Dilmun by Lorenzo Villoresi, 2000

Last night I sampled Lorenzo Villoresi's Dilmun. And I have a story. Pour yourself a nice little beverage, maybe a small plate of shortbread, pull up a chair by the hearth, and I'll tell you my tale of Dilmun:

It all starts as a lovely trip for Mom, Dad, Dexter, and Penny. Yes, they're taking a car trip on a beautiful morning that has a hint of orange blossom in the air.

Less than an hour out of town, Dexter exclaims, "Dad! Look! A cake factory! Can we stop? Pleeeeezzzzzeeeee?"

Now Penny loves cake and thinks the idea of touring a cake factory would be wonderful and they might even get samples! So, Penny chimes in "Come on Mom! That would be fun! Let's go!"

Mom and Dad benevolently smile knowingly at each other and Dad chucks little Dexter under the chin and says, "Sure, son. Let's tour the cake factory."

As they wend up the road leading to the Dilmun Cake Factory, a road lined with beautiful orange trees in blossom, a faint chemical smell reaches out to their nostrils. Nearly too faint too notice. Mom, ever vigilant over her family, says "Hmmm. Do you smell that honey? I'm kind of concerned."

Dad, tapping out his pipe and chortling ever so gently, says, "Honey, you worry too much. That's probably nothing."

So, Mom, Dad, Dexter, and Penny trundle up to the DCF and ask for a tour. The plant manager, Mr. Glower, looks at them with a bit of surprise. "Um," Mr. Glower emphatically states, "we usually don't give tours here."

Dexter pipes up, "But it's a cake factory! How can you not give tours?"

Mr. Glower looks our loving family up and down, debates a moment, and says, "Well, if you like, come on in."

Imagine our lovely family's surprise to be greeted by aisle upon aisle of shelves packed ceiling to floor with cakes! And not just any old cake, either!

Urinal cakes! On a hot day in a huge storage room with no venting.

Yes, our little family quickly went from a pleasant day scented by a breeze tinged with orange blossom to standing inside a hot, airless room filled with nothing but urinal cakes. Cakes whose power of scentification seemed to grow by magnitudes of 10 as each second ticked by.

The family fled with noses held and feet a-flying. But they could not escape the smell. They dived for the car. Dad sped (Dad never drove like that before!) all the way home.

They took three showers and still they smelled of urinal cakes. Mom thought a nice alcohol bath might help. Alas, Mom was wrong. Dad, thinking through the horrid predicament as only a Dad could, said "Clorox Wipes! That'll do it!" Alas, Dad was wrong too. Even subsequent showers with a nice bar of Lava Soap did nothing for the clingy-sweet stink of the Dilmun Cake Factory.

Much like the emanations from a frightened skunk, the scent from the Dilmun Cake Factory was not to be trifled with. It was an event to be lived through. Even, if you will, suffer through.

So, gentle reader, the next spring morning that you step from your house, notice a lovely scent of orange blossom, and think it would be a wonderful day for a family outing. Just remember: it would be, but it would be nicer if you avoided the Dilmun Cake Factory tour.


This conflagration of fragrance is officially worse than Michael for Men simply because of its unholy tenacity. It gets no stars and a thumbs down.