A quick Internet search leads me to believe that smell is the most evocative sense in our limited repertoire. Our brain for some reason files smells away and very rarely sends them to the recycle bin, when most of us would prefer it to remember names to faces or other more useful information*. Smell allows us to relive moments both positive and negative. How many times have you smelt something for the briefest of moments and been transported instantly to a memory long ago settled into the recesses of your mind? It is for this particular reason that to this day I cannot stand the smell of sambuca, or rather my stomach can't stand it.
The kitchen is home to a plethora of inviting smells and the all too familiar smell of burning. My strongest fragrance driven culinary recollection is that of my paternal grandparents kitchen. (Giving them joint rights to the kitchen might be stretching it, my Granddad barely set foot in there.) We would often go there, perhaps once every fortnight, for a good Sunday roast. As soon as you would walk in this amazing aroma wafted around you enveloping you in a shroud of invisible delight. My grandmother was the best cook I have ever known, she wasn't flashy about it but the skill of getting everything done at exactly the same time and it being perfectly cooked was not lost on me. Her roast potatoes in particular were simple, but I have yet to recreate them to a level I am happy with. It was the smell of the fat heating up in a pan waiting for the honest spuds that would welcome you. When I do them now, that initial smoky smell takes me right back to the doorway of that kitchen.
Whilst eating dinner another aroma would sweep around the table for the kitchen. More often than not three or more desserts would be on offer. Unbelievable really. More often than not it would be the apple crumble that would sit right at your nostrils, the smell of the brown sugar just starting to caramelize on the top and the sweet fragrance of the tