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Decorate home with a nice aroma

By ELIZABETH BETTENDORF
Published October 27, 2006

A few weeks ago I stood in a large bath and beauty store with my sister sniffing oil burners warmed by tea lights.

A splash of sweet-smelling potion into the bowl, the saleswoman promised, could transform any house into a designer olfactory experience.

My sister chose orange vanilla.

I, a product of the potpourri-in-a-crystal-dish generation of the 1980s, chose nothing and opted to wait and see.

A few days later, my sister called.

"My whole house smells fantastic," she raved. "It worked so well I had to blow the candle out."

I went back to the store to buy an oil burner and potion only to find out that they were out of the color I wanted and the scent.

I sniffed others - florals, herbs, goopy teen scents and dusky spice - and couldn't make up my mind.

Too many choices, too much sensory overload: Did I want my house to smell like a Tuscany villa, a Tribeca loft or a tony gift shop in Palm Beach?

Maybe I wanted to feel like a teenager again with something flowery and cute - sweet pea - or perhaps well-heeled sophistication was what I was after.

Lemon verbena, perhaps?

Or maybe spiced pear was more my speed?

Home scents are the new decorating rage, wafting through households across America thanks to scented rocks, aroma pills, oils, candles, soaps, even those miniature scented Febreze discs that, with the help of a small fan, tell a "scent story" ("Relaxing in the Hammock," "Strolling through the Garden," or "Exploring a Mountain Trail.")

High-end hotels and spas are dousing themselves in signature scents; so are retail clothing stores and interior design showrooms.

Since childhood, I have always been acutely aware of scent, though in a subconscious way. One of my first childhood books was called What is Your Favorite Smell, My Dear? and to this day, I can still detect my grandmother's perfume, Clinique Aromatique Elixir, in her old cookbooks.

Personally, I like my house to smell like cooking rather than a manufactured memory courtesy of Glade. I adore the smell of roasting chicken, beef stew, a pot of chili simmering on the stove, freshly brewed coffee or a real carved pumpkin with a votive burning inside.

In a pinch, an orange peel and some cloves and cinnamon in a pot of water on the stove can make a house smell like a dream - for nothing.

In the winter, my neighbors build fires. The smoke mixes with the Florida salt air and makes me euphoric. For years at Thanksgiving, my sister and her husband lit their fireplace and let it burn down through the night. I fell asleep hugged by the soulful aroma of burning wood and autumn.

A few weeks ago, an assignment took me to a log cabin in northern Pasco County. The house was nestled in a rural setting surrounded by beautiful gardens.

Inside, it smelled divine.

"Tart warmers," the owner confided.

A tart warmer is typically a ceramic vessel with a small bowl at the top and a compartment below for a tea light. A scented wax "tart" placed in the bowl melts from the heat of the candle, filling the room with delicious aromas.

A coupon in Sunday's newspaper sent me running to a bath store chain where I bought an introductory tart-warming scent.

Although in recent days I have cooked a breakfast casserole, basil chicken and a batch of garlicky tomato soup, my house doesn't smell like food.

No, indeed.

It smells like something else entirely - pumpkin spice.

Now, I just need to carve a real pumpkin to go with it.

[Last modified October 27, 2006, 07:50:57]