Citrus

Almdudler smells like a fizzy, herbal-citrus soft drink captured in a bottle. Imagine biting into a fresh lemon whilst standing in an Alpine meadow—you get bright, zesty citrus married with gentle herbaceous notes that feel slightly minty and green. There's an almost creamy sweetness underneath, reminiscent of vanilla or almond (hence the name), making it less sharp than pure lemon and more comforting, like a nostalgic childhood beverage. It's crisp yet approachable, never aggressively sour.

Apple's scent is crisp, slightly tart, and refreshingly green—like biting into a just-picked Granny Smith on a cool autumn morning. It carries a natural sweetness balanced by a subtle astringency that tingles in your nostrils, reminiscent of apple skin rather than the flesh. There's an almost waxy, fruity brightness to it, with a whisper of green leaf underneath. It's clean and invigorating, the olfactory equivalent of fresh air after rain.

Bergamot smells like someone's just peeled a ripe orange in bright morning sunlight—that initial burst of citrus sweetness combined with something distinctly floral and almost tea-like. It's lighter and more delicate than lemon or grapefruit, with a subtle bittersweet edge and a powdery, slightly herbaceous undertone that lingers. Imagine Earl Grey tea without the tannins, mixed with candied orange peel and a whisper of honeyed florals. It's simultaneously fresh and warm, crisp yet creamy.

Bitter orange smells like the zest of a Seville orange—that sharp, almost peppery bite you get when you scratch the peel with your fingernail. It's citrus, yes, but without the sweetness of regular oranges. Instead, there's a distinctive herbal, slightly woody quality that feels almost astringent, like biting into the white pith. It's bracing and complex, with a whisper of floral undertones that distinguish it from its sweeter cousins. Imagine sunshine with a hint of medicine cabinet—energetic but contemplative.

Bitter orange tree absolute smells like the green, slightly astringent peel of a Seville orange—more complex than sweet citrus. Imagine biting into bitter marmalade, then catching the intensely floral, almost honeyed aroma that rises from the peel itself. There's a herbal, slightly resinous quality underneath, with whispers of fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle. It's citrus, yes, but with a sophisticated edge: less "orange juice" and more "orange blossom's slightly stern older sibling."

Black cherry smells like biting into a plump, juicy cherry at peak ripeness—deep, slightly tart, with an almost winey undertone. It's darker and more sophisticated than bright red cherry; imagine the fruit's flesh has deepened to a burgundy so dark it's nearly black. There's a subtle almond-like quality beneath, with hints of leather and dried fruit. It's simultaneously sweet and slightly astringent, like the sensation of cherry skin against your teeth.

Black fig smells like biting into a ripe fig at the height of summer—jammy, sweetly fruity, with an almost creamy warmth. Beneath the fruity sweetness lies an earthy, slightly green undertone reminiscent of fig leaf (that peculiar papery-herbaceous quality), mingled with a subtle honey-like richness. It's indolic without being floral, with whispers of dried fruit compote and a velvety texture that coats the inside of your nose. Some detect a faint spice or peppery note lurking underneath—that's the fleshy, almost animalic quality that makes it compelling rather than simply fruity.

Blackcurrant smells like biting into a dark, juicy berry—tart and slightly winey, with a peculiar green-edged sharpness that catches at the back of your nose. It's floral without being perfume-like, with hints of cassis liqueur and crushed blackberry leaves. There's an almost tannic dryness underneath, as though you've just eaten the skin of the fruit. It's simultaneously fruity and herbaceous, never cloying, with a cool, slightly spicy undertone that makes it feel sophisticated rather than sweet.