Orris is dried iris root.
Orris is the sexiest mother fucker in the gin bottle.
Orris is a secret agent manipulating flavor behind the scene.
Orris is the botanical behind the botanical, showing up, keeping its head down and making its boss (juniper) look good.
Ok, specifically, iris padilla is that plant that Van Gough painted, you know, because he wanted to decorate dorm rooms— it's just a simple iris. But after the florist gets their ephemeral side of the plant, the botanist nails the root to the wall for a couple of years. The dried, concentrated, woody root can then be ground to powder, used for flavoring and, in the case of gin and perfume, distilled.
Orris is so alluring because its aroma and flavor are so elusive, humans can barely describe it or pinpoint it. Orris is often described as having fruity, raspberry notes, dried earthy flavor, and a lightly floral aroma. It's distilled into many perfumes that I'm not paid to mention, look that up on your own. But to describe orris in the wanky and pretentious way, I want to:
Orris is like a fantastic jazz musician; it's the spaces between the notes that make the real difference.
I know, you can listen to the spaces between the notes, for free, at home. But orris is the flavor, the aroma, the intangible, the rug that ties the room together.