Organik Botanik – Lavender & Manuka Honey

“Antarctica”

I’m re-reading Harriet the Spy, forgot the part where her mom threatened to “wash her mouth out with soap” because she said, “I’ll be damned…” Which cracked me up because I heard Christopher Walken, in Pulp Fiction, his little story about the watch. They used to do that, wash your mouth out with soap, and I can attest to that because I was there. (Ivory… it sucked.) With this soap, however, it might backfire, as it sounds like something you’d gently spread on a scone. I feel like I’ve made this exact same joke, in the same way, but alas, after 234 soap reviews, some repetition is to be expected. At any rate, this is a lovely smelling soap that came in a three soap box-set, from “Down Under” (TJ Maxx), three flavors coupled with Manuka Honey—not sure if that’s a thing? Or not—though I’m reasonably certain there’s a band with that name. Lavender is nice. When it first occurred to me to expand my horizons past grocery store bars of Dial and Dove, it was a lavender soap that inspired me (that French one that you can’t seem to find anymore). The color is equally as lovely—light purple and white, in chaotic stripes, looking like the petals of a flower. Bon appétit!

Soap Review No. 235

Papoutsanis – Aromatics – Tabac – Cedar and Amber Perfumed Soap

“The End”

In keeping with soap tradition, this one has like 17 names. I’m calling it… well, whatever, just not late for dinner. Or, perhaps. Since I bought the soap at Paul’s Omega family restaurant (or maybe it’s just Omega, now). When you buy your soap at the checkout of your family restaurant, your life is in order. Unfortunately, I’m not a “regular” at the Omega the way I used to be. For a while, there, back ’round the beginning of the century, that place was my art installation away from home. These days, however, I’m not eating out much, at diners, even breakfast. It was the worst of times, and then it got worse. Oh, well, if nothing else, I’m sure a ray of light will break through the clouds moments before the end, just to remind us of how much we fucked up. I’m not going to start smoking again, even though I’m currently suffering, in my copious soap dishes, two tobacco-scented soaps. This one is at least better than that other one, it’s not bad, its Greek manly—but it’s not inspiring my imagination the way some pipe tobacco, even in the package (or better in the package) does. Can’t smoke, though… but washing hands is eternal.

Soap Review No. 234

Avalon Court – Hotel Bar Soap (Ivory)

“Truoc Nolava”

Another motel soap, this one quite old, from the long-gone Avalon Court in Paris, Tennessee—birthplace of Cherry Jones—and “Home of the World’s Biggest Fish Fry”—sorry Milwaukee! The only other info on the wrapper is: “Phone 728”—which indicates it’s back from when phones had cords. Also, a large letter “A” which, if it doesn’t refer to Avalon Court, then, who knows! As usual, the best info online comes from postcards for sale—there’s a couple of cute ones of this old motel and restaurant on Highway 79. Paris, Tennessee—known as “The Paris of Tennessee”—is famous for a replica of the Eiffel Tower which is actually bigger than the Eiffel Tower! Not to mention a Dollar Tree. Also, it’s about halfway between Nashville and Memphis, and Paris, France is not. You don’t have the Seine, but there’s a shitload of creeks, which are better anyway because even I could build a bridge over a creek, given the right tools. The single-use size soap is Ivory, you know, Ivory—which floats, though no one really knows why—a mystery more than a few scientists have gone mad trying to get to the bottom of.

Soap Review No. 233

The Man Cave – Spiced Tobacco

“Vamoose”

My initial reaction to this soap was “is there room in my garbage can?” (It’s a massive bar, meant as a gift, I suppose, for the man who’s impressed by heft.) The fragrance, if you will, was a dead ringer for actual vomit. What exactly is “Spiced Tobacco” anyway—I mean, in the real world? Chewing tobacco or something? Well. Alas, I stuck with it, knowing from experience that sometimes they over-scent in order to draw attention to the misfits on the Island of Forgotten Bar Soaps (where I picked this up, for $3.99—and a promise to tell Santa to get off his skinny ass). And once you use it for a while, the smell mellows out a little and is more bearable—as was the case with this one. I don’t love it, but I don’t mind it. It’s got nice color and texture—though the problem with these really big bars is that, as they wear down, they turn into dog-bone shape. Not the worst thing. It occurs to me that some people are like this, as well—while initially off-putting, if you give them a chance, over time, they may easily mellow out and eventually be tolerable—if somewhat slippery and dog-bone shaped.

Soap Review No. 232

Shami – Aleppo Soap

“Hidden Heart”

Someone could just write reviews of Aleppo style soap—olive oil soap from Syria—or sometimes comes from elsewhere but is made in the traditional way—as this one, from Turkey. I’ve written about it before—it’s an amazing style of soap, and you can find countless articles and videos about it online. I’m not expert enough to be able to fairly judge one brand against another, but I do like some more than others. This one is great. As with many, it’s a cube shape, and pretty gnarly and imperfect looking when you unwrap it. Once you get it wet—and a few rough layers washed away, it feels lush and elegant—and the complex, heady fragrance comes out. The ingredients here are: “7% Natural Laurel Oil, 90% Natural Olive Oil, 3% Alkali.” It’s dark green in color, seeming both wholesome and exotic. Online it can be pricey, so it’s worth shopping around, because it can also be shockingly inexpensive. Best to try your local Middle Eastern market, if you’re in a city—I bought this one, in Milwaukee, at the Attari Supermarket on South 13th Street for two dollars, believe it or else. Also, the soap lasts forever—or seems like it—lasts longer than any other soap. Some Aleppo soap will sink (like normal soap) in water—but some will float! It’s so heavy and dense, it doesn’t seem to make sense, and I’m not going to try to figure out why. This one floats. Someone will try to tell me a scientific reason for it, but I say, it’s because it’s magic.

