'Hot orange': Au Pays de la Fleur d'Oranger ~ Néroli Blanc Eau de Parfum Intense review

The other week I was contacted out of the blue by Bloom Perfumery in London asking if I was interested - on a no strings basis - in sampling a brand they had just acquired, Au Pays de la Fleur d'Oranger ('in the country of orange blossom'). The company, founded in 1998, is owned by Virginie and Antoine Roux, who have a longstanding family connection to perfumery: Antoine Roux's great-grandfather, Victor, was a flower merchant supplying the perfumeries of Grasse. Bloom described the trio of scents, which are exclusive to the Spitalfields store at the moment, as "a simple, very French, collection of neroli straight from Provence".  Well, in this sort of weather - okay, it has been intermittently warm lately, says she looking out the window at dense cloud cover - I am rather drawn to perfumes featuring orange blossom, and 'simple' is never a bad word in my book, so I said "Yes, thank you" to their offer. Actually, it's not the latest fragrance collection Au Pays de la Fleur d'Oranger has released - this spring saw the launch of La Collection les inédits, which recently featured in The Chemist in the Bottle. Additionally, Au Pays de la Fleur d'Oranger offers a range of room fragrances, soaps and other body care products, all focusing on the scents associated with this part of France, such as rose, jasmine, lemon blossom, lavender and above all, orange blossom.

As the Rouxs (not sure about the plural -s, but no matter) state on their website (translation is my own): "Au Pays de la Fleur d'Oranger...a brand where orange blossom, recognised for its gentle and soothing virtues, is queen."

'Do I look a bit warm in this?'

Such an orange-centric range of perfumes got me thinking about my own personal associations with oranges, going back to my childhood. I remember 'hot orange', for example, a rather watery drink made by diluting orange squash. We were issued with thermos flasks of this warming but insipid stuff on school youth hostelling trips, to wash down the queasy-making spam sandwiches. By contrast, Haliborange tablets provided a gloriously intense hit of orange sweetness - the one vaguely 'medicinal' product I used to look forward to taking.

Then in the early 70s I went on holiday with my parents to Yugoslavia, and this photo of me in a woolly tank top standing in front of an orange tree forever sums up that holiday. It was unseasonably warm for April, and I must have been boiling. So there is another instance of 'hot oranges', if you will. To see the actual fruits growing on trees was impossibly exotic to my 12 year old self.  Fast foward to the end of the 70s, and I spent a year teaching English on the French Riviera, from where I made many forays into the hinterland, including to the village where Au Pays de la Fleur d'Oranger is based, and has a shop - La Colle sur Loup. For anyone not in a position to visit, but wishing to steep themselves in the ambience of Provence, I would heartily recommend La Gloire de Mon Père by Marcel Pagnol or the film Manon des Sources, which has some lovely footage of the area. You can't smell it though, which is where the Néroli Blanc collection comes in...

Suitably stonking bottle ~ Source: fragrantica

I have tested - and like - all three fragrances in the collection, but the edp and eau de cologne are relatively fleeting on me.  I should perhaps clarify that they are all quite different - not just in terms of concentration - and despite sharing four common notes: neroli, bergamot, rose and jasmine. My standout favourite was the Néroli Blanc Eau de Parfum Intense (henceforward to be referred to as 'Néroli Blanc Intense' or possibly just 'Intense' if I am feeling lazy):

NEROLI BLANC INTENSE

Notes: neroli, verveine, bergamote, jasmine, rose, cedar

I don't know if there are some key notes missing from that list - and I am not aware of either the verveine or the cedar - but my overriding impression of the Intense perfume is of a sweet, honeyed, juicy, jammy wallop of orange blossom, flanked by jasmine and rose, and resting on a pillow of warm, unctuous vanilla. It is hot, and it is bothered. Imagine the love child of Serge Lutens Fleurs d'Oranger and Van Cleef & Arpels Orchidée Vanille. It differs from the Serge Lutens in two key ways, namely that it is more vanillic, in a nuzzling, cosseting way, and it also teeters just the right side of indolic. Yes, Néroli Blanc Intense is sultry and exotic, but not out and out erotic. I checked the notes of the SL for comparative purposes - the addition of tuberose may help to amp up its vampish, orange bombshell vibe:

SERGE LUTENS FLEURS D'ORANGER

Notes: orange blossom, jasmine, tuberose, rose, citrus, cumin, nutmeg

Source: vaporizer-shop.co.uk

A 'big white floral scent with vanilla' of which I was also reminded - especially texturally - is Annick Goutal's Songes. So I dug out my sample of that and promptly fell in love! It has different floral notes: frangipani, tiare, jasmine, ylang-ylang (though ylang-ylang has a bit of a tangy orange-y facet to it). Crucially, it has the vanilla base that I detect in Néroli Blanc intense, though it is not mentioned and I may be making it up. And Néroli Blanc Intense also has something of the dreamy, soft quality of Songes - Songes is actually a tad quieter I might add, in case that helps people position the two along the diva spectrum. Songes melds with my skin more readily, whereas the Néroli Blanc Intense sits on my wrist like a big gorgeous hot shouty orange thing. Big and shouty, yet paradoxically warm and comforting at the same time, like Songes. But it is in a louder register all the same - it never loses its 'not quite indolic twang', if you know what I mean. Interestingly, both scents are a similar colour.

Another analogy I might draw would be with an orange-forward Lys Soleia or Mary Greenwell Plum, say. We are talking those kind of levels of projection and radiance and 'juiciness' and 'in your face-ness'. There are also echoes of Ajne Bloom de Nuit, which includes notes of flowering orange, citrus and rock rose, amber and sandalwood, but I don't suppose too many people will have tried that one, and my own memory of it is pretty distant now. I could also say that it smells the way I hoped Guerlain's Mon Précieux Nectar would smell, but that was a bit of a disappointing fuzzy mishmash on me.

La Colle sur Loup ~ Source: voyages.carrefour.fr

Aha - I just spotted the note list for Néroli Intense on Fragrantica, and it is more extensive, with added vanilla, sandalwood and fruits!

Top notes: orange blossom, Sicilian bergamot, mandarin orange
Middle notes: jasmine, rose and fruits
Base notes: cedar, vanilla, musk and sandalwood

I am retesting all three of the Néroli Blanc collection at the moment - they have been on skin for a couple of hours and the other two (even the edp) are indistinct blurs, sadly, so I shan't dwell on them. The openings were very pretty though, and other reviewers - as with Tauer's new Cologne du Maghreb - seem to have got more mileage out of them, so do give them a go if you get the chance.  The older I get, the more my skin seems to eat perfume.

So, the upshot of my testing of this trio is that I would love to have a bit more of Néroli Blanc Eau de Parfum Intense - a purse spray-sized amount, say. And the other surprise finding is that I am now dreaming of a bottle of Songes...

Source: vanitytrove.com

Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit: Penhaligon's Orange Blossom EDT

When I started this blog I pretty much decided that I would not routinely review newly launched scents, leaving that job to the many other reviewers in the fragrance blogosphere endowed with more expert noses than me. As a rule, I have felt more comfortable reviewing less well known or offbeat scents I wish to bring to wider attention. However, every so often a new perfume is launched that is just too lovely for me to let it pass without comment... Ormonde Jayne Tiare was one such, and Penhaligon's Orange Blossom EDT (a new release in its Anthology Collection) is my latest "squeeze" (no pun intended).

Yes, those nice people at Penhaligon's happened to enclose samples of Orange Blossom and the new Eau de Cologne in the same package as Elixir, and it was love at first sniff. The fact that Orange Blossom is the creation of my "secret correspondent", Bertrand Duchaufour, in no may predisposes me to favour this scent. Oh okay, maybe just a little. Though it didn't work with Havana Vanille - or not yet, anyway - though HV is awaiting a retrial.

As for the reference in the title to Jeanette Winterson's Whitbread Prize winning novel, whilst shamelessly opportunistic on my part, is not wholly without foundation, for Penhaligon's Orange Blossom (from here on in POB for short : - )) also contains lemon-cedrat, peach flower and pink berries. Which is a bit of luck... I never thought I would be so quick to embrace berries of any kind in a composition, but there you go.

HEAD NOTES
Neroli, Violet leaf, Bergamot, Lemon-cedrat, Cardamom absolute, Pink berries
HEART NOTES
Orange absolute, Egyptian jasmine absolute, Tuberose absolute, Rose essence, Peach flower, Orchid
BASE NOTES
Sandalwood, Virginian cedar, White musk, Vanilla

So how does POB smell, apart from beautiful? These are my thoughts, without reference to the other reviews of this scent which have already appeared - I have purposely not studied them in case they influenced my own response.

Well, creamy and vanillic and a little spicy would be words that spring to mind. There is a citrus twist, but it is soft and muted. Is this a sort of Amaranthine treatment of orange blossom, you may be curious to know? Well, there is definitely a nod in that direction in terms of overall vibe, but POB is more demure, and there is absolutely no whiff of thigh here, nor is it as tropical as Amaranthine, or as creamy, or spicy, or (arguably) as sweet!

I would say POB has a lot in common with Serge Lutens Fleurs d'Oranger, of which it is a sanitised version. By that I mean that it enjoys a similar depth and creaminess, but is quieter, with no indolic twang from the white florals. This being a good thing in my book.

Here are the notes of the Serge Lutens, which have several key elements in common with POB - I promise I didn't peek at these before the comparison occurred to me!:

Orange blossom, white jasmine, Indian tuberose, white rose, citrus peel, hibiscus seeds, cumin, nutmeg

I have additionally conducted several side by side tests with Jo Malone Orange Blossom, which also comes across as indolic - soapily rather than skankily so, if that makes any sense at all. At the same time the Jo Malone is sparklier and brighter and more in-your-face than the Penhaligon's, and lacks its creamy depth. Can a perfume be simultaneously soapy and sparkly, I hear you ask? Well, if a washing up liquid can, I don't see why not. If JMOB was a handbag it would be all spangles and sequins, while POB makes a quieter statement in brushed suede.

JO MALONE ORANGE BLOSSOM
Top notes - cedrat, green notes and clementine leaf.
Heart notes - orange blossom and water lily
Base notes - orange blossom and lilac.

So, in summary, the new Penhaligons is a sort of de-skanked Fleurs d'Oranger or an Amaranthine that has been "tango-ed" in a demure way. And just as oranges are not the only fruit, nor does POB smell like the whole orange. And is the better for it.

And if a single reader gets my drift, I will eat the bow of the bottle I hope to buy some day...

UPDATE: Since this review was published, Penhaligon's has very kindly sent me a bottle of POB, so if the above imagery is in fact less than totally impenetrable, I may have soeme serious bow-eating to do! And it looks quite thick material....