Perfumer's Notes: gourmand fragrance with notes of buckwheat, cereal accord, milk, apple & vanilla
My Impressions: this is a review unlike most of my other reviews. there's no reason to describe the metamorphosis of this scent as time goes on because it has little to no transformation on my skin. until nearly the very end, it is the same from start to finish. Perhaps that sounds boring for a fragrance. after all, an enormous amount of time is spent working out the complicated harmonic of top, middle, & bass notes.
with Lann Aël, the consistency is not tedious in the same way that putting on your favorite pjs or snuggling into an afghan knitted by your favorite long-passed great aunt isn't tedious. Lann Aël is home coming. Lann Aël is the memory of a dream of the best dawn you've ever welcomed. the one where you woke up fully refreshed of your own accord, when light was only the fainest whisper on the horizon. You pad quietly to the kitchen in heavy socks, feet still sensitive to the hard chill just beneath that snug protection.
it's a simple day & it calls for a simple breakfast. porridge, oat cakes, warm milk. comfort foods, even though you prepare them by yourself, you're not alone. ancestors long past are with you, in the sureness of your hands, the way you pour out your draught of milk without measuring. the certain way that you add your mixed grains from the canister with a hand, scooping up the proper amount & adding into the milk; first a waterfall of grains that drops to a trickle as you close your hand when a whisper from mornings' past tells you it's the perfect amount.
almost in a dream, you prepare your oat cakes, fingers & palms overlaid with those of relatives you love, kneading the oats, adding the perfect splash of melted butter, the proper trickles of water to create a rough & right dough. echoes of the past steady your hand as you roll it out to the perfect thickness, cut & lay on a baking sheet to bake while the pottage thickens to perfection.
this is not a morning for coffee. it's a morning for childhood comforts; down goes small pan to heat milk for your breakfast drink. you allow both pottage & drinking milk to heat slowly, judiciously stirred to prevent burning. you savor the rich, fragrant steam that rises up from milk pan & the pottage pot. Redolent with the fragrance of nourishing grains & sweet milk, it's a thick comfort that hugs you away from the chill of the pre-dawn kitchen. you lose yourself savoring that moment, the heat rising from the stove & oven a balm against the front of your body while your back prickles lightly from chill even as you can feel the change in the air as the sun creeps closer to the horizon.
the moment fades as your nose tells you that pottage & oat cakes are both ready. turning the heat off, you add some fresh, sticky vanilla beans to the pottage for a hint of extra sweetness. a heavy ceramic bowl that has been heating in the oven comes out to be gifted with a full measure of pottage. the oatcakes follow. lastly, the milk, poured into a heavy mug that was heated with hot water, so as not to cool the milk too quickly.
you sit at the table with your simple breakfast, eyes on the horizon visible through the window in front of you. while you eat, your mind calm & relaxed, totally immersed in the sensation of blowing on your pottage, the crumbly crush of oatcakes, the nearly-too-hot slip of milk down your throat. their scents all mingle around you as their warmth & solid sustenance nurture you from the inside out.
you finish your breakfast clear of mind, bright of spirit, & wrapped in gently aromatic fingers of milk & vanilla, oats & buckwheat. the bouquet doesn't travel far from your body. someone coming close will only catch the barest whiff of the comfort your immersed yourself in this morning. though the fragrance lingers long on you, it does not expand outside your personal sphere to haunt others. it's here for you, to comfort you, to remind you of the beauty in the simple, the sacred that can be found in early morning rituals.
interested in sniffing for yourself? Buy here, straight from Lostmarc'h itself.