When I was a child growing up in Beirut, Lebanon, my older brother and sister were always joking that I had a dog’s nose; I would smell everything. In fact, at certain times of the year, the orange blossoms would fill the streets of Beirut and I would say “Can you smell that? Can you smell that?” And they would say “What, what?” And we would go back and smell the blossoms together.

Our home in Beirut was always filled with wonderful smells, which was mostly because we always had family and friends over. My parents loved to host, especially my mom. Most of the time they would sit in our large living room; a space with high ceilings, lots of paintings on the wall, and large windows that welcomed the natural light in. And the sound of their shared stories and laughter filled the air.

My mom is a beautiful, smart, outgoing, and elegant lady. And she is also very creative. When people came over, they knew they would be discovering and tasting something unique every time, and I think they were fascinated by that. It was always different whether it was the pastries, the meals, or our house decorations. With each season, my mom found new ways to create, even with the same furniture! It was like living in a very warm and enchanted place.

Some things, however, never changed and were consistently present. Like the "white coffee," or "café blanc," as we called it, which was served either after meals to soothe and aid in digestion or in the afternoons for "tea time”. My mom always asked, “Would you like black coffee or white coffee?” White coffee has nothing to do with coffee because it’s not made of coffee, and it doesn’t have milk or cream. It’s simply warm water with a few drops of ma’ zahr, a hydrolate of orange blossom. Ma’ means water and zahr means flower.

The whole experience is very ritualistic. The café blanc is served in either a small porcelain coffee cup or in a small clear glass that has a golden ring around it to help you hold it. And there was a specific way my mom gave it out. She would pour just a few drops of the ma’ zahr into the warm water in each person’s cup. The smell of the orange blossom would fill the entire kitchen with its warm and sugary aroma. And I could smell it for quite some time after. I just loved that smell. I was always amazed at how a few drops could turn simple water into perfume. It was like magic to me.

What was more magical was that my mom didn’t store the ma’ zahr in simple glass bottles. Instead, she put it into a small, beautifully engraved copper vile. It looked like a small still, with its rounded base and long neck. And at the top were just a few holes where the aromatic drops would come out. It was incredible to see that copper vial releasing the aroma of the ma’ zahr into the air as you sat around and had conversations.

But, as a little girl, I was always very sad that my mom would just put one or two drops in. I really didn’t like that. So, one spring afternoon, when I was around six or seven years old, I decided this was my time with the magical ma’ zahr. My mom was busy serving café blanc to her friends in the living room, so I went into the kitchen to get the magical copper vial. I still have an image in my head of where she kept it; close to the door where you enter the kitchen, on the right-hand side in the cupboards down below. I went there, opened the door, and grabbed what to me was Aladdin’s lamp!

I thought this is my moment. Now I’m going to experience this ma’ zahr. I’m not going to just have one or two drops. I was expecting something big; you know. So, I took the vial and shook the drops into my mouth.

Now, you should know that if you have a spoonful of ma’ zahr the taste is very bitter. This meant that instead of me expecting to be flying, I had this sudden bitterness in my mouth, and I didn’t understand why. It was like being in a tornado! I was more than surprised, I was bewildered. It was like getting a slap when you were waiting for a gift. I thought, how could something that smelled so good and beautiful be so bitter?!

It was at that moment, I think, that my mom came over and saw me with this bitter expression on my face, sitting on the floor, holding the vial. She said, “What's the matter?” I just cried because it was so bitter. My mom laughed and said, “Yes, this is why I only put one or two drops in the water.” It was my first encounter with something that can, on the one hand, be so beautiful and subtle and, on the other hand, be so bitter. It was all about the dose. It took me a long time to understand how to handle something so precious. Since then, I always treat my beloved ma’ zahr with care and respect.

Today I can make myself a café blanc and immediately be transported back to my childhood in Beirut. I don’t live there right now, but I order the ma’ zahr from my village and enjoy the drink as much as possible. The scent is very gentle and warm, like a very light blanket. It’s warm enough to give me what I need, but light enough to let me be. It stays with me and is always there. It makes me feel protected, and as if I was touching an enchanted world. When I smell it, I’m transformed. I can forget my sadness and imagine myself back in this enchanted world that I used to be in as a child.

If the scent had a sound, what would it be? A subtle wind.

If the scent had a color, what would it be? Yellowish white, like a warm afternoon sun.

If the scent had a texture, what would it be? Velvet.

If the scent could give you advice, what would it tell you? It would say, “Follow me. Follow my path. Don’t forget me. Whenever you smell me, keep following my trail, and I probably have something to show you. Remember it’s so good when you smell me.” We always tend to pass by the smell and ignore it. We don’t have time. But it’s very important to stop and smell. I can hear the smell telling me this.