Yum: Chanel Coromandel

Coromandel isn't just a made-up perfume name: it's a thing. In case, like me, you were wondering just what a coromandel might be, it's one of these:

a panelled screen made of inlaid wood. (Coco Chanel had a bunch of them.)

In case you were wondering what Chanel's Coromandel is, it's gorgeous.It opens with a gourmand quality, but, perversely, a sort of gourmand that doesn't quite call food to mind: it doesn't evoke any specific food, but it has a thick, silky richness that you can almost taste, and a little of the pipe-tobacco quality of Ambre Narguilè. This lies atop an extraordinary patchouli-frankincense accord; dense but not overwhelming, voluminous without being suffocating, as complicated as a symphony.

When I first started this blog I didn't care for patchouli very much, and I still can't wear the pure stuff: Patchouly Indonesiano was impossible on my skin, though I could appreciate its qualities in an abstract way. But I think two things have happened in the last few years. First, I've experienced a lot more patchouli-based scents, and I've grown accustomed to it, in the way that you can gradually come to accept and even like a strange food; and second, patchouli itself in perfumery has changed, and shows up in many forms, from the cleaned-up, tinkered-with version that shows up everywhere (such as a favourite of mine, Midnight Poison) to the hardcore dirty-loamy version of the Indonesiano, and everything in between. Coromandel's patchouli falls a bit nearer the dirty end of the scale, but it's too tasteful to have any serious filth to it, and it's balanced out by the incense and by a luscious amber-benzoin base which bookends the deliciousness of the opening.

Once again, I have to say that the idea of buying a 200-mL bottle of anything is a complete impossibility for me, and it's not going to happen; but I've never been so tempted in my entire life. You could wear it like a beloved jacket and never tire of it. Coromandel is magic.