In the early ’90s, before the Mercer Hotel and Balthazar opened, I lived in a loft on Mercer Street, between Prince and Houston. Fanelli’s was the corner bar, and I ate at Raoul’s and Blue Ribbon more times than I can count. SoHo had its own scene of artists, models and Europeans. Even the uptown crowd who once never went below 28th Street were starting to show up.

Everyone had their own style, and there was no uniform. It was relaxed and unpretentious, and you felt like you could just be yourself. People were a little undone, with an effortless confidence that I wanted to bring to MERCER ST.

I knew vanilla would be part of it, but not as a gourmand. Jasmine and a little caramel give it warmth and softness, while pink pepper and frankincense give it attitude.