Grandview Lodge – Cashmere Bouquet Hotel Bar Soap

“Vintage Buds”

Colorado Springs is known for the water (the springs!) as in, what are they drinking… that cliché—but these days, since the whole country’s gone wackjob, I guess it’s beside the point. My experience there was visiting the Garden of the Gods when I was seven (with my family!)—memorable because I saw what I believed was a space alien—an eyeball on a stem rising from the rock formations. No one has been able to verify or deny this sighting. It is actually possible that we stayed at this place! —but it’s from my pre-journal years. This hotel bar soap comes in a very cool wrapper—it says: “Grandview Lodge” and “Modern Auto Court”—in varying period fonts—and it includes the address—so it was easy to track down. As is often the case, the motel is long gone and now it’s a Safeway parking lot. Bummer. If it’s any consolation, “Garden of the Budz” is right next door. You can find a few postcards for the motel, for sale—and it did look really cool—21 little cottages! —and the description (“innerspring mattresses” and “California furniture”) is pretty much what you’d expect. There’s one PC, from 1950 (one cent stamp!) sent to Milwaukee—and as usual from back then—illegible handwriting. Again, the soap is Cashmere Bouquet—its fragrance an undeniable time machine which zips me back about 60 years—to my aunt and uncle’s motel, maybe, or a family vacation—I don’t know. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long enough for a real trip.

Soap Review No. 226

Alreef – Ocean

“Devil’s Urinal”

That “tagline,” Devil’s Urinal, is a bit harsh—I apologize to Alreef—but it came to me instantly while taking a whiff of the freshly opened soap 4-pack—and like I said before, that little slogan is the hardest part of the review, so I’m going with it. I’m fascinated with this soap, though. I bought it at the same Middle Eastern market where I bought my last Aleppo olive oil soap (which is the best), but this caught my eye—a plastic oval tower of four bars, the Alreef logo on top, and a photo on bottom of what looks like roiling surf with a variety of glowing seashells. On the English language side it says, “Ocean” and “Special Perfumes,” and there’s a lot of small print I’m not even going to attempt—so I’ll leave the ingredients a mystery. It does say: “Product of Turkiye.” The fragrance alone is so pronounced that I worry it’ll be harsh on the skin, so I’ve only used it as a hand soap. I’m too paranoid to give it the bath test, but so far so good, on my hands, but then, my hands can put up with a lot. I’m guessing some of my lady friends wouldn’t care for the smell—dudes as well! It could possibly evoke a “masking” style air freshener—but then again, I’m somewhat of a fragrance pirate. What I like most, though, is the absolute charm of appearance—the four identical bars each look like oval seashells, with ridged edges, and they are absolute 2-tone—top half stark white, and the bottom half a kind of very pleasant sky blue—an automobile color back in the day. Or, the blue might be top and the white bottom, it’s up it you. Like two half-shell soaps fused together. As the soap withers, it retains its shape (but smoother) and proportions, and total color separation—really quite beautiful.

Soap Review No. 225

AWSB – Dandelion

“I Think of U”

A funny thing happened—I saw one lighting bug this summer, one night—which made me think about how I used to see millions—it’s a summer thing. The very next day, there was an article on the front page of the newspaper (at my job) about how lightning bugs are disappearing—which is sad. I usually make a note of when I see the first dandelion of the year, write it on my calendar and, for me, that denotes the first day of summer. This year it was late April, and maybe the next day I saw this soap at a local apothecary—so I had to buy it. It’s not a local company, but it’s a small company, from Texas—it’s pricey, but if I was rich, I’d always buy these nice soaps with good ingredients that are good on your skin and have a pleasant fragrance. Dandelions aren’t known for their smell, but the flowers are beautiful, and you can eat the greens, and when I was in high school, I made dandelion wine in honor of Ray Bradbury’s book by that name, which I read every summer. Fragrance here is subtly provided by a few essential oils, I guess, though it smells slightly anise-y—pleasant and subtle, but not real exciting to me, just because it’s not nostalgic. Fragrance is so personal. I had to get out my pocket acronym finder to look up the company name—at first, I thought it said ASMR, which would have been weird. Then I thought of A&W Root Beer, which is also very summery. Also, AWB, (Average White Band), who have a fantastic song called “Sunny Days (Make Me Think of You).” Ultimately, I could have looked at their very nice website to discover it stands for: “A Wild Soap Bar”—their trademark is: “Take a wash on the wild side!”—and I’m all about that.

