Spicy

Italian saffron smells nothing like food—it's far more opulent and abstract. Imagine the warm, honeyed dryness of hay baking in Mediterranean sun, threaded through with subtle leather and a whisper of metal. There's an almost medicinal warmth, reminiscent of turmeric or aged spice cabinets, yet strangely floral and slightly animalic—like someone's skin after wearing a precious perfume for hours. It's simultaneously creamy and dusty, with an earthy undertone that feels both luxurious and somehow dangerous.

Citrus