Eau Dear: Sniffing Out the Big Apple's Smelliest Spots

"You're going to laugh at me," he says after a moment, "but I don't think it's that bad."

Rahme tries to look unruffled. It's about 1 o'clock now and Macchio has already mentioned a few times that he's ready for lunch.

"This," he says, gesturing toward the chefs, "is actually enhancing my appetite."

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By consensus, New York smells far better than it did, say, a decade or two ago. But it is never exactly pine-fresh, and it still is a city without alleys, which means garbage piles up on the sidewalks, about 50,000 tons of it every day. The summer adds a sickening finish to the redolence, whisking in suggestions of butter and bile.

Maybe "suggestions" is the wrong word. These are more like ransom notes.

From June to August, New Yorkers trade tales of horror-show fetor like fishermen who've returned from the sea. To live here during those months is to sidestep mysterious heaps and oleaginous puddles -- downtown gravy, if you will. Subway stations are miasmic. A nauseating surprise lurks around just about every fetid corner.

But some corners stink far worse than others, and our team one recent morning has identified five of them. We plot our itinerary at Bond No. 9, the flagship store of Rahme's perfume line, which she launched in 2003. Bond No. 9 sells 26 scents, each named after a neighborhood of New York: Eau de Noho, Madison Soiree, New Harlem, Gramercy Park and so on. The goal, obviously, is to bottle the spirit of the place, not the actual fumes.

"We capture the soul," Lahme says.

This, of course, makes Lahme the ideal guide today, because anyone who can cork the essence of a street can surely describe its funk. Plus, she has a cool limo, which will be our reconnaissance vehicle. It's a vintage British cab, painted white and festooned with the Bond No. 9 logo. Our chauffeur, Gerard, appears to have been ordered out of a chauffeur catalogue. He has a handlebar mustache and wears a captain's hat.

"The meatpacking district, Gerard," Lahme trills from the back seat.

There are five of us, not including the driver: a photographer and Lahme's assistant Claire have come along. Lahme gives a quick version of her career, which began with her selling furniture in Paris and segued into a stint with a niche perfume maker based in France. Macchio is silent for a minute, which requires an effort that is almost visible.