These perfumes:
musk, clove…
all from the hyacinthine shadows
of those tresses.
You think you hear
a nightingale’s song…
No. It is the voice
of the Rose.
– Fakhruddin Iraqi (1213 – 1289), Divine Flashes
A classic theme within the Persian artistic tradition is that of the rose and the nightingale: the rose representing the desired woman, proud and unattainable amid its thorns, while the nightingale is the male lover who, each day, returns to serenade her in the hope that she lowers her defences. Hans Christian Andersen, in A Rose from Homer’s Grave, told of a nightingale who sung himself to death for a rose who would only bloom for the greatest singer in the world that was Homer. Then a poet from the North came by and plucked the rose, pressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth, and carried her away to the home of the clouds and the brilliant lights of the aurora borealis. Like a mummy, the flower now rested in his Iliad, and, as in her dream, she heard him say, as he opened the book, “Here is a rose from the grave of Homer.”
In The Gulistân, or Rose-Garden, the Persian poet Sheikh Saadi Shirazi told how one day in the bath, a sweet-smelling piece of clay came from the hand of a beloved one to his hand. He thus asked,
“Art thou, then musk of ambergris, I said;
That by thy scent my soul is ravished.
‘Not so,’ it answered; ‘worthless earth was I,
But long I kept the rose company;
Thus near its perfect fragrance to me come,
Else I’m but earth, the worthless and the same.’”
Saadi gave the description of the gardens of his time: “The ground was enamelled with odorous flowers, dewdrops hung on the rose like tears on the cheeks of a maiden; the parterre was covered with hyacinths from whose delicate bells pour forth the most endearing essence.” To enjoy their roses out of season, Persians gathered rose buds as they were beginning to open and placed them in earthenware jars sealed with clay. The jars were then buried in the garden, to be lifted when the flowers were required for a special occasion. Then the flowers were removed and placed in water in the sun or in a warm room to open and scent the apartment.
Most widely cultivated for perfume are Provence and Damask roses. In Turkey and Bulgaria, roses are gathered during May and early June. The blossoms are removed at sunrise while the petals are still covered with dew and are placed in baskets and sacks to be transported to the distilling plant without delay, as rising temperature diminishes the floral essence. The essential oil, or attar of the rose, is obtained by steam distillation, a process first invented a thousand years ago by the Persian scholar Ibn Sina. The roses are placed in a copper alembic and a fire lit beneath. To every 22 lbs of flowers are added 16 gallons of water, and the fire drives off the steam into a vat where it condenses and runs off into a receiving flask, which is connected to the vat by a small glass tube known as a “worm.” This quantity of flowers produces two one-gallon flasks of rose water, which are then re-distilled together with others. From these, a single flask of distillate is obtained, and when cool, the attar rises to the top and is collected in a small ladle, shaped like an inverted cone. The oily liquid which quickly solidifies is placed in a collecting flask.
In the cool and dry climate of the Himalayan foothills, the fragrance of the rose also excels. In Kashmir, rose attar is considered among the finest, comparable to Bulgarian attar. To collect the oil, distilled rose water is allowed to run off into an open vessel which is left overnight in a cold stream. In the morning, the oil is found floating on the surface in minute specks and these are carefully removed with the tip of an iris leaf. When cool, the oil sets quite hard and is dark green in color.
Rose essence was a most popular flavor in the kitchen during the second millennium. As the Crusaders marched into the Middle East to defeat the infidels throughout the 11th to 13th century, they became particularly fond of desserts that used rose water and orange blossom water. When they returned home, they made rose water by steeping fragrant roses in water. Then the English brought rose water with them when they sailed to America. By the 18th century, the taste of America was “rosewater, cream, and sherry.” American Cookery by Amelia Simmons, published in 1796, prescribed “rose-water and sugar to your taste” for an apple pie recipe. Modern Domestic Cooking, published in 1829, included tips for making superior rose water. Home cooks used their own rose water in “French flummery,” macaroons, drop biscuits, and cakes. Even William Henry Harrison’s favorite pound cake featured rose water. Rose water was only usurped by vanilla extract after 1841, when Edmond Albius, a 12-year-old slave from Réunion, then known as Île Bourbon, where the term “bourbon vanilla” comes from, developed the technique of quickly hand-pollinating the vanilla orchid using a stick and a careful flick of his thumb. Albius’ discovery turned vanilla from a luxury ingredient into something the average household could afford practically overnight.
As rose flavoring is considered exotic nowadays, one can still find it scattering across the contemporary kitchen, such as this recipe for quick-pickled rose petals from Heidi Swanson’s Near & Far: Toss a quarter cup of dried rose petals in a quarter cup of white wine vinegar with a tablespoon and a teaspoon of hot water until the petals are saturated and no longer float atop. Let sit for at least 30 minutes, preferably an hour to yield the best texture. Strain and serve as a condiment.
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