Istanbul, not Constantinople.

Soivohle Ankhara and L'Artisan Traversée du Bosphore are two hazy Orientals which promise a sumptuous Eastern feast. Though really very lovely, they were nothing like what I really wanted. I yearned for something bold that would take me in its grip and transport me directly to Byzantium. In both cases, I got something as gauzy, sweet, and fleeting as a dream-- a featherweight feast of divinity, meringue and Turkish delight that left me unsated.

It is difficult to be divested of my illusions. Like most Westerners, I am afflicted by a longing for (and misunderstanding of) the East; it exaggerates itself in my mind so that I can never see it straight. But I hope yet to reach that fabled territory, destination of the west wind. Until then, I will seek consolation in these delicate veils of scent and stave off my hunger pangs with a few cherished fictions...
The atmosphere of the room was so different from any he had ever breathed that self-consciousness vanished in the sense of adventure. He had been before in drawing-rooms hung with red damask, with pictures “of the Italian school”; what struck him was the way in which Medora Manson’s shabby hired house, with its blighted background of pampas grass and Rogers statuettes, had, by a turn of the hand, and the skilful use of a few properties, been transformed into something intimate, “foreign,” subtly suggestive of old romantic scenes and sentiments. He tried to analyse the trick, to find a clue to it in the way the chairs and tables were grouped, in the fact that only two Jacqueminot roses (of which nobody ever bought less than a dozen) had been placed in the slender vase at his elbow, and in the vague pervading perfume that was not what one put on handkerchiefs, but rather like the scent of some far-off bazaar, a smell made up of Turkish coffee and ambergris and dried roses.

--Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence, Book 1, Chapter IX (1920)

Every little girl can easily imagine what an extra good time she had diving into a sea of treasures and fishing up one pretty thing after another, till the air was full of the mingled odor of musk and sandal-wood, the room gay with bright colors, and Rose in a rapture of delight… (S)he had stuck a purple fez on her blonde head, tied several brilliant scarfs around her waist, and put on a truly gorgeous scarlet jacket with a golden sun embroidered on the back, a silver moon on the front, and stars of all sizes on the sleeves. A pair of Turkish slippers adorned her feet, and necklaces of amber, coral, and filigree hung about her neck, while one hand held a smelling-bottle, and the other the spicy box of oriental sweetmeats.

--Louisa May Alcott, Eight Cousins: or, The Aunt-Hill, Chapter V (1875)

And now of course you want to know what had happened to Edmund. He had eaten his share of the dinner, but he hadn’t really enjoyed it because he was thinking all the time about Turkish Delight—and there’s nothing that spoils the taste of good ordinary food half so much as the memory of bad magic food.

--C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Chapter 9 (1950)

Scent Elements: Coffee beans, frangipani absolute, sweet fig, pomegranate, amber, musk, leather (Ankhara); apple, pomegranate, saffron, leather, iris, rose, pistachio, almond, tobacco, musk (Traversée du Bosphore)