The DOS Initiation

The soap that I thought had Dreaded Orange Spots, (DOS) has turned out to be one of the best soaps I’ve ever made. The scent is intoxicating, the lather luxurious, and it leaves my skin feeling conditioned and pliant. It’s so good, in fact, that I’m saving it. There are five bars left, and I plan to enjoy them, one by one, observing how they change over several months. I don’t even know if they ever really had DOS, or if the discoloration was caused by something else. I cut the spots away, and the remaining soap is luxurious and soothing to my skin.

But I did have another incident of DOS that was rather embarrassing – so much that I hesitate to tell the story. On the soap lists, I’ve seen several soap makers claim they’ve never had DOS, and I tend to wonder if that’s true or if they are simply attempting to cultivate the reputation of a Superior Soapcrafter. Next they’ll be saying they’ve never had to rebatch a botched soap!

Here is the thing about soap making – you can read the books and the websites, watch the tutorials, lurk on the lists – but when it comes right down to it, there is simply nothing like experience. Several times I made a stupid mistake, and then realized that it was the exact unwanted the result I was warned about in a book or on a list. And I’m usually a pretty quick study.

In addition to the rapture of luxury soap and the romance of DIY, I am also motivated by thrift. I’ve thrown away so many pounds of animal fat from cooking and paid so much money for good soap! So it was only natural that during my first soap making adventures I thought it would be a good opportunity to use up that old shortening in the pantry and those essential oils lying around the house. I don’t use shortening much anymore, and it smelled slightly stale. But I figured, it’s only soap, right?

Wrong. Within weeks the soap made from the shortening had developed orange spots. To my chagrin I had given some of it away to friends, and I can only hope that they used it up before the spots appeared. Once I saw the orange spots, I considered throwing it away, but then I thought it might improve if I rebatched it with some fresh oils. It didn’t. The oxidation that caused the DOS simply spread to the new batch like leprosy.

Months later, I decided to grate a bar of the rebatched DOS soap and use it to make laundry soap. I even added extra lye to compensate for the extra “happy skin” oils in the soap. At first it was okay, but as I got down to the bottom of the bucket, a weird thing started to happen to my laundry. It started to come out of the dryer smelling like cooking oil – this despite the fact that I always add fragrant essential oils to the wash. For weeks my underwear smelled like it belongs to a fry cook. I finally fixed the problem with a new batch of laundry soap made with fresh ingredients and 0% super fat, and a very heavy dose of floral fragrance oil. This made my underwear smell like it belongs to an exotic dancer, which is much better than a fry cook.

Just now, cleaning out the closet where I store my soap making supplies, I came across the last three bars of DOS soap. The original essential oil fragrance has faded, and strangely, so has the stale oil smell. The bars are hard, and the DOS actually looks rather interesting. I had cut the soap with a steel guitar string, and the DOS made curved streaks in the soap, following the lines cut with the string. I washed my hands with it, and the lather is extraordinarily creamy. My skin felt comfortable after using the soap. The stale smell is there – faintly – but it’s really not offensive and it’s blunted by a mild soapy smell. It isn’t a fragrance I would strive for, and it’s not something I would use to prepare for a night out with my husband, but it’s not bad enough to make me want to wash my hands with something else to get rid of the odor. I placed it on my kitchen soap dish. Even now that I have plenty of soap, I still don’t want to waste any.

These days, when I read on the lists where a new soap maker wants to rebatch a soap with DOS or use it to make laundry soap, I think about warning them. Then I decide against it. First off, what happened to me might not happen to them. I really don’t know. And secondly, if it does happen, there is nothing like the experience to really understand the process. It’s like an initiation.

Taming the Rowdy Lemongrass, or: Does It Smell Like Spring Yet?

Nearly one month ago, I made the spring equinox soap base and set it aside to cure. Last week I grated it and started making the essential oil blend.

I did some calculations on paper, and contemplated how to create essential oil harmony with top, middle and base notes. I got out the bottles of essential oil, a little scale and some droppers and got to work.

