I-III Russian Tea

Russian Tea opens with a jolt—not the genteel clink of porcelain, but the sharp crack of birch smoke and black pepper cutting through berry-stained cold. Rasquinet has conjured something feral here, a scent that recalls the smoked tea ritual as much as the frozen landscape around it. The raspberry in the opening isn't sweet or jammy; it's pressed through mint and pepper until it reads almost medicinal, astringent, like berry leaves crushed between gloved fingers. As black tea emerges, it's proper Lapsang Souchong territory—tarry, resinous, dense with smoke. But there's an unexpected floralcy lurking beneath: magnolia's creamy petals and everlasting flower's dry, honeyed herbal quality create an unsettling beauty within all that leather and soot. The base is where Russian Tea shows its teeth. Frankincense lends its austere, cathedral-cold presence whilst labdanum oozes dark, animalic sweetness into cracked leather. Birch wood reinforces the smoke accord with its characteristic tar-like quality, the kind that recalls both Russian leather and burnt forests. This is a fragrance for those who find comfort in dichotomy—the person who orders tea in a wood-panelled study lined with worn books and tallow candles, who wears cashmere jumpers with broken-in leather boots. It's too uncompromising for small talk, too distinctive for timid wearers. Russian Tea demands you lean into its contradictions.