DO YOU SMELL THAT, SON?

In the modern era smells drive people wild. My apartment mate had been gifted an expensive perfume by a relative, probably as a Christmas present, that smells rather nice. I have no idea what it's called. The strong top note is startling, but fades in a while leaving a pleasant sultry but lighter middle note and base to influence your thoughts while she rants about rich snobby uppercrust childmolesters like Prince Andrew, about whom she is watching informative and analytical youtube videos. A disgusting royal degenerate. Shocking.
That fragrance mismatches the subject.

[It might be L'Ombre Dans L'Eau, by Diptyque. Black currant leaf and Bulgarian rose, bergamot, musk, ambergris.]


Years ago I used to smoke Latakia mixtures, being particularly fond of Dunhill's London and Standard after Balkan Sobranie got bollicksed up. Hard to get in some parts of the world, and even back then "refined" people frowned upon the fragrance. The aromas of a fishing village and shipbuilding area were stronger however, and some people still used woodfires to cook. And there was drying fish. So one could 'fly under the radar', so to speak.

[Latakia imparts terpeneols, creosote, and resinous woodsmoke. Faintly floral, profoundly sexy.]

In San Francisco we've forgotten our past. The port is less active than it was during the middle years of the twentieth century, military ships seldom dock here, mercant marine activities have shifted to Oakland, San Jose, and Long Beach, and except for crab fishermen the seafood activity of San Francisco Bay has stilled. There are no shrimp canneries anymore.
You really would not want to eat what comes out of the water here.


People in San Francisco tend to have kittens about smoking. One of the main reasons I tend to hang around Chinatown is that everyone there has a relative who smokes, or IS the relative that does so, and they tend to mind their own business.


Besides, they probably would rather have a discreet Dutchman who smells of Virginia blends passing through their alley than a gaggle of Midwesterners reeking of lutefisk, or Frenchmen ponging of perfume and cheesy unwashed body parts.

[Virginias have carotenoids and a higher natural sugar content. Delicate, contemplative, and old fashioned.]


Plus my imperfect Cantonese gets me treated like a regular person, whereas my English / Bostonian / Irish / Australian accent (or however it's misidentified by Anglos) prompts stupid behaviour elsewhere. No, I bloody well don't speak Cockney, nor do I hail from Yorkshire.
And what you're now throwing at me does NOT sound Irish or Scottish.
I am not the English fellow from that last time.
And I cannot stand Mary Poppins.


By the way: Dried salt fish is Haam Yü (鹹魚), you should try it sometime.
It's much better than lutefisk. Goes great with pork.
Adjusts your attitude.



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