Soap Review No. 224

The Whiskey Ginger Supply Co. – Cedarwood Premium Bar Soap

“Spock Brew”

I feel like a broken record, but I’m always amazed with how many words they fit on soap packaging, as if in a longshot to appeal to everyone. This one came in a billiard room green metal box proclaiming the following on its lid: The Whiskey Ginger Supply Co. Premium Bar Soap London Hotel Marion Avondale 1710 Cedarwood Scratch & Sniff. What nonsense! Is there even a Hotel Marion in London? And 1710 Avondale? Why not just throw in Middlemist Red Camellia of Mal Reese and the Nocturnal Spice on Alderaan with Civet Glands, Caledonian Nightjar Milk and Vulcan Juice. I’m just being silly, to make a point—as in, am I really any more silly than they are? The last part, rather unfortunate, “Scratch & Sniff” in a little oval sticker which will never cleanly peel off—I suppose so you can sample the contents of the faux-expensive sepulchre before laying out the big bucks at TJ Maxx. You end up collecting these petite metal boxes—soap, tea, condoms—which don’t end up having any re-use—maybe they should sell pets, like small rodents and goldfish—at TJ Maxx—like in the old days at Woolworths. Then at least you’d have a use for your little coffin collection. I’m stalling—can’t really evoke the mild fragrance—I guess it’s Cedarwood, as far as I can tell. Too pleasant—and not quite Michael O’Hara—definitely more Spock than Mr. Scott.

Soap Review No. 223

Ayéya – Cheer

“Rhymes with Fear”

Like I said before, the hardest part of writing these soap reviews (not hard) is coming up with the little “tag-line” or slogan—so I don’t even know why I persist! It’s not like I’m at an ad agency where they at least get paid for siting around all day to come up with a dozen of those things. Plus, liquid lunch. So, when I think of one, I go with it, even if it makes no sense at all! Like this one (except that cheer does rhyme with fear). The odd thing is that, for some reason, there is no movie, song, novel, or band called “Rhymes with Fear.” And you’d think! Maybe it’s because of that “h” in rhyme. People don’t like that word. Well, some. I’m stalling because I can’t get a handle on this fragrance. It’s really nice, too. Would it be too dumb to say it cheers me up? This is another one of those Ayéya (Ayéya spelled backwards is awésome) soaps, cheap at Whole Foods, no packaging—though, with that name and color—plenty of baggage. I don’t think anyone would argue with me if I called it “powder blue”—everyone knows what that is. It brings to mind the band, “Blue Cheer,” who I’ve never been that nutty about—it seems like you needed to hear them at full volume (play LOUD or not allowed). Also, a laundry detergent everyone remembers. No doubt some type of drug (any color + common word = drug name). Of course. LSD anyone? So, I cheated and looked at their website, and this one said vanilla and cinnamon! Not totally a shock. Makes sense. Am I coming around to vanilla finally? As long as it’s not vanilla coffee or the artificial vanilla mall candles or hanging car air freshener, vanilla can be really fine. It can be the best. Same goes for cinnamon. Those are two of the most pedestrian flavors, but also two of the best, which is, how, I guess, they got to be pedestrian. A lovely (and affordable) soap.

