The Violet

Oct 29

The story of the violet, why some people have less to talk about in bathrooms, and little things hidden in our genes.

Viola sororia portrait with dew against black background — Viola sororia, April 15th

“A few stems of asparagus eaten shall give our urine a disagreeable odor.”

— Benjamin Franklin

I have often pondered the diverting aromas of a bathroom stall, specifically after a dinner that included asparagus, and had long assumed most everyone else had done the same. The characteristic malodorous waftings seem so inseparable from the experience that I considered it a thing that couldn’t be otherwise. In actuality, it IS otherwise for almost 60% of the population. According to Lorelei Mucci and her fellow Harvard epidemiologists, only 40% of people can indulge in this comestible curiosity. The other two thirds share some combination of at least 871 different genetic alterations that blunt their ability to either scorn or delight in asparagustine emanations. There is no consensus as to which change is responsible, although it appears to be somewhere near olfactory receptor gene 2M7, whatever that is. What makes causal determination that much more challenging is that no one is quite certain what produces the smell in the first place. Most agree that asparagusic acid (yes, that is a real thing) is to blame, but that seems only because it contains sulfur and is found exclusively in asparagus.

Sitting sinisterly, the two sulphur atoms of Asparagusic acid.

This inability to perceive certain smells is known as selective anosmia (from the Greek an- ‘without’ and -osme ‘smell), which curiously shares no heritage with the word nose (from the Proto-Germanic nuso-). It is most commonly caused by a genetic switch of a letter or two near an olfactory receptor gene, as with asparagus, but can also be the by-product of a few diseases and vitamin deficiencies.

One of the best known anosmias is a selection against isovaleric acid. This is socially important because isovaleric acid is the principle offensive component of body odor. About 6% of the human population appears to have this odiferous immunity, and they tend to self identify.

Portrait of Viola tricolor against black background — *Viola tricolor*

Much less well known is the anosmia to ionones (pronounced ahy-uh-nohns). The ionone, from iona- (Greek for violet), is an intrinsic aromatic molecule of the genus Viola and it is where the garden violet gets its captivating fragrance. Viola is a genus of flowering plants in the family Violaceae. It is the largest genus in the family, containing over 680 species. It includes the Pansy (Viola wittrockiana), annual tricolor violet (Viola tricolor), and wild yard violet (Viola sororia). Most species are found in the temperate Northern Hemisphere; however, some are also found in widely divergent areas such as Hawaii, Australasia, and the Andes.

The violet has long been adored for its balm and beauty. According to Greek legend, Zeus (who was in love with the high priestess Io at the time) ordered the Earth to create violets in her honor. In 18th and 19th century Europe, the flower was a favorite of Queen Victoria and Empress Josephine. Napoleon famously sent Josephine a bouquet of violets every year for their anniversary, and upon her early death, he returned from exile on Elba and hand-picked a posey of violets to lay on her grave. It has been said that on his own deathbed, a locket was found about his neck, containing a portrait of his beloved Josephine, a lock of her hair, and dried violet petals.

*Relative diameter of the Jovian moon, Io, named for a priestess of Hera and lover of Zeus. Notably not violet in color.*

For most of us, the violet ionone is a patently lovely thing: imparting a pleasantly soft, tender aura, a bit similar to iris, with powdery and romantic notes. Violets were used in the Victorian era to scent soaps, powder tooth paste, and flavor baked goods. Stationary and inks were infused with so much violet scent that postal workers found their sacks reeking of perfume. Today, it is still quite common, notably in Cuban communities to sprinkle newborns and their garments with a little Royal Violets: Agua De Colonia. But for an unfortunate few, a violet will produce either not much sensation at all or worse, a pungent and sour vinegar-like odor. This affront to the nasal palate is the result of a single substitution in the genetic code for olfactory receptor 5A1.

*1883 Violet Syrup from Maison Routin. Perfect for a Violet Frappe!*

Extracting ionones for the purposes of cologne or essential oils took a surprisingly long time to perfect. Before the 1890s, violet flower oil was considered the most precious of all essential oils. The production of one kilogram of violet oil required 73,000 lbs of Viola odorata, which cost approximately 82,500 German gold marks for raw materials. I’m not sure how much that was, but it definitely sounds like a lot. The compound could not be separated via the usual enfleurage technique of macerating flowers in purified animal fat. The yields were simply too low. It was pharmacist and chemist Ferdinand Tiemann and fragrance specialist Paul Kruger of Harmann and Reimer who succeeded in 1898 in synthesizing the first lab borne ionone by reacting citral isolated from lemongrass with acetone. These ionones were a valuable contribution to the history of 20th century perfumery, allowing the trade to recreate the smell, at least for most of us, of violet flower and iris for the first time on an industrial scale.

*Collection of Viola tricolor in one of our garden pots.*

Violet Jelly

- Recipe from Jane Deitrich at Bakers Brigade

Cook Time: 15 minutes

Ingredients:

1 pint violet flowers
2 tablespoons lemon juice
4 cups sugar
3 oz. liquid pectin

Instructions

Pour boiling water into your jar of violets until it is full, making sure to gently press on the violets to release any air bubbles. Cover your jar and keep it out of bright sunlight for about 24 hours. The color of the violet tea will look sapphire blue, not purple.
Line a colander with a paper towel or coffee filter and strain the violet tea. If necessary, add enough water to your tea so that the mixture equals 2 cups.
In a deep pot, mix the tea and lemon juice and bring to a boil. Boil for one minute. Add the sugar and pectin, then bring to a hard boil for another minute. Turn off the heat and skim the top.
Pour into processed jars.