A Trio Of Bonkers Trips: No 1 (Germany & Switzerland) - Parfümerie Bauer, Rüdesheim

Apart from the duty free fragrance section at Birmingham airport on my outward journey, I didn’t expect to have any other sniffing opportunities on this trip - my itinerary mostly took me to rural areas, where you would struggle to find a McDonald’s (my go-to tea, toilet and wifi pitstop), never mind a quality department store or an independent niche perfumery. What I could count on though were Christmas markets – or Weihnachtsmärkte as they are known here. I encountered no fewer than three in fact: in Rüdesheim, Heidelberg and Rottenburg am Neckar. I wouldn’t say I am “marketed out” now, but let’s just say that if I see another pair of olive wood salad servers, felt wrist warmers, chunky candles in every shade of lurid, guardian angels fashioned out of wire and wisps of fluff, and stalls selling Glühwein and currywurst, I will scream.

Imagine my delight then to discover – tucked away behind the serried ranks of wooden huts lining the Rhine promenade in Rüdesheim – a perfumery called Parfümerie Bauer carrying an eclectic selection of niche and designer scents.



When I say eclectic, I mean things like the Les Notes Gourmandes range from Reminiscence, which I have only ever come across in Budapest. There it was, in all its pastel finery, next to the more usual suspects like Creed and Serge Lutens.

But what caught my eye immediately on entering the store was the enormous collection of miniatures, and I mean enormous. I have never seen so many gathered together in one place, and it took me a full forty minutes to get the measure of the selection, and to realise it is high time I got myself some reading glasses, for the labelling on some of these bottles was minuscule.



And at the risk of blowing my own trumpet, I might also point out that the proprietor, Herr Bauer, complimented me on my competent handling of the glass fronts to the display cabinets, saying that I slid them back and forth "like a pro", and would be welcome to work there. : - )



Herr Bauer also asked me if I was by any chance related to the German perfume company called Mouson. I said I didn’t think so, and on seeing a poster for this brand at the back of the shop I realised that Mouson was spelled differently, though my name is pronounced just like that in German, with a round “u”, so I could see why Herr Bauer should think to inquire. I have since found a listing of the company's scent launches, starting around the turn of the last century.



Herr Bauer pointed out another curio in the shop, namely part of a collection of scent bottles belonging to Hugh Parsons, a British perfume house known better overseas than in its home markets – the fragrance equivalent of Beefeater Gin, if you will, which is another well known export brand.



A lone bottle of Amouage in a glass case on a plinth was another talking point, and I learnt that Parfümerie Bauer has some very exclusive customers in the Middle East and Africa, amongst them royalty and other dignatories. Herr Bauer drew my attention to a group photo in which he is posing – in some form of ceremonial dress - alongside his distinguished clientèle.



Things were getting more surprising by the minute! I also learnt that Parfümerie Bauer is one of only eight stockists in Germany of Lancôme Climat. By my reckoning that equates to one for approximately every 10 million inhabitants. Now is that a reasonable ratio, do you think? I have not tried Climat (I didn’t spot a tester), but it certainly sounds on the light side to me...



Oh, and I also did that picking up and fondling routine with a bottle of Après L’Ondée, but at 99 euros for 100ml (the only bottle size, sadly), that is more than I wanted to spend, and more perfume than I could ever use.

Finally, after much peering, I ended up buying minis of Private Collection parfum(!), Knowing parfum(!) and vintage YSL Paris EDT (I wanted to give those violent violets another crack of the whip, as it were). In return, Herr Bauer showered me with an assortment of unexpected gifts with purchase: a box of chocolates, a pen shaped like a lipstick bearing the name of the shop, a mini of Dior J’Adore, and a clutch of other designer samples.



So that was another example of "scent-related serendipity" on my travels... Oh, and on my way back through the market stalls, I succumbed (to the cold as much as the sales pressure!) and bought some wrist warmers too...




Photo of Lancôme Climat from fragrantica.com, all other photos my own.

A Single Cook Spoils The Broth - And Comes Up With A Bonkers New Accord

Inspired by the recent discussion on Notes from Josephine about why so many of us can't be bothered to cook anymore - well, me anyway - I decided to fish out a recipe from the "untried and tested" pile languishing on top of the microwave, and whip up a nourishing vegetarian soup: Curried Parsnip and Butterbean. The recipe called for a mere 50g of parsnips compared to 400g of butterbeans, and on the basis that the parsnip was listed before the butterbean, positioning it as the greater component, I immediately added a "o" to the weight. Why, 50g of parsnip isn't even a whole vegetable! It is about four penny rounds' worth...

So I made the soup, which smelt wonderfully fragrant thanks to the high quality curry powder I had bought from a little grocer's in town (dating back to the 16th century!). Then I poured it into the liquidiser jug, before realising that the perspex insert to the top was missing. The white lid was in place, but with a hole in the middle of it there was no way I could turn the darn thing on, or the contents would shoot up and out the top like a curried parsnip and butterbean geyser.

Furious rummaging and banging in cupboards ensued as I hunted for the missing part. Mr Bonkers was summoned to the kitchen and peremptorily asked if he might have inadvertently thrown away the plastic insert while washing up, thinking it was a bit of packaging. He denied all knowledge of its whereabouts (he doesn't wash up very often, so it was a long shot), and I resumed my fruitless search.

Suddenly an inspired idea for a temporary bodged solution occurred to me: take one of those plastic lids you get with individual one cup filters, place firmly over the hole in the centre of the blender lid, activate device, and hope to minimise collateral splatter.

The machine whirred into action, and my ears were instantly assailed by a sickening crunch, a ghastly noise beyond the normal grinding sound of metal prongs against yielding morsels of soft parsnip. Something made me interrupt the process and peer inside the goblet, where my eye was struck by the presence of tiny bluish perspex shards bobbing around in a sea of greenish gloop.

Oh my God....that's where the top was! Why didn't I think to look inside first, given that that is the cupboard where I always keep the blender and its accessories. Doh, doh, and triple doh! But before I upended the jug and flushed its potentially lacerating contents down the loo, I took a moment to smell the aroma of the concoction I had accidentally made.

Well, the main notes in this original accord were: sweet, comforting warm root vegetable, assorted curry spices, ground plastic, and a hint of burnt machinery parts - the olfactory equivalent of crashed gears, if you will. Hmm, I haven't smelt this accord before exactly - part Amouage Lyric, part JPG MaDame - but I am sure it won't be long before it is eagerly embraced by the more avant-garde wing of modern perfumery. I think it would be aa perfect addition to the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab's catalogue of Bewitching Brews.... Thematically, it would slot in nicely between BRIMSTONE ("A smoky, gritty blend, husky & gray") and DELIRIUM ("A contrary, conflicted scent bubbling with merry madness". They could call it "Sinister Sliver-Strewn Soup" or something suitably Gothic and off the wall.


UPDATE: I have since managed to track down a spare blender stopper for just £5.90 incl P & P from Belstar Electrics!

Photos are my own except for the coffee filter cup from Rombouts' website.