate, the wind moves them as it passes over them lukewarmly and when you look through one of the petals you can still see the outlines of things.
It is indeed a lyrical rose.
I catch my breath and feel: "L'important c'est la rose..."

In the delicacy of this rose, the opulence and natural power of its fragrance are strong, surprising and breathtaking.
How can something so transient, gentle, airy smell so seductive, crystal clear and confident?
Through the fragrance the rose.
She's getting into position:
I'm here.
Smell me!
Don't think you'll understand me so quickly.
Notice me.
Really notice me!
Cause remember:
"L'important c'est la rose!"


And then it happens:
The silver-white flowers suddenly show green sprinkles and these also manifest themselves in the fragrance.
Can it be? Or is it the dark green leaves on the dark green stems?
Suddenly the opulence of the rose scent takes a back seat.
One almost has the impression that this dark green scent is even more engaging than the rose scent itself.
Like a congenial break, like an antithesis to the rose, a further basic tone develops, which takes over and covers up the tenderness of the rose and at the same time emphasizes it again.
For this rose will never be lost.
The two notes do not fight with each other, they rather caress each other, dance with each other, try to support the other and let it shine.
Silvery white and damp dark green: a dance of scents, a chord of colours.
A cascade of fireworks is building up in my head!
Exploding in the air, this cascade of silver threads flows towards the ground, until suddenly dark green spikes flash at the ends of these threads of fire.
And another one!
This time, however, bright dark green light strips, which unexpectedly end up glittering silver. In the splendour of sparks a coloured veil.
The rhythm becomes faster, alternating colors, one after the other, with each other, overlapping.
Only moments, fractions of a second often. Swelling, tilting, crescendo, harmony, soft tones ..
Fireworks of scent. And colours in the head. And sound.
But the rose always remains as a leitmotif.
Because:
"L'important c'est la rose!"

And as you surrender to this fragrance frenzy, you suddenly understand that this fragrance is so much more complex than you first thought. Because suddenly the top note becomes important again, when the lime shines through again and again in the heart and base. Whether the dark green notes are due to the angelica or the galbanum, I don't know. In the heart note I very gently perceive saffron.

In the end, in my case after about 8 hours, the fragrance becomes quiet. Then I perceive a soft, gentle sweetness that reminds me of Amyris. Maybe it's the sandalwood, too.
Then the rose seems to get darker.
It does not change the colour. Just the sound.
At the very end she plays out her full beauty once again. In the last moments, very close up, she becomes gentle once more.
And at that moment the rose gains the upper hand.
She lies there on an empty stage, just before the curtain closes.
The last light on her.
Everything else has disappeared.

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

Today in the seminar -

The desk becomes a picnic blanket,
in the coffee cup foams cider,
the ivy spreads the scent of a mountain meadow,
the desk lamp provides sunlight heat,
cézanne painted the annual calendar,
the entries in the diary are noted by Proust
and the mailman looks like Delon from behind.
The administrative employee makes a phone call in French
and on the way to the copier I throw the blue-striped sweater over me.
With a light hand I open the cover, because I want to feel the wind of the elevator.
The sea is only one floor away
"Come on, get in!" I laugh
And we're racing down the serpentines.
La vie et rien d'autre...

Not long ago I started to work here in this forum. From the beginning, however, I was gripped by the passion and the challenge to learn new things about the wide field of fragrances.
After reading a little bit into the comments and the nomenclature for the description of the fragrances in the last weeks, I decided to deal a little bit more with the fragrance families.

As I could imagine the least among the family of fragrances of the classical Fougères, I have acquired here in the Souk one of the reference fragrances to this family of fragrances: Fougère Royale as EdP.

Now I'm lying alone on the couch... Just me and Fougère Royale.

Among the many olfactory experts and especially experienced olfactory analysts here in this forum, who have impressed me with their expertise since my registration a few months ago, I am one of those people who have developed a passion for the wonderful world of perfume, but who do not have the ability to analyze and describe fragrances without supporting clues.

So the description Terra posted here a few years ago helps me to formulate my first impression after spraying the fragrance. I also smell, at first even quite intensively, the aromas of woodruff. However, I have less the association of an artificial green jelly than of the actual herb. Sweet too, but natural. And just as it happened when I discovered this herb with the special aroma as a child, I have to smile a little bit.

I take bergamot and citric was refreshing, but only briefly and only at the very beginning. Quite quickly the woodruff scent fades into the background and the camomile sounds. It does not play itself into the foreground either, but remains until the end, so that an association of familiarity, solid seriousness but also reserved and shy mastery arises in my case

Here is a short thought:
I have often thought when I tested a fragrance: "Would you like to be a person for whom such a fragrance looks good? Would you like to be a person who could wear that scent well?" More often you ask the question differently. One asks: "Does this scent suit me?", or "Which scent suits me?"
But what if you think of "restrained-shy mastery"? Do you want to be a person who wears such a fragrance well?

But then there is a first remarkable turn of events. Suddenly - and I really mean suddenly - suddenly a completely new scent develops. I have the impression that this happens from one second to the next. I even raise my head to smell once again whether the scent of the balcony flowers standing nearby might be deceiving me.
But I don't think of flowers first, but rather of the leaves of plants. And these are not smooth, rich green leaves. They're rather firm, slightly furry, hairy leaves. Maybe the leaves of petunias, geraniums or lady's mantle

And in my head pictures are created:
When I was a child, I went with my mother into the forest to pick blueberries. In those parts of the forest where the sun shone hot, a fragrance developed that was sweet and herbaceous. The scent of sunlit fern and at the same time the quiet scent of plant decay, the ephemeral and sweetish overripe.

And again a twist:
I approach my nose to my forearm, on which I have sprayed the perfume, and breathe out.
What happens can be compared to the experience that becomes possible when you exhale while drinking a wine while the wine is still on your tongue.
The scent becomes more perceptible to me. I can now smell plant parts, herbs. The scent becomes spicy, complex and wins enormously
The herbs dominate. Camomile still plays a part, but it is only a small part and I have associations of a fine herbal liqueur. It is not a fashionable liqueur served on ice. It is rather a room-warm, well-tempered liqueur or a good dark wormwood. This impression remains until the end.

The flowery part of my life hardly develops.
Again, it is rather leaves that you grind between your fingers and again and again you get the impression of smelling something animal-like.

After about 4 hours, the fragrance becomes very close to my skin, but remains until late evening and lasts for almost 10 hours.

In the last hours an unbelievable cleanness remains on my arm. This is not the cosy, woolly cleanliness of freshly washed laundry. And it's also not the smell of soapy cleanliness.
It is rather the dignified cleanliness of a gentleman in a brushed coat...

The following day:
After my first experience and after my intensive smelling, I wear Fougère Royal.
And a wonderful scent that envelops me, that gives me comforting and homely support, carries me through a stressful day at the office.

Do I want to be a man who likes that smell? Do I want to be a man who wears this fragrance well?

Restrained shy mastery... There seem to be days when I'm like this