Soap Review No. 222

Dr. Squatch – Fresh Falls

“Sonic Blunger”

I bought a variety three-pack of Dr. Squatch—so, more to come. All equally masculine sounding. It says right on the box: “Men’s Natural Soap”—so maybe they don’t sell it to women? Or you have to sneak it through the self-check? A little pricy, but I snatched it up because I’d never heard of it, and the ingredients are simple and sound good—and indeed, my skin is fine with it. Also, I liked the box, the goofy name, and the funny cartoon drawing. I tried looking at their fancy-pants website, but there was too much bullshit jumping around, so I abandoned the quest. I suppose there are a few products that are, by definition, gender-specific, but you wouldn’t claim that a book, or a movie, or music, or some food was only for men, or women, but not both—so why would you do that with soap? Is there something I don’t know about? Or is it just the fragrance that’s considered masculine? I suppose “Fresh Falls” implies nature, maybe camping, but when I opened the box, I got a whiff of vacuum cleaner salesman. It quickly mellowed out, however, into a lovely, complex, and not overly “manly” scent. The Dr. Squatch cartoon is a hairy dude, smoking a pipe, which is hilarious. I’m guessing he’s a mythical creature, so I looked up “Squatch” and was surprised to see that he was the mascot of the Seattle SuperSonics—and… that team no longer exists! But seeing how basketball is no longer on TV, I’m not surprised I missed that news. Short for Sasquatch, also known as Bigfoot, Abominable Snowman, Yeti, Fouke Monster, Momo, Se’sxac, Skunk Ape, Sackacrotch, Wood Booger, Ohio Grassman (ha, I like that one)… and they just go on and on. A seemingly endless roster of names for something that doesn’t even exist!

Soap Review No. 221

Personal Care – Raw Shea Butter Soap

“Love Grows”

This is a curious soap—the packaging doesn’t try to present anything but a budget, generic variety—from the name: “Personal Care” (what?), to a little rectangle asking you to “compare” it with other (more expensive) soap, to the red circle, permanent price-tag: $1.25. Can’t get much cheaper. Yet, the ingredients look pretty good—I think—I’m no chemist! There’s a couple that might be paint-melters—but it’s all probably okay—I’ve been fine with it. You never know about fragrance, as far as the irritability factor—it’s always a wildcard. But fragrance, as far as pleasing—I can claim my opinion, and this one is very nice. It’s fairly strong and interesting—I really like it. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but the package says: made with “Rosemary Extract”—so I’m guessing it’s rosemary! Interesting. The soap feels nice, and it’s tan in color. There is also shea butter and glycerin, so okay! The package also includes the company address, Delta Brands, in Tarrytown, NY, and it says: “Made in Turkey”—so maybe they are an importer. We know that very good soaps come from Turkey. I even looked at the Delta Brands office on the map, nothing secret about it, I could drive over there and do an interview. It’s in the Hudson River region, and the interesting thing is, the perfectly square office building is surrounded by a parking lot that is full of trees! I mean, not totally full, but a lot of trees. I’ve never seen so many trees in a parking lot! It’s not a bad idea, I’ve got to say. Also, it’s about one mile from the Eldorado Diner (this area, you always know a diner will be close!) which is where I’d likely be going for lunch if I worked there.

Soap Review No. 220

Gimbels – Hardwater Soap

“Beige Brainteaser”

I moved to Milwaukee well after the old Gimbels Department Store closed—I wish it was still around. I walk through the former store’s old building (a shell of its former self) every day—and how I wish for the time machine! This is an antique bar of soap (not sure what constitutes an antique in soap terms, but it’s old!) that I bought at the Salvation Army in Cudahy—they had acquired a few cakes and put them in plastic bags, in their “antique” section—still it was cheap. There are a lot of antiques that you can use, of course, but I don’t generally think you’re supposed to use them up—because then they’re gone! Unfortunately, it had no packaging, just the pale, off-white soap, engraved on it: “Gimbels Hardwater Soap” and the GB (Gimbel Brothers) logo, and on the back: “Use this Cake in Hard or Softwater.” It’s kind of like a larger version of the hotel bar soaps I bought—I want to use them! Someone else can save them in the soap museum. This one was kind of crusty, and scared me a little, but once I started using it, I was delighted by it! Works perfectly fine as soap, and it smells good. The fragrance is quite intriguing—it does remind me somewhat of some of the old hotel soaps, like Cashmere Bouquet—it has the old-time soap smell that I remember from my childhood. This one sort of kills me with the intense nostalgia—I can’t put my finger on the fragrance—it’s floral and powdery, but just really of the past—you don’t smell anything in today’s world like this. I’m sure my parents or relatives had similar smelling soap—there’s nothing that works as a time machine like fragrance! The other funny thing is, in this Connie Blair mystery I’m reading, The Mystery of the Ruby Queens (1958), Connie walks by a Gimbels store in Philadelphia and stops to look at the Christmas displays—so while I’m reading this book, I’m using this soap, and I’m imagining that Connie is using a very similar soap. She is very concerned with grooming and appearance! It’s a little hard for me to picture Connie Blair, actually, but at least I know how she smells!

