Sarrasins
Serge Lutens (2007)

Jasmine seems to play better as a supporting role for most fragrances. We see it often making a valuable contribution without it necessarily muscling its way through and stealing the show. It plays nice with other white florals and adds dimension when the perfumer has a skillful hand. The jasmine soliflore, on the hand, is an entirely different beast, one that usually a die-hard jasmine lover can appreciate, as there are facets of jasmine that can be overripe, indolic, a bit too too dirty and scandalous for the casual wearer of perfume.

Some jasmine soliflores take no prisoners, and it could be argued that Sarrasins is one of them. However, there is a mystique to it, a bit of drama that unfolds, that captivates me more than most other jasmines. Sarrasins is a more unisex jasmine than most, perhaps because it isn't so pretty. It opens with the quenching concord grapes of late summer, courtesy of a high Methyl Anthranilate content. Sweet, yet sour, dusty, yet letting filtered sun shine through the vines. Then the voluptuousness of the jasmine blooms as it warms on the skin, its white petals plump and perspiring, warm, enveloping like a spell. I detect a high usage of lusty Jasmine Sambac absolute here. This is the jasmine that happens to flavor green tea, so it will be familiar to those who enjoy its aroma. It is a bit greener and fresher than grandiflorum, which would explain why this jasmine accord does not slip into a slurry of animalic claustrophobia.

However, this is not devoid of animal husbandry: the dry down suggests a castoreum, oily and rich, adding a tawny leather to the experience. There are facets that also remind me of osmanthus absolute, whether it is actually used here is up for debate, but there is a dried apricot and raisin as it dries down, delicious to my nose. With ripening eventually comes wilting, the inevitability of decay, and that's the beauty of Sarrasins in its base. A flower cannot be pristine for very long. All of us beings age, wrinkle, show wisdom. This is a jasmine with wisdom.

Am onslaught of a dark Jasmine bomb tatacks me immediately in the opening blast. And a blast it is! Rich, quite indolic, full on, a kick-in-the-face jasmine bomb of great intensity. A bergamot lurks in the background without brightening the opening notes very much, and in the background a benzoin develops gradually over time. At times I get whiffs of a balsamic undertone.

After the first hour or two a labdanum arises, which is tailed by a patchouli impression. This patchouli gradually becomes the second-most component in this olfactory mix, being dark too, a bit harsh initially, but becoming smoother with time.

Further towards the end another edgier note is introduced in the shape of a castoreum, which is, however, less sharp than in many other perfumes.
I get moderate sillage, very good projection, and seven hours of longevity on my skin.

A powerful jasmine-patchouli-centric autumn creation, which is worth trying for jasmine lovers - the jasmine is very nice. Some of the notes are a bit generic though. Not for the shy ones. 3.25/5

This is a jasmine bomb, but it has carnation to give it spice, and musk to give it a deeper, just a bit dirty edge. This is my kind of white floral. This isn't this debutantes first rodeo, and she knows what she wants and she's not suffering fools lightly. She is simply rolling her eyes and turning her back on the fumbling idiots and the smug, haughty, pretension. She's real and worth more than all this, and she knows it.

Marvelous, this is! It opened with a blast-note of something akin to gardenia; then, labdanum, as the jasmine took over. Jasmine wavered between sugary sweet, then flowers past their prime - as though ruined by rain with rot, developing. The jasmine seems to waver between sweet and sour for quite some time. Later I smelled a grape soda accord. I drink a lot of grape soda so, I know this well. Much later the jasmine tames as a musk appears, with another feel of something reminding me of roasted oats, hay, or bran flakes.

I am glad I have had the opportunity to try Sarrasins. It is everything and more, as stated from the opinions and viewpoints of its devotees. I only wish I'd discovered this years before - I definitely would have a jar of this in my wardrobe.

Stardate 20170720:

To me this is a best Jasmine fragrance. A jasmine soliflore.

I like jasmine smell but it comes at a cost- fecal indoles. Therefore a jasmine heavy fragrance is generally a pass for me.

The beauty of Sarrasins is that it captures the jasmine and leaves out most of the fecal bits.

And the jasmine is strong.

Borrowing from what jujy54 and purecaramel wrote - Post-coital heavenly bliss in a bed of jasmine flowers

I wrote summer 2013, thus the reference to Ramadan:

It is hard to imagine a dinner "guest" more suitable for a dinner that began with exchanges of both "Shabbat Shalom" and "Ramadan Mubarak" than Serge Lutens Sarrasins. My gracious jet-lagged guests arrived, bearing not just the awaited bell jar, but also some Pernod, assuring a dinner that would end as splendidly as it began.

Carefully, I opened the package, preserving the monogrammed seal on the outer wrapping. I got cotton swabs and passed one to my guests, who were my Algerian friend and his wife, and my two children. First of all, that is some purple juice and at first sniff it smelled "purple" in the way I remember grape soda as a kid. This could very well be castoreum. Yes, indolic jasmine to start, with a hint of crushed stems as well as blooms, then throughout the evening, a waxy sweetness, possibly osmanthus, would waft up from the crook in my elbow, which seems to be where Lutens all like to live and bloom. It is to me a very personal skin scent, and as it blooms it takes on a corporeal sort of warmth.

I really can't further describe how Sarrasins smells, but I can describe how it feels: post-coital bliss with a bowl of ice cream. Luxe and sated.