Soap Review No. 231

Fresh Thyme – Jasmine Gardenia Bar Soap

“Spanish Captain”

I love when some grocery stores have their own brand of “bulk” soap like this—huge piles of it, like it could be used as toy building blocks for kids who aren’t exclusive to the screen. Or maybe somewhere between “failed experiment on its way to the recycling” and “gold bars at Fort Knox”—and with this soap, I’ll go with the latter. You can put it in the little paper sleeves they offer, or you can just use no packaging whatsoever! I’d like to think they might give you a discount if you bought a box-load of it—though I wouldn’t do that, with my obsession with variety. At some point in the past, I had a gardenia scented soap that was one of my favorites, so I’m always looking for gardenia. (Though I also had one, different brand, that smelled kind of like poop, so you never know…) I’m not confident enough about the fragrance of jasmine and the fragrance of gardenia to know exactly what I’m smelling here, in which version, of each, and in what combination, but this soap is one of my favorites this year, for sure. It’s so lovely, I went right out and bought a second bar of it (and it was on sale and dirt cheap). Really, this is a good one. I think the ingredients are good, too—at any rate, it’s good on my skin. I can’t find anything about it online—which, in a way, makes me like it even more, Of course, there is a thoughtful, intelligent review of it—or at least there will be, as soon as I post this!

Soap Review No. 230

Pacha Soap Co. – Pacha Peaces

“Monday thru Sunday”

That’s the first time anyone ever put an ‘s’ at the end of the word “peace.” (Well, there’s a novel!) It’s a pun—there’s enough patchouli to kill a horse, and seven different pieces of soap—too small to really call “bars.” But big enough to experience—so it’s a good idea—you might find your new favorite soap here. It’s a “sampler” box, which is something I’m all for. Like those chocolates—who can argue with that? I once bought a Chanel fragrance sampler—four little bottles—that lasted me for years—that stuff goes a long way! I think some of the flavored sparkling water companies that have a lot of variety should put together sampler 12-packs! Anyway, I think Pacha put together a few of these boxes with different themes—this one is peace/hippie/patchouli, more or less. Pacha soap is relatively pricey, so I thought this might be a “cheat”—and I could review seven different soaps for one relatively low price—but I found them a little too small to get to know them over time (I’m a professional), so I went for the immersive experience—and I’m using them all at once. It’s a good thing I have twelve soap dishes. I’ll list them now—and do my best to rank then in order of preference. Pachafetti. Campfire Cedarwood. Coconut Papaya. Dirty Hippie. Almond Goat’s Milk. Spearmint Lemongrass. Clarifying Charcoal. But I love them all!

Soap Review No. 229

Crabtree & Evelyn – Goatmilk

“Evelyn Mulwray”

After that donkey milk soap from France, which really smells like milk, it’s hard to take this goatmilk soap all that seriously—how much goat milk, really, is there in it? Since this was a company that was bought by a much bigger company—you know what that means—the bottom line. Still, this is a very pleasing, light brown, egg-shaped soap with a soapy fragrance that I can’t nail down (sometimes that is just fine). The shape reminds me of Caswell-Massey, but of course, it’s not quite that quality. When I think about goat milk, I always remember when I first moved to Kent, Ohio in 1981—I rode my bike there—September, I guess, about a 75 mile ride from Sandusky—pretty exhausting, with the hills. At the point that I knew I was going to make it, late in the afternoon, along unbusy country roads, I came across a small farm market where I stopped to rest and get a cold drink. They were really big on their “Goat Milk Fudge,” so I bought some and ate a little during the rest of my ride. Oddly, I can’t remember if it was chocolate, or vanilla, or my favorite fudge flavor, peanut butter—but I remember that it as the best fudge I’ve ever eaten—though I’m sure that was partly the heightened situation. It was good, though. Sometimes I feel like the trying out and writing about different soaps must be the healthier, low-calorie, sugar-free way for me to indulge in the kind of excess that would otherwise put me on the path to an early grave.

Soap Review No. 228

Savon de Marseille – 72% D’Huile Lait D’Anesse (Donkey Milk Soap)

“S-assy”

One of the weirdest soaps I’ve used (since that haunted one), I mean in fragrance terms—I can’t really describe it, except that it does smell milky! Like milk, that is—which is really intense—almost too much for me at first, but it’s growing on me. My friends brought it for me from France—I’m not naming them, in case they were breaking laws—they might have smuggled it! There’s that French cheese, my favorite, can’t spell the name because I can’t find it! Because it’s illegal, for some dumb reason. I was just at the grocery, and about half the food is literally slow poison—yet you can’t import some French cheese. Anyway, they told me it’s “Donkey Milk Soap”—so I’m taking their word for it. For its name, I typed exactly what was engraved in the off-white bar—the only label is a one-inch-square barcode and ingredients sticker—all in French. I tried to find it online, but no dice. I looked up “Donkey Milk Soap,” and it seems to be a “thing,” but I didn’t see this one. I have some goat milk soap—it just smells like whatever fragrance is in it—and this one supposedly has “parfum”—but the donkey milk overpowers it! Excellent! What is a donkey? AKA, an ass, one of our equine friends. A product called “Ass Soap” may well not be a “thing”—though, on the other hand, look at what people drink, on purpose, for “fun.” I’ll be sad when this one is gone, it freaks me out every time I smell it (mild freakouts are good for you!) and it feels great, very lush, and rich, and I suppose makes me feel like a rich person, not to mention, French, when using it.

Soap Review No. 227

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