Soap Review No. 219

La Corvette – Savon de Provence – Honeysuckle

“Yo… Poop”

Once again, so many words on the package, it’s hard to know what to call it—especially because a lot is French—so I’ll just present it all. On white paper, with a black and white photo of a harbor (La Corvette apparently refers to a kind of ship) it also says: Savonnerie du Midi and Savon De Provence, Chèvrefeuille and Honeysuckle. Also, 98% D’Origine Naturelle. 98%? I guess that means 2% Silverfish Brone. (That’s a joke, an obscure reference that maybe one living person will get!) This company, based in Marseille, has been around since 1894—and they have a soap museum! Chèvrefeuille is Honeysuckle—I’m not going to look up the rest. It’s a smallish, dependable, white bar of soap, good for bath or beyond—but what I’d like to focus on is the intriguing fragrance. It smells a little bit like poop. I don’t mean that in a totally negative way—after all, all poop doesn’t smell like all other poop. And some flowers do smell like poop, after all. I’ve got no evidence for this, but I’m thinking that in the evolution of floral fragrances, some cultures have downplayed the poop side of some flowers when extracting the fragrances… or simulating them. Perhaps the French, however, fully embrace the poopiness. Or maybe this soap is a throwback to a time before things became unpoopy. Perhaps we are returning to a poopier time, however; every time I step out the door, I’m met with the heady fragrance of the poop-weed. Upside-down, poop is “dood” (alt. spelling of dude). But, enough of this poop-talk. Though, maybe there’s no escaping it. Poop spelled backward, after all, is poop.

Soap Review No. 218

Camay Botanicals – Clásico

“By Any Other Name”

I don’t have much to say about this soap because it’s just so-so—an orange-pink, not totally clear glycerin soap with a slightly floral fragrance—it smells like “soap”—which generally means floral. The package shows roses. Since it’s made in Mexico, there’s a sticker with the ingredients in English—longer than my arm and too small to attempt to read—though I can make out “Martini Oil.” Hmmm. The manufacturer is multinational Unilever which makes everything from mayonnaise to Klondikes. At any rate, I don’t even know what soap is sold in the big grocery and drug stores anymore—I never look—but you’re better off shopping at your local international stores, and I got this one at Cermak, in Milwaukee, quite inexpensive. Like almost every other soap (is this a soap trend?) it says so many things on the packaging that it’s a real challenge to figure out what the name of it actually is—even more so with this one, since I don’t speak Spanish. Nuevo Camay Botanicals Clásico Piel Suave Aceites Hidraflorales Jabón de Glicerina Sin Parabenos. That’s a mouthful. Let me take a wild guess and allow the Spanish speaking reader to have a good laugh at my expense. It’s NEW Camay, called Botanicals Classic—strong enough for a man, but I like it too—and it hydrates and accelerates aging—Japanese glycerin soap—almost sinfully good. Close?

