When my dad picked me up at Solihull station late last night after a fabulous time in London and Portsmouth (more on that later), I asked him if he had just been eating ginger nuts – the deliciously ginger tasting hard sweet biscuits that they eat every morning with their early morning tea (and which I dunk into the brew for that cheekily delectable half melt – I don’t care if it makes me a pleb) : : : but then, as the powerful, not smell, not hallucination – maybe holographic brain insertion (all I could smell was ginger nut biscuits and I thought that the car was choc-a-bloc full of them, even though I knew that this was an impossibility), my head began to reach further.
It couldn’t fool me. IT also was so familiar: what was this? I knew this smell. Had a perfume leaked? (I was so laden down with samples and bottles and goodies that one bag had completely broken on the platform at Leamington Spa; had I, in my typical clumsy oaf non spatial awareness just thrust it down onto the concrete and damaged one of my preciousnesses without realising? Oh so plausible an explanation. ) But it felt internally familiar. A comforting sediment. In my psyche. And then I became aware that what I was smelling was very similar indeed to the perfume I made when I came back from Java -(called, imaginatively, Java- please read my review) :: : :: all cacao, coffee, patchouli,and cardamom: distinctly similar: : : and then I realised, oh no, has the Gorilla Perfumes Cardamom Coffee I picked up at Persolaise’s (jesus the man is generous), a scent I liked immediately as I love cardamon so much – D and I never drink tea without it, sometimes with fresh ginger as well – you can’t beat it – has it leaked?
-At this point my head was so full of ginger nuts though,:: : my head had become a ginger nut: I could hardly think straight, my dad was speaking ginger nut
– hauling my load into the house as my parents went to bed, I knew that this was one of the intensest perfume experiences of my life. As I emptied the ruined bag and saw the smashed bottle in the bottom corner, the glass pulverised like sugar crystals, with not a drop remaining, I saw that a full thirty millilitres of this pungent, sweet, chocolatey spice drink had been unnaturally liberated from its thick, chunky confines and had filled the entire car and house. Like chemical warfare (but the very best kind). The gingerest, cardamomest (because the oil really did come through, clearly, once I saw it), biscuitest, smellfest I have ever had. An amazing thing to go through actually. ALL IN ONE GO. Because much as I was disappointed by the loss – this would make a really lovely wintery comfort perfume and I would also have enjoyed spritzing it round the house for a perfect, ersatz, Hansel and Gretel gingerbread house bonanza – the sheer, diluvial pleasure of such a huge wave of ginger (because it does smell like ginger, like ginger confectionery), all at once, was like a sugar junkie or the ultimate ginger nut enthusiast having the best, purest, and most ecstatic hit of his life
The Black Narcissus 
I really love your posts, but every time I read about you breaking another bottle I want to cry.
It IS tragic, isn’t it. There was a bottle of Miss Dior vintage parfum a couple of weeks ago too but I forgot (or couldn’t bear) to post about it.
I am sorry that your bottle broke but glad that it made for such a positive experience. Perhaps you can obtain another bottle without any breakage.
I wonder. I am so cretinously hamfisted!
(I really was laden down though).
Hello from NYC. Gracing (or ruining – depending on your perspective) your blog comment threads for the first time here.
At least your environs are enveloped in one of your favourite scents for awhile. I hope your Papa feels the same!
He didn’t seem to mind it (they do love those biscuits…..he thought it was me who was eating them!)
Well, if you will insist on swinging your bag around while doing the Can-can across the nation’s rail network…
You know how heavy it was…..I expect in many ways it was a foregone conclusion.
I genuinely enjoyed the nasal tsunami though – it was a blast.
Well that settles it. I am buying a bottle.
!
I don’t think you will regret it.
Unfortunately I never got to experience this olfactory bliss as my local Lush only had the solid perfume in stock. So sorry about your broken bottle! You can probably get another one before you leave as I believe it’s still in production. Reminds me of the time I dropped and broke a 30 ml decant of Bond No. 9 New Haarlem (similarly pungent).
Ooh was that the coffee one? How did the olfactory deluge pan out? Was it pleasant? I think because Gorilla use so many (mainly, in fact) naturals, it smelled truly lovely. I can’t imagine smashing a full bottle of niche!
Yes! Very potent stuff, pure syrupy coffee.It was pleasant but I was sad as I hadn’t even gotten to wear it once, it crashed to the floor and was gone, leaving a fragrant puddle of glass.
I KNOW THE SCENARIO WELL.
Um. What is a pleb?
Free Roman citizens who were not nobility: commoners. Hence slang for commoner.
Count me in.
A plebeian : a member of the lower classes: a scum queen
Since I simply ADORE a cheekily delectable half-melt (particularly of the ginger variety), call me a fellow pleb.
I have always dunked. I do it unapologetically. In Japan it is considered EXTREMELY ill mannered and crass, but I do think a biscuit can be too dry and needs to be dunked – just obviously, when you leave it slightly too long and it collapses into your hot drink and then the whole thing is slightly disgusting.
Perhaps the Japanese do not have truly hard biscuits? You would break your teeth if you didn’t dunk your rusks.
You are probably on to something Tara. My father is Lebanese & traditionally we don’t serve food that is difficult for guests & friends & family to eat. That is why the salads are chopped into very tiny pieces. (Minced. Think of taboulé). For elderly & young children who may not have teeth & so guests don’t embarrass themselves wrestling w/ a large piece of meat etc. (Who of us has not had some dining mishap… cutting something that slips onto the cloth etc).
My mum is German & we don’t dunk either. You are right I think. There are no hard thick biscuits. (Some thin ones that would not be helped from dunking… Springerle etc.).
I was surprised when I first saw an American do it. She was Italian American. There are those thick hard biscotti. I didn’t see anyone do it when I lived in Palermo Sicily briefly though.
Perhaps it is a cell memory/DNA matter that only some people possess all over the planet!
I do it with all kinds of biscuits/cookies whatever : I just don’t care!
I like how it tastes.
☕️⭐️
And feels. So decadent.
Sorry to hear about the broken bottle. But what a wonderful story! R
Thanks. It was so ridiculous (and gorgeously fragrant) that I thought I had to share it.