When I think of spring, I think of spring cleaning. When I think of spring cleaning, I think of lavender, lemongrass, and tea tree. So I figured this would be easy.

The tea tree wasn’t in yet, so I started with top notes of lemongrass and sage, a middle note of lavender, and a base blend of stryax benzoin, vanilla and patchouli.

And here is what I learned: Essential oil of lemongrass plus essential oil of vanilla equals “gag me.” It smelled exactly like that crappy lemon lollipop the pediatrician gives your kid on the way out of the doctor’s office. I added more lavender and sage, but it did not mellow that lemongrass note.

It was late and I was tired, so I figured there was still time to balance it out later. The only thing I was certain of was that I would NOT be adding more lemongrass or vanilla to the blend.

So today I put the grated soap in a big stock pot with some strong Sleepytime herbal tea, and placed in the oven to melt. (Why Sleepytime tea? Because it smells yummy, that’s why.) I set out the “happy skin oils” of almond, jojoba, and vitamin E. Then I got out the essential oil blend and got back to work on it. I tested it, and the lemon lollipop scent had backed down just a bit, but not nearly enough.

The tea tree oil has been delivered but I’m not satisfied with the source and therefore uncertain of the quality. I will use it to clean my house, but not put it in soap for my friends.

A bit more lavender went into the blend first. That didn’t seem to help much. So then I tried some eucalyptus, which blends well with lemongrass and lavender. It helped some, but it still wasn’t right. Next, I tried a bit of clary sage. That did punch it up a bit. Next, I added a bit more patch, just to keep it tied down. What was really needed was a floral note, but the geranium and ylang ylang hasn’t been delivered yet, and I’m not sure it will do the trick anyway. So I added a tiny bit of rosewood, because it was there. And finally, I weighed out some cajeput to take the place of the missing tea tree.

Each time I added a little something I wafted the fragrance toward my face, and asked myself, “Does it smell like spring yet?” Finally after the cajeput, I realized that to me it smells exactly like a chocolate Easter rabbit. Actually, it smells like the whole Easter basket, including marshmallow Peeps and dinosaur eggs. At least it doesn’t smell like a crappy lemon sucker anymore.

As I write this, I cannot believe it, so I went back to the blend and tested it again. Yes. Easter basket. Definitely. Do you remember those pink egg shaped candies with the marshmallow center? It reminds me of that. It smells kind of cheerful.

Either my nose has gone on strike, or it’s time for lunch.

Edit: Six hours later I sniffed it again. It is definitely yummy and uplifting. I believe the chocolate and candy hints come from the vanilla and lemongrass, but it's more complex. The lavender is calming, the eucalyptus invigorating, and the patchouli is sensuous. Perfect for waking Mother Earth from her winter's slumber.

Next morning: The soap smells heavenly - good enough to eat, and the lemongrass, while still present, is finally tame. It took a while to get there.

Late yesterday afternoon, after slowly melting the soap all day with the herbal tea, I finally turned it out into the soap bowl and stirred in the "happy skin oils" and essential oils. The soap is mottled in appearance because it was melted gently with as little liquid as possible. Some of the soap pieces didn't melt completely. So the tea darkened the melted soap to a tan shade, leaving pieces of soap lighter in color. It's rather interesting, I think.

At first I was a bit concerned. The soap was very hot, and the tea smell was a bit overpowering - a bit "roasty toasty," like a strong chicory drink. Michael wrinkled his nose and said he didn't like it. I said we should wait until it cools, give it time to dry, before we decide.

Last night, I didn't sleep well. My goal is to have a batch of spring equinox soap ready by March 1. If this batch doesn't turn out, I would need to make another one. It is now February 4, which means the soap would have a shorter cure time. It would still be okay, but not optimal. I got out of bed this morning ready to start a new hot process spring batch right away.

This morning, I was thrilled. It smells good enough to eat. I turned it out of the mold, hand-scored it and sliced it with a kitchen knife. The invigorating aroma of lemongrass and eucalyptus is tempered by the tea, and the fragrances seem to balance and compliment each other. Every so often I go and turn the bars, like a chicken clucking over her eggs.

