When discussing the best notes to look for in our summer perfumes in June’s Perfume for the Occasion article, orange blossom stood proudly on the list, yet no fragrance making prominent use of its sultry aroma was featured. It’s not easy for me to love orange blossom fragrances – my standards are very high. I grew up you see, in a house overlooking an amazing garden. A garden not as magnificent as the dream-like paradise that was my maternal grandmother’s playground, but still, a sight to behold. A fence covered in ferociously productive lilac bordered the left side; There was a grapevine pergola that come September was always heavy with fruit and a mulberry tree that would stain the white marble tiles mauve; Dahlias, violets, peonies, and an extravaganza of different rose varieties drenched the eyes with saturated color; Pansies were planted each year. But most salient in my memory, are the orange and lemon trees growing right under our balcony. When our beautiful trees would blossom like innocent brides, the world would become a truly magical place, for their scent was so utterly beautiful as to seem unreal. (I’ll also share a little secret with you: the lemon tree always won... Nothing could surpass the beauty of its blossoms’ fragrance) So I guess you could say that I’ve been spoiled by these fragrant memories; no bottled essence has ever managed to approximate the delirious beauty of the real thing. Worse yet, most fragrances that put the focus on orange blossom tend to leave me at best indifferent, like Jo Malone’s Orange Blossom that to me smells more like tuberose anyway, or at worse nauseous, like the well-loved Fleurs d’Oranger by Serge Lutens, which to me smells plastic. Oh, I’ve no doubt that it is a masterpiece – so many devoted fans the world over can’t be that wrong after all. But to me, even that fact just compounded my disappointment and strengthened my belief that I’d never find one to make mine. 
Some months ago however, a change occurred: I actually found an orange blossom fragrance I loved and from then on, seemingly like through a change of karma, more followed. That very first one, discovered on a night still too cool for it to bloom properly, was Dawn Spencer Hurwitz’s Eau de Fleurs d’Oranger du Roi, a perfume belonging to the incredibly thoughtful “Perfumed Court Collection”.From the Perfumer’s website:
On the Collection Itself:
“A collection of ten historical perfumes designed especially for DSH's "eau de toilette" lecture given at the Denver Art Museum (to coincide with their exhibit ARTISANS and KINGS: Selections from the Louvre). Based on months of research and development, this collection of perfumes has been created to illustrate 17th and 18th Century styles of fragrance with some re-creations of perfumes that would have been worn by the luminaries of Versailles at the Courts of Louis XIV, Louis XV and Louis XVI.”
On the Fragrance Itself:
“Eau de Fleurs d'Oranger du Roi (The Perfumed Court) "Orange blossom water of the King". Orange blossom was one of the most sought after essences of the 18th Century and in the Court of Louis XV (called "Le Cour Parfumée - The Perfumed Court) it was the epitomy of grace and lightness. Eau de Fleurs d'Oranger was synonymous with Louis XV, so much so that it was renamed "Eau de Fleurs d'Oranger du Roi", posthumously.*”
The tenderly rendered nuances of Eau de Fleurs d’Oranger follow a quiet, light and flowing development, going from one stage to the next without once urgently nudging the nose to take note. The result is, in a word, cohesive. The opening is citrusy fresh and cooling, revitalizing the senses with the traditional smell of lemony cologne. Slowly, the lovely scent of cologne bigarade emerges, courtesy of the bitter orange. And just when you think that this is so brisk it can never veer too far away from the realm of traditional cologne, the intensity starts to fade, making room for the exquisite, slightly green aroma of neroli bathed in orange blossom. As time goes by, the fragrance changes again, slowly flooding me with memories of a sun-flooded Greek kitchen, where deserts and syrups are being prepared, as it fully blossoms into the characteristic smell of “anthonero”, the orange blossom water so commonly used by my mother during my youth. Its scent is light and airy, a pastel watercolor image of orange blossom with a heart of bitter almond essence. This tiny nutty heart is met expertly by the slightly nutty, gently woody citrus smell of petitgrain at the base, and lifted by ambergris. Although this gorgeous perfume that managed the Herculean task of kindling my affection for orange blossom fragrances doesn’t last awfully long on my skin unless I apply liberally, it lasts for days on end on fabric and I have taken to spraying everything, from gauzy scarves to the lined interiors of my bags because its scent is simply swoon-worthy. So far nothing has stained.
* From the book "A Scented Palace"
Images: Flickr originally uploaded by Md. Ziaul Hoque and www.sxc.hu
