Edition #1

Scent, taste & recommended reading

The below is divided into sensory subcategories so feel free to skip to what interests you. These are some things occupying my mind and that I would gush about if we met for coffee this week.

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Scent

Loving the unlovable

When I first became interested in scent, I hunted down what I perceived as the most beautiful smells. I wanted to understand the operatic compositions of great perfumers. I wanted to create an index of what I found to be arch-beautiful. I wanted to be dazzled by something and then wear it around like a halo.

During the pandemic, this changed. I wanted to find scents that weren't ostentatious, that explored a theme in a really salient, humble way. Livable scents; ones I could smell in my space or on my body that would never shout. As my dear friend perfumer Ashley Eden Kessler described such scents in a piece I wrote for The Strategist earlier this year, “companions you never get sick of — as opposed to that person who’s really fun at dinner, but then you don’t need to see again.” These aren't dazzling. They're inhabitable.

Then I was pregnant for nine long months of this year. Towards the end, I wanted no scent on my person except the faint lingering of handwashing soap or body wash. At most, the burst of essential oil that accompanies hand sanitizer.

8 weeks ago I gave birth. The scentscape of the hospital is still really vivid for me in its extremes. The powdery vanilla poof of a neat stack of Pampers newborn diapers (I hadn't smelled those in six years). The sharp smell of disinfectant. The jarring 'empty smell' of standard-issue pillows stacked high, tainted with sweat after a long night. Sorry, but: the smell of blood and discarded hygienic wrappings that comes with such an event; the scent of my own body flooded with chemistry-altering hormones.

And of course, the smell of a newborn baby's crown — downy soft —  smelling like a sweet peach left on the counter in a brown paper bag.

Now, we're back at home. The baby, Omri, who doesn't like to be put down, is like a barnacle some days. My forearms are constantly mashed into the side of his face when nursing. I don't want to get alcohol in his eye or heavy musky molecules up his nose just yet. So I'm not wearing perfume. But that doesn't mean I'm smelling like nothing. In fact, what surrounds me is the smell of curdled milk that dribbled onto my hair or the unmistakably cheesy-culture aroma of spit-up on my shoulder. The soggy Corn Flakes smell of a wet diaper or the fermented smell of a soiled one — though truly, they don't smell that bad. The newborn and post-birth less-than-pleasant haze: these are the smells of life. These are the scents of real purity, so often covered up by "unscented" salves (think: talc powders, baby shampoos) designed to invoke a purity that is actually false.

I take pleasure in these off-putting smells, surprisingly. I find myself relishing the fullness of them. The way they stand up against all the beautiful spritzes and suds you might use to mask them, your almond-y creams and fresh figs and sparkling ambers. How off-smells acquire, if you don't fight them, a type of majesty.  Yes, majesty!

There's a long history of foul animal byproducts being harnessed for magnificent scent purposes - hyrax, ambergris, and civet most notably. I remember learning that the truest, most lifelike Jasmine accord construction (considered a universally beautiful smell) contains indole (a naturally occurring molecule that smells like a public bathroom on a beach). Perfumers know you need the ugly to add dimension and perspective to the beautiful. I think most artists know this. To love a medium, you need to develop the love for its full spectrum. You need to find a degree of grace for the things you'd rather disregard; for your dislikes. I think most people who live well know this too.

*Note that I make a little distinction between scent as in perfume and then just the scents I surround myself with during the days. Yes, I'm really interested by perfume. But other days, I just want a smell to occupy my brain for a little bit. To prompt my imagination. To jolt me into a daydream or to ground me in my reality. Something to stick my nose in. When I talk about scent, I mean all things that summon our sense of smell, all the good and neutral and even the repellant-smelling things that transform any old place into a sensory realm.

Taste

Squash soup

Here's what I've been making once a week for the past two months. It’s not revelatory by any means but offers a departure from most recipes wherein you have to roast the squash for an hour beforehand (like the one in the NYT this week from Thomas Keller).  Here you can start with raw squash that just cooks in the liquid so it feels easier!

Ingredients: 1 onion, 1 medium butternut squash or Kabocha pumpkin (you don’t even have to peel it!), chicken or veg stock, 1 can of coconut milk, salt, pepper, 1 tbsp of turmeric and 1 tbsp of ground coriander. 1tsp cinnamon in there is a nice touch too!

To make: Cut the gourd into cubes. Dice an onion. Sauté onion until it starts to caramelize. Add in the raw squash cubes. Sauté until they’re both browned on the edges. Add turmeric, coriander, cinnamon, salt and pepper and stir everything around. Add the cooking liquid - I don’t measure this, just eyeball based on how much soup I want to make and whether I want it to be brothy or a denser squash soup. One can of coconut milk added to the cooking liquid makes it really silky and filling.

Cook the soup on the stove over medium heat until the squash cubes are very soft and tasty, you can taste and adjust seasoning of broth too. You can easily make this in an instant pot set to 20 min. Finally, let cool a bit and put everything through a blender or use an immersion blender. If it's too watery, simmer on the stove until it reduces.

I love to make a large amount of this soup and have it for breakfast throughout the week with a dollop of yogurt or add leftover rice to it for an afternoon snack (particularly good if you used chicken stock in preparation). Like most soups, it seems to get better as it sits.

If you make this and end up liking it or have any qs, let me know!

Reading and Writing*

(*not sensory in the literal sense, but indulge me)

Fiorella Valdesolo writes a terrific piece in Vogue on how her own sensitivity to scent changed with major life events and finding her way back to fragrance.

Artist Se Young Au writes a moving, multisensory piece titled Transmissions, Vol 1 about coping with a major loss and resurrecting memory through scent and sound. A must-read (actually, a must-experience).

George Saunders has launched a substack—big news—offering his Syracuse MFA workshop on short stories via newsletter format. What a marvelous opportunity for anyone wanting to tune in and focus on story analysis and other writerly discussions, similar to what he presented in his book, A Swim in a Pond in the Rain.

I’ve just finished reading Elena Ferrante's latest book The Lying Life of Adults and learned that her famous translator Ann Goldstein only learned Italian later in life, well after college, which I found inspiring. I am hungrily reading right now and welcome book suggestions!

I must mention I am also obsessed with the fantasy Kingkiller Chronicles trilogy by Patrick Rothfuss. I am completely taken in by his masterful storytelling and splendid writing, as well as his suggestion that at the very heart of a fantasy adventure is really language itself, not magic. The Name of the Wind is the first book in the series and I’ve seriously enjoyed it on audio. I’m listening to the second now, The Wise Man’s Fear. Sadly the last installment is not yet released (with no release date in sight). This story is so alive for me right now and I recommend it to anyone and everyone.

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Thank you for reading. More to come.
Stay safe, healthy, and attuned to the gifts in the world.

Signing off with my favorite picture of our two O’s from this past month