Almahera

It’s the only infusion of its kind. Next to it, there’s a traditional rose-sandalwood attar that’s been marinating in the same historic Vietnamese musk grains for as long.

In the EO safe, I keep one of my most precious aromatics: aged jasmine from Sultan Qaboos’s private estate. Just about the lushest, reddest jasmine I’ve smelled – and I’ve smelled plenty of jasmine in the past twenty years. 

And there’s a tiny amount of vintage Ta’ifi rose from the 80s that matches the Sultan’s unique jasmine with its heavenly lemon tinge that marks the finest Ta’ifi harvests. (You will know exactly what I’m talking about, if you’ve smelled Royal Ta’ifi.)  

Those Tonkin grains have turned a curiously green Cambodi into a verdant herbaceous brew. Imagine the pastoral green of vetiver, but transformed into oud: agarwood that grew up drinking petrichor; oud incense wafting through the fresh morning mist.

Inject this muskified flush of green incense into the Ta’ifi’s diffusive lemony heart, and you get this succulent royal syrup, a scent so intoxicating you’re not sure which you love most, the oud or the rose petals  – or is it the musk that did it? Is that why it smells so pristine and primordial?

Almahera features an all-star cast of aromatics. It’s not just the musk that did it. It’s a strictly curated selection of EO’s choicest ingredients together that creates this suave aroma that’s drenched in lush resinous sweetness. A tapestry of green, golden and red… 

When I hear ‘red’ the first aromatic that comes to mind isn’t vintage Koh Kong or olde Kelantan, but Almahera…

While the musk-infused Cambodian oud’s herbaceous truffle-like texture works magic with Ta’ifi rose to add an extraordinary sweet-earthy note in the attar, the deep burgundy aroma of the Sultan’s vintage jasmine practically beseeches you to give it a shot of Almahera’s red-resin rouge.

Almahera is considered ‘red resin’ agarwood. Take a look at Royal Almahera and you’d see what looks like fairly normal, almost non-resinated oud wood. Like with yellow soil kyara, you could easily be fooled into thinking you’re holding agarwood that would barely qualify for distillation.

No joke, most people holding Almahera agarwood will probably chuck it like someone who threw away ambergris thinking it’s just a rock. Because its secret lies in its smell.

Almahera agarwood smells like perfume, not just an oud note. Specifically, there’s a floral tone to the wood when heated that smells like dipping Vietnamese oud in rose jam…

I know the man who was responsible for brokering the finest Almahera harvests (he was born there), and last I asked him how long it’s been since he’d seen any red-resin Almahera pieces, he said: “You’re the only one I know of who has any…” (referring to the likes of Royal Almahera). 

That’s partly why I wanted to create an attar in honor of the red dragon’s rosy breath that is Almahera aloes. 

Unless you’re one of the lucky few to have purchased our Royal Almahera, chances are you’ll never get to experience this incredible strain of agarwood again in your lifetime. 

I have never smelled Almahera oud oil myself. My only encounter with the lone Maluku island’s “red sulfur” was in the form of raw agarwood, which I have shared with you all. I imagine the scent to be like taking a swipe of Nha Trang and layering it with vintage Laotian to produce a bitter red rosy cooling dart that goes straight to your head – that’s what a whiff of Almahera agarwood does to your nose…

… And that’s what this island’s red sulfur does to the lush burgundy debonair of the Sultan’s jasmine marinated in exquisite Ta’ifi, and how they’re all suspended in our in-house musk-infused red-scented Indian santalum distilled with roses in the same pot, dripping juhi-drenched sinking red-resin love.