Perfume

The steep, windy streets of Grasse

One of the novels I most cherish is Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, by Patrick Suskind. It's a period fiction set in the perfuming world of 18th-century Paris and Grasse, and revolves around an outcast of a boy named Grenouille who has an acute sense of smell, but emits no bodily odor of his own at all. He becomes an apprentice to a Paris parfumeur, and soon longs to create the most irresistible perfume in the world. As the subtitle suggests, Grenouille decides that the path to aromatic bliss requires the taking of human life. I won't spoil it for you, but I do suggest that you treat yourself to this wonderful story: the plot, characters, beautiful writing, and humor make it a true masterpiece. (Or at least rent the movie, which is pretty darned good and features Alan Rickman, a.k.a. Snape, who is always brilliant.)

Overlooking the countryside around Grasse

And so it was a long-anticipated treat for me to visit the city of Grasse today. Grasse, just twenty kilometers northwest of Cannes in Provence/Cote d'Azur is the perfume capital of the world, owing to both its unique micro climate that is ideal for growing flowers like jasmine, lavender, and rose, and because of its long history as the home of notable parfumeries, namely Fragonard and Galimard.

The perfume "organ": the arrangement of different essences from which the "nose" selects the "notes" that make up a perfume. (Sorry for all the quotation marks.)

My bus left the frankly decrepit center of Cannes and wound its way up the narrow roads towards Grasse. It was cold and raining, and not what one would expect of French Riviera weather. I was quite disappointed with the looks of Grasse and rushed towards the warm interior of the Musee international de la parfumerie-- and soon realized I had entered Grenouille's world. The museum is surprisingly modern and functional, with interactive exhibitions and large gallery spaces. I was most interested in its seemingly endless collection of historic perfume bottles dating from antiquity to the present day. Who knew there were so many ways to package a precious liquid? The design of perfume bottles is very much an underrated and under appreciated art. I confess that I was completely captivated.

One of the many displays of perfume bottles across the ages

An interactive re-creation of a very cute, very pink perfume shop from the 18th century.

I was also more than a little taken with my first glance at real mimosa, which was blooming in the museum's garden. It's so much smaller than I expected! Each bloom is less then a centimeter in diameter. Or perhaps they weren't in full bloom?

Mimosas in bloom

After the museum, I braved the rain again to cross over to the Fragonard manufacturing center, and it was here that I was transformed from a girl who didn't much care about perfume beyond Suskind's vision of it to a girl who just might become a perfume gourmande (especially since learning that one can cook with essential oils). I was led on a small French-language tour with one couple and a very knowledgeable tour guide who explained both the history of perfume in Grasse and the different processes of making it at Fragonard. We were told about the means of extracting essences, the notes in perfumes, the educational requirements of qualified "noses" or nez (the fifty official experts worldwide who craft the leading perfumes), and so much more.

The two above pictures depict the process of enfleurage, by which the most delicate of fresh flowers, like jasmine, are pressed into a thin layer of scentless animal fat on a glass pane that is in turn framed in wood. The natural oils from the flowers transfer to the fat, and the fat is then emulsified with alcohol to produce perfume. The movie version of Perfume has some nice scenes with these.

What I especially liked about this aromatic experience (besides leaving with my clothes smelling like roses rather than fish, for a change from LCB) was the new understanding that perfume is a lot like wine: many notes make up the smell (and taste, but we won't go that far) of both perfume and wine; some are immediate and fleeting, while others take some time to open up and then linger in the air; both offer premium brands that can break the bank, but can be enjoyed perfectly well in simpler formulations; you can play "what's that smell?" with each of them-- is it red cherry or black? Vanilla or caramel?-- and with time and experience gain knowledge that makes their enjoyment all the more fulfilling. I could go on, but I'll spare you.*

Already, with just a day in the perfume capital, I feel myself opening up to the possibility that perfume is more than a silly accessory. At the very least, I should read Perfume yet again.

A perfume with my name on it!
Caron is one of the old-school parfumeurs, and this is a 1929 bottle of Tabac Blond ("Blond Tabacco"), which they still make. I'll be visiting Caron's Paris headquarters next week. Should I ask for a family discount? (There's no relation that I know of. But you never know!)

*I hereby promise not to undertake a "certified nose" course in perfumery. Ed, you have it in writing.