I am just popping a note here to let you know that I have a few little bottles of orange blossom and rose water for sale, and I would be very happy to share them with you if you would like! This is a very tiny batch from the spring, and I found this year’s distillate particularly special.
Each one is 100ml and bottled in amber glass. Any questions give me a shout, you can find plenty of other information about orange blossom and rose here on the blog!
Each bottle is £10, I am happy to offer a little discount if you would like more than one. Shipping is on top, preferably UK shipping only but I am happy to discuss international too.
Dear ones, I write from the mists of orange blossom and rose. These two friends have walked with me the strange pathways of my adult years, from my early days in Morocco as a young woman, to motherhood, and through many changes. Their medicines are of the heart, of ease and of a special feminine power and magic.
It was my first distillation for months, and the most welcome return to heart. The day started early with our journey to Phytology, a magical nature reserve in the heart of urban London. After a reluctant start, as if I were waking up my herbalist bones after a long sleep, I tingled with excitement as I carried my smallest alembic across central London on a clear, cold spring morning.
The Henna Souq has a determinable atmosphere, defined by the wind in the leaves of its two plane trees and the towering building of the 13th Century Maristan at its heart. Lining the small square are little shops, some of them no bigger than three metre square, of which around half are cosmetic herbalists. There is also the old weighing scales, which are still used today when large quantities of herbs are brought here by merchants. It is the home to Simohammed, a friend to many in the city, who operates one of the shops alongside his brother. Always inviting visitors to sit and drink tea with him, it easily becomes a rest-stop on a day of earnest wanderings up and down the hills of the medina. The chance you get to sit in the presence of the square is often enough to reveal just a hint of its magic.
The thick red copper cauldron (sṭal – سطل) is rounded perfectly to the base, mottled with spots, it shows years of work, even though to me it is new. Its handles are also perfectly rotund, nailed to the sides with two handmade splints. An arm’s length in diameter, it sits plump on the stove. I fire it up.