Soap Review No. 217

Knotty Pine Lodge – Cashmere Bouquet Hotel Bar Soap

“Haunted Bismarck”

The soap itself is another Colgate-Palmolive-Peet Co. Cashmere Bouquet Toilet Soap—so I don’t need to write again about that, and its nostalgic fragrance c. 1872. People do accuse me of being nostalgic for the Seventies! The stylish wrapper is from “Knotty Pine Lodge – Bismark (sic) North Dakota”—what about this Knotty Pine Lodge? There’s a postcard for it, online—classic looking Fifties motor hotel—victim of the ol’ neon-sign fire, in 1985. There now, is an empty lot, but nearby there’s a newer, cheap motel, and just down the street there’s a Big Boy (across the street from a Frankie Latina location) and really cute looking café called the Little Cottage Café—my first stop next time I’m in Bismarck—which is also a doughnut—and could be my new home. Because when I then continue on into the heart of downtown, I come to the most imposing, 10-story, apartment building I’ve seen in a while—called The Patterson—once a hotel with a speakeasy, secret casino, brothel, and secret tunnel to the train station. If that place isn’t haunted, then ghosts don’t exist. It may be a “senior living” place, now—but guess what, I’m a senior. No website—I guess you just show up with some folding green and ask what’s open. There are, online, a few photos, at least, that’ll chill your blood.

Soap Review No. 216

B-Pure – African Black Soap Shampoo Bar

“Black in Back”

The fragrance is subtle and there’s a fine grit from the charcoal powder (“removes impurities and soothes the scalp”) and it’s a little, black, square. There’s a cornucopia of ingredients, some of which are shared with African black soap—but otherwise, it’s from Akron, Ohio (known for black tires)—though it’s made in China—both are continents that are not Africa. The most authentic African black soap (from Ghana), I’ve used, resembled a fruitcake. If I had my way, I’d keep my hair so short that I could use any soap as shampoo—but hair is weird—it’s kind of hard to get a handle on your own—you never really see it. My local barbershop closed, and instead of trying to find another I wouldn’t like as well, I bought a hair clipper, and when I shorn most of my hair off successfully, that was quite satisfying. I can’t remember what Woody Allen movie it was, but I always remember that scene where he’s freaked out by someone having black soap, in his Woody Allen way, like it was a sign of the end coming. Kind of like when someone in a movie, of that era, would be introduced to quiche for the first time, like it was a betrayal of edible food. I’m guessing the soap he witnessed was some variety of hippie soap like my mom used to have (still, I can’t remember). I like how the charcoal element kind of forces you to clean your bathtub occasionally—it really shows up. I have a puddle dripping from wet soap, both from my sink and tub soap holders, that cumulates in a corner, and I just let it build up there and eventually remove it whole by peeling up with a knife. The problem with that is—and especially when added to by the charcoal version—eventually, it looks like a grim pool of filth, even though, what could be cleaner? Someone saw this, once, in my apartment, and I insisted that it was “Soapy Corner” (that’s what I call it) and they were horrified—though I don’t know if from my name designation—or the actual accumulation of soap. Oh, well, if that ends up being one more piece of evidence toward getting me committed, I trust that this review will stand in my defense.

Soap Review No. 215

Man Bar Mini – Hair + Body – Redwood + Clove Fragrance

“Tiny House”

With a name like “Man Bar” I was expecting full-on traveling salesman aftershave—but no, this is a lovely, gentle soap with a subtle, enticing fragrance. Like some of the best fragrances, it’s hard to nail down. I’m at a loss to say what it is—except that it’s mildly nostalgic, clean, and wholesome—maybe something in nature. Well—it says right in the name, redwood, and clove—and the description on the box adds saffron and nutmeg—so that’s all quite a combo. They were wise to go easy on the clove, so it doesn’t overpower the redwood and make you feel like you’re in a 1980s coffeehouse. More text on the box insists that it’s suitable as both a shampoo and body soap—no place you can’t use it! Except on women—I guess. But if I was a woman, I wouldn’t listen to that “man” nonsense, and I’d use it. Of course, you need an amateur magician to figure out how to get the soap out of the rugged, fancy, faux-leather box. (It took me awhile—there’s a hidden magnet in play!) The smallish bar will soon be a fond memory, but you can’t just throw this sturdy box away! But what shall I use it for? The rings I don’t wear? My dice collection? It almost seems like it would be an ideal home for a pet cricket or flea, or maybe an imaginary, invisible, trash-talking, go-anywhere companion.

