Aomassaï

The first fifteen minutes deliver roasted hazelnut and coffee in their most concentrated form—oils still crackling from the pan, bitter and slightly burnt. Caramel appears almost simultaneously, but it's pulled tight by frankincense, creating a sweet-smoky tension that's more campfire than patisserie. There's an immediate density here, a richness that coats the back of your throat as though you've inhaled it.

As the composition opens up, liquorice and bitter orange peel slice through the sweetness with herbal sharpness and citrus rind astringency. Tolu balsam weaves in a vanillic, almost cinnamic warmth, whilst the frankincense deepens into proper church incense—cold stone, centuries of devotion, resin-stained wood. The gourmand elements are still present but now filtered through something ancient and ceremonial, the coffee mellowing into a dry, roasted backdrop rather than a focal point.

What remains is wenge wood's subtle pencil-shaving dryness, hay's earthy sweetness, and a constellation of resins that feel both warm and austere. The caramel has burned down to mere suggestion—a ghost of sweetness hovering over smoke and dried grasses. It's surprisingly clean in its final hours, almost meditative, like incense ash cooled in an empty temple.