Easy, Peasy, Lemon-Squeezy

Yesterday's batch of soap was a breeze. Or, as my nine-year old likes to say, easy-peasy,lemon-squeezy. I timed myself. Deciding on ingredients and calculating the recipe took 15 minutes. Setting up and weighing the oils took an hour. Making the caustic solution took another 15 minutes. I did other things while the caustic solution cooled down, and it took less than a half hour to mix it together and process it into soap. The soap log rested overnight, and now it's in my kitchen, ready to be sliced and stored for curing.

The soap will be rebatched after the fragrance components have been blended. When the soap is finally finished, the total time invested will be significant.

It gets easier and better each time. These days, I spend far more time shopping out ingredients for soap than making it, and I'm making as much as ever.

Lately I've been thinking that if it takes months for a batch of soap to cure properly, and it also takes months for the volatile compounds in essential oils to dissipate from soap, perhaps rebatching is the best way to work with essential oils.

I'm starting to become more flexible about using fragrance oils, especially in harmony with essential oils, herbs, incense resins and spices. I have a bias against synthetic fragrance due to my massage therapy and aromatherapy training from many years ago. But in defense of synthetics, it's possible to find them without ingredients such as phthalates and musk xylene. Honestly, I think that all ingredients should be used with care, and I would like to be as informed as possible about the usage of every ingredient. In the end however, it's up to the person using the soap to decide if the ingredients are acceptable.

The other day at a natural foods store, I was examining the soap aisle. An all-natural, organic, essential-oil scented type was eight dollars per four-ounce bar. It had been on the shelf a while, and the scented was faded. My soap smells far better.

Right now, I'm grating a batch that I processed 16 days ago. It's going to rest in a large tray for another two weeks. Then I'll melt it down with a strong herbal tea, skin soothing oils and essential oils. After two weeks of drying, I'm hoping it will be acceptable.

I've been thinking about the soap I'll need through the end of summer, and getting it all made in early spring. By spring, I'll start making the fall soap. In summer, I'll start making the winter soaps. It's a bit of an adjustment. I prefer to make soap for what I'm feeling now. The reward for my effort will be a lovely soap that is ready in the season it was made for.

So, now that it's becoming so easy. I'm thinking about making it harder. Instead of rustic, unevenly sliced bars of bumpy looking soap, (bumpy but oh so nice on the skin,) maybe I should graduate to fancy soap molds? Should I enter the debate about adding sodium lactate or stearic acid to make the soap smoother and harder?

Hmmm.

And what is this obsession I have lately with containers? Yesterday I washed out a 32 oz bottle that had contained castor oil, and noticed that if I cut the top off, it would make a perfect mold for round soaps. Every plastic tub that contained any type of food is a potential lye measuring bowl, and the lids are spoon rests. Larger tubs are perfect storage containers for grated soap or infused oils.

It's madness, I tell you! And now, back to the kitchen, to grate more soap.

Handling Lye

The scariest thing about making soap is dealing with lye. Lye is caustic and it burns the skin. It's a poison which can harm children and pets if they get into it. It's sodium hydroxide, and it's used to make soap and certain foods like hominy and pretzels.

I think it's wise to never underestimate the need for safety precautions when using lye. Yes, plenty of people make soap barefoot without wearing goggles or gloves, and Goddess bless them, but in my opinion they are either unusually graceful, very lucky, or "cruisin for a bruisin."

Some say you should make your caustic solution in a jar in the sink. Place the jar in the sink. Pour in your water, then stir in the lye. This way, if it spills, it just goes down the drain. I don't do that. You just never know when someone will want a drink of water, and there in the bottom of the sink is a jar of caustic solution. I really don't want to start chasing people away, wild eyed, with a wooden spoon in hand!