Soap Review No. 214

Zum Bar – Winter Pine

“Evocative Mysteries”

A lot of mystery here—this is a fairly ubiquitous soap—anywhere with a health-food store—but where does it come from? I look up Zum, and the internet tells me it’s a transportation service, but it’s also an app (everything is), so that’s no help. I try spelling it backwards. Muz—slang for a roommate who never buys their own soap, but just uses whatever’s left in the shower—interesting. It just occurred to me that its signature shape, with the easy-to-handle ridges, somewhat resembles the name itself—I wonder if that’s how they named it? Anyway, I love this soap—this one, with a North Woods holiday theme—though, in reality, the fragrance strikes me more as “middle-aged salesman in a cheap suit and too much aftershave” than it does “Christmas-time Yule-log cabin fire”—which sounds like a criticism, but really, I like it no less for that. Goat’s milk is the base of its make-up, so that’s good—but got me thinking, how much goat milk is milked compared to cow’s milk? I don’t often notice cartons of goat’s milk for drinking. I’m reading a kids’ book right now about a goat—and that goat is Trouble. Finally, it just popped into my memory, riding my bike 80-some miles to my new home of Kent, Ohio (1981) when I came upon a country farm market that sold delicious goat’s milk fudge—which has ever since been the gold fudge standard, in my book.

Soap Review No. 213

Ayéya – Empower

“Saltwater Taaffeite”

Still kind of a new product that you can buy at Whole Foods, this is an African soap, I think from Ghana, produced locally there in a manner that is sustainable and benefits the local economy—this according to their website. I can’t find the specific soap line, online, so I’m not sure about ingredients, but I trust they are fine. It’s a really nice soap, with a great feeling—I’ve been liking it. They have several colors, each with a different name and fragrance—I don’t remember offhand the other names—but I’ve purchased another, which I’ll start soon. This one is: “Empower” —and I love the fragrance, but I’m not sophisticated enough to nail it down. Could it be Frankincense? Wild guess, probably wrong. Anyway, it’s nice. Also, inexpensive, at Whole Foods, and has no packaging whatsoever (they provide little paper bags with their odd eyeball logo, if you want). The funny thing is, there is a product code engraved on the bar next to the name, and that’s what the cashier enters to ring it up (two cashiers, so far, didn’t know this)—I don’t know what you do if you’re self-scanning—I guess just pocket it. Just kidding, don’t do that. The number on this one was “127888”—which is also a postal code in Singapore, also, the product code for some nerd eyeglasses, and, as well, Alex’s inmate number in Clockwork Orange. Just kidding. Of course, the number has disappeared, as well as the name, and logo—but it’s still soapy, foamy, good-smellin’ and friendly, and it looks like a perfect little purple jewel (well, big jewel) worth its weight in happiness.

Soap Review No. 212

Zest – Toronja & Albahaca

“Subtle Clues”

You don’t have to spend much money to get fairly exotic soap—I got this at the Cermak grocery store, in Milwaukee, for the price of grocery store soap. It’s Zest, but it’s Mexican Zest—ingredients in Spanish, but I don’t know what most of them are, anyway. It’s a translucent pink glycerin soap, and it smells really good. The “Toronja” in the name is grapefruit, and since the package shows a big, sliced grapefruit, no mystery there. That’s also, partially, what it smells like. There are some other flavors going on as well. The Albahaca is a little more mysterious—and there’s a green leaf, on the package, next to the grapefruit, and it looks like albahaca. I’ve got to ask the Big Brain about that one—so what I think it is, is a medicinal plant, similar to basil, that has more uses than gin on Sunday. This is a fun soap that’ll wake you up and leave you refreshed. It also has that weird shape that I’ve seen before (maybe a previous Zest?) that reminds me of a 1960s telephone. Or something like that—anyway, you can’t call collect—use it as a soap!

