Ethyl maltol is one of perfumery’s magical substances. Crack open a vial of it, and there, in your nose, is childhood. Some have described it as the smell of candied strawberries. To me, there’s something essentially toffee-like about it: a rich, round sweetness, like the very tip of the sugary savor of a vanilla cupcake. But unlike toffee or cupcakes, ethyl maltol is single-minded, precise in what it does. This is often what makes aromachemicals desirable ingredients: they offer specific shades isolated from the more complex settings where they’re usually found.
It’s closely chemically related to maltol, which is found in everything good: malt, barbecue sauce, toasted bread. But the replacement of a methyl group with an ethyl group gives it purity and strength. The strength, too, is an asset in perfumery: a tiny dose can do a lot, meaning there’s more room for other ingredients in the formula. My favorite fact about ethyl maltol is that it naturally resides in roasted coffee, one of the earliest scents I was fascinated by.