Like the smell of chocolate in the desert
Newly settled in New Mexico, in the southern United States, author and journalist Katy Kelleher discovers a new olfactory landscape. Her knowledge of perfumery helps her navigate it, she explains in “Nautilus.”
As spring draws to a close, the desert takes on a chocolatey scent. It's a fleeting impression, confined to certain regions of New Mexico, but sometimes, deep in the bush, a hiker's nostrils are suddenly assaulted by a sweet aroma wafting through the air.
For a long time I struggled to identify the origin of this olfactory curiosity, but I now know that it comes from a small flower with yellow petals and a dark heart, which grows under the desert sun: the chocolate drop [Berlandiera lyrata].
The Southwest of the United States has a particular smell, one I'd never encountered before. More pleasant than that of the forests of Maine [where the author is from], it's also much more pronounced. I didn't expect such a sensory discovery when I moved here.
As a serious perfume collector, I'd already smelled the desert in a bottle before breathing it in for real. Samples of Mojave Ghost, Arizona , or Desert Eden —scents designed to evoke cactus blossom and conifer [and sold commercially]—had led me to believe that mesas would smell of dust and musk, with a hint of cypress. But I was wrong.
Courrier International