Soap Review No. 211

Yellowstone Park Company – Hotel Bar Soap

“Jellystone Mess”

A hotel bar soap with a beautiful wrapper from Yellowstone Hotels and Lodges—it’s yellow and black with a realistic rendering of a menacing bear towering over a landscape. I mean, it’s probably not menacing, but don’t go to the park and put honey on your kid’s arm for a cute photo-op with a grizzly! The soap is Ivory—still reminiscent of my childhood. Don’t take it into one of the thermal pools to bathe—even though it’ll float—you might be cooked like a lobster! I have to admit that I grew up being confused about Yellowstone—thinking it was a fictional place—since we never visited there. I can’t be hard on my parents—we did visit Colorado. You’ve got to really like to drive to visit Yellowstone, as it’s as middle of BF Nowhere as anywhere in the country. Anyway, my confusion was because of Yogi Bear’s Jellystone Park—which I likely thought was Jell-O-Stone—and possibly a real place. Adding to that confusion was the baseball player, Yogi Berra, who I knew to be a real person—even if he was larger than life (and considerably more funny than Yogi Bear). I never cared for Yogi Bear, the cartoon character, for some reason. Thinking about it now, I’m guessing it was because, to me, he didn’t seem remotely like a bear at all—he seemed like a particularly unpleasant man.

Soap Review No. 210

Saponifico Varesino – Green Vetiver

“Peter Joshua”

This “Triple Milled Artisanal Scrub Soap” is from Italy. It’s a big one, yet it fits in your hand—like a brick that you’re poised to throw through a window. It’s slightly exfoliating, the way a brick would be if you took it into the bath. The star here, however, is the fragrance. I’m writing this while watching Charade (1963) on TV—and I can imagine Cary Grant smelling like this soap. For that matter, James Coburn would, as well, just not in this movie. Audrey Hepburn would not smell like this soap (though I’d love to know what she does smell like). This is manly soap, for sure, not for the ladies, I’m afraid, and that’s due to the fragrance. Cary Grant with his raincoat, spray-on grey hair—that scene where he’s taking a shower with his clothes on. The fragrance is at least in part Vetiver, which is supposed to evoke the leatherbound study, decanter of whisky, pipe smoke, old books, money. This soap does it times XXX. If I went to a fancy department store with this bar of soap, I bet I could match it to one of the high-end men’s fragrances—but I’m not going to attempt it—I’m afraid I’d look a bit crazy walking around with a half-spent bar of soap, sniffing here, sniffing there.

Soap Review No. 209

Organik Botanik – Orange Blossom & Manuka Honey

“Don’t Panik!”

Get used the goofy name with the goofy spelling because I bought this soap in a set of three and still have two delicious flavors to go. Australian hippie soap, I’m all for it, and I’ll believe the beneficial claims of the “Manuka” honey. Just how much of this soap is made up of the magical nektar remains a closely guarded secret—but its formulation of basik ingredients treats my skin nicely and it has a lovely floral fragrance (orange blossom, after all!) with possibly a comforting undertone of honey (Manuka!). Actually, I don’t know what half the ingredients are—and I don’t have a lot to say about this soap, so I’m just trying to be funny by replacing hard c’s with k’s—fortunately the soap has had more life than this review. Nektar was a pretentious prog-rock band I liked in the early Seventies—though I felt they went too commercial after only a few albums—and some version of the band exists to this day!

Soap Review No. 208

Papoutsanis – Greek Pure Olive Oil Soap

“The Last Soap”

Comes in a cute cardboard box with a lemon-shaped hole in it, to reveal the soap—which is exactly the same color as the box—ha! Most of the lettering is in excellent looking Greek. You have to be a detective to even find the brand name in English. (Been in business since 1870!) A really nice, pure, olive oil soap—almost no fragrance (smells like olive oil soap)—though it doesn’t float, like the crazy Aleppo soaps. I bought this at the cash register at the legendary Omega Restaurant, on South 27th Street in Milwaukee, on a rare, these days, visit. It used to be my favorite diner in town, but I don’t get out there much lately. I’m all for stuff like this—selling Greek soap at a Greek family restaurant—why not? And especially because it’s only a couple of dollars—and it’s fine soap. Olive oil soap is the best—especially for people with sensitive skin. If I lived out there, and didn’t need to keep exploring a new soap variety every couple of weeks, this place might once again be my hangout, and this the last soap I’d need to buy.

Soap Review No. 207