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.