flouve

Anthoxanthum odoratum

Already, testing blotters (touches à sentir) are being passed (tout de suite) around the room, to set in motion the evaporative evolution:

“…let me guess, melilotus clover? tobacco? no? — it’s pleasing, if wet silage can be pleasing … is it sweet woodruff? still no? — helichrysum is familiar to me, can’t be that, yet it’s herby … perhaps an uncommon species of lavender? also no? — it’s not tonka bean, yet shares the coumarinic element … is it the liatris we call deertongue? — hang on, it’s almost balsamic, and I detect benzoic acid … can’t be vanilla? — I doubt it’s mimosa, or some estery herb, clary or chamomile, not a chance, not those plants — can’t be tea, no, and no way that it’s genet, not that either … I give up.”

This next lead, sure to reveal the identity, is a register of confamiliar perennial plants: palmarosa, lemongrass, gingergrass, vetiver, and citronella.

“Grasses oh, of course, duh, that clue gave it away, I’m embarrassed to say … the absolute of new-mown hay.”

No … but the floral perfume of vanilla grass is similar, also ryegrass and fescue, bentgrass and timothy grass, meadow grass and sweet alyssum. The fragrance is diffusive and lasting and gets more saccharidal as it dries.

“The sample calls to mind something near anisic and perceptibly green though explicitly melilotic yet nonetheless clean, much as it is plainly honeyed while scarcely nutty and indistinctly fruity plus vaguely mossy, and also alluring but … oh wait, flouve oil?”

The designation is flouve, not flouvé, pronounced fluve, not fluvay.