Instead, I purchased a 20 liter bucket with a lid. I found it at a food service wholesaler called Smart and Final Iris. It has a wide, stable bottom so it's not at risk of tipping over. With the lid on the bucket, I can walk away from my caustic solution. I have curious cats and children who know better than to throw things in the house but do it anyway. With my luck, if I leave a jar of caustic solution in the sink and go to the bathroom, upon return I will find a football in the sink, a scalded cat, and two kids wearing innocent expressions.

I line the bottom of the bucket with old newspapers. On top of the newspapers, I place an 80 oz. pickle jar. It's larger than the largest mason jar I have, and the glass is sturdy and heavy. I wanted a sturdy jar because the water gets so hot. I simply went to Wal-Mart to the bulk foods aisle, bought the biggest jar of pickles I could find, and encouraged the family to eat pickles every day until they were gone. Yes, in my house we all make sacrifices for soap.

When making cold-process soap, you need to know the temperature of your solution. For this I use a stick, similar to a yardstick. I tie a string onto the middle of the stick, and tie a glass thermometer to the string. The stick lies over the top of the bucket. The string is long enough for the thermometer to submerge in the solution without touching the bottom or sides of the jar.

Afterward, the lye stirring spoon, jar, thermometer, and stick are all stored in the bucket.

They say that you should always pour the lye into the water. If you pour water into lye, you'll get a dangerous volcanic reaction. I've never made this mistake. However, I have made another mistake - I've inhaled the vapors from the caustic solution. It's awful. I won't be doing that again. Very unpleasant. When I pour the lye into the water, I do it by the open door. It's another good reason for the bucket - I can put it on the back porch if I want to. I'm a klutz, and it's hard to pour lye without looking at the jar or inhaling, so I wear a face mask while making the lye solution. Even while wearing the face mask, I try to hold my breath while stirring and looking directly at the solution, turning away to take another breath.

The caustic solution will get very hot when the lye is first added to the water. Oven mitts are necessary while handling the jar.

The first time I made soap, I wore a face mask and goggles during the entire soap making process. The goggles fogged up and I couldn't read the scale. I missed a decimal point and had to rebatch. Now, I only wear the face mask while making the caustic solution. I do use reading glasses, which provide some eye protection.

I also wear foodhandler's gloves while making soap. I bought them at the food service supply store where I bought the bucket. They only go to the top of the hands though, so my wrists get a bit itchy as the vapors rise from the soap. A bit of vinegar takes care of it.

I save old towels and tee shirts to protect surfaces. I cover the counter tops with newspapers, and keep a large old towel nearby to mop up spills. Sometimes a batch of soap will catch me off guard and expand, spilling over the top of the pot. It just happens. Soap can be surprising. I place more towels or newspapers on the floor in front of the counter. The old towels are tossed directly in the washer after making soap.

I keep vinegar on hand to neutralize the lye. Spilled lye crystals can be hard to see, and a spray bottle of vinegar is handy way to deal with the last of the mess.

Immediately after each process, I clean all soap making utensils. For a while I thought it was cool to not wash out the soap pot after each process, thinking that the soap remnants in the pot would help the next batch. While some folks do toss a scrap of soap into the new batch to help things along, leaving caustic soap remnants on soap making tools can shorten their life. Now I neutralize the soap pot with vinegar after each use.

I save the containers that cottage cheese, yogurt etc. come in, and use them for measuring lye. (The lids make excellent disposable spoon rests.) I place a drip coffee filter in the plastic container. A one-pound cottage cheese container nicely holds a drip coffee filter. The plastic container gives the coffee filter stability. I make sure everything is very dry - lye is attracted to moisture like a magnet. The filter goes in the plastic container, which is placed on the scale. The weight is zeroed out with the tare feature before the lye is weighed.

As the lye is poured into the water, the mixture instantly heats. As the vapor rises it dampens the remaining lye in the filter. This is where the coffee filter is handy. It can be lifted it out of the container and the last of the lye crystals brushed into the water without having to scrape out the container. Afterward the filter can be thrown away and the container can be recycled. At first, I was using the coffee filter without the plastic container, but it's difficult to manage a wobbly paper filter filled with lye.