Scent Terror in Gastronomy: A Plea for Fragrance-Free Hospitality
Loekie was incredibly excited about her dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant. Married for ten years, saving for months. This was going to be an evening to remember forever. And it was. But not for the reason she had in mind. Courtesy of Madame Chanel No. 5000… Hence this plea for fragrance-free hospitality.
‘Ten years married. Ten years of putting up with my husband and him putting up with me – that had to be celebrated. So I saved, for months. No drinks after work, no takeout, no online shopping in a moment of weakness – no, all my money went into the “once-in-a-lifetime dinner” fund. We were so excited!
Taste Buds on High Alert
At last, the moment arrived. There we were. In the Michelin-starred restaurant of my dreams, the temple of gastronomy, where the butter is hand-churned by nuns in the Pyrenees and the meat gets massage therapy before it is served. I had studied the menu for weeks. My taste buds were on high alert. This was going to be an evening to remember forever.
And it was. But not for the reason I had in mind.
Madame Chanel No. 5000
Because even before the amuse-bouche had arrived, it happened. A scent. No, let’s call it an attack. A perfume cloud of truly epic proportions. The table next to us had just sat down, and a woman – let’s call her Madame Chanel No. 5000 – had apparently soaked herself from head to toe in a fragrance that fell somewhere between an old-fashioned powder compact and an aggressive lavender bomb.
My appetite, which until five minutes earlier had been bouncing with excitement, shrivelled up. My nose tried to escape. My stomach, until then a loyal ally, began showing signs of mild rebellion. I looked at my husband, who was just about to take a sip of wine. He couldn’t smell anything. At least, nothing besides the wine we had ordered by the glass – “let’s do something crazy, we’re here now!” We could only smell that perfume. In our amuse-bouche, our truffle risotto, our lightly grilled Wagyu that had cost more than our first weekend away together.
And there I was. In a Michelin temple, with the smell of what felt like a perfume-factory explosion holding my sense of smell hostage. I tried breathing through it. I tried ignoring it. But after an hour and a half I knew: either I go outside for some fresh air now, or I end up as a gastronomic tragedy in the Michelin Guide: “Rave review, but the lady at table six succumbed while gagging.”
Appetite Restored
So I stood up, staggered outside, gasping for air as if I had just climbed Mount Everest without oxygen, and tried to regain my dignity. Fortunately, the staff had noticed my deathly pale face and, after I explained what was wrong – no, there was nothing wrong with the food – discreetly moved us to another table. A fragrance-free zone. An oasis of neutrality. My appetite slowly returned, but the experience was ruined.
Fragrance-Free Hospitality
And that is why, ladies and gentlemen, I have an urgent request. We now have smoke-free hospitality – and rightly so! But when will we take the next step? When will we say: “Hey, it’s fantastic that you’re wearing a perfume that smells like a lavender field on steroids, but perhaps a Michelin-starred restaurant isn’t the place to test it?”
Give us fragrance-free hospitality! Let us enjoy the smell of freshly baked bread, melted butter, a perfect entrecôte. Not Madame’s Chanel incident. I mean, I wouldn’t bring a can of garlic spray to an opera performance either, would I?
So, restaurant owners of the Netherlands, please consider this. My nose, my stomach and my wedding anniversary will be grateful.’
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Loekie’s name has been changed for privacy reasons. Her real name is known to the editorial team. Would you also like to share a personal story (anonymously!)? You can email us at info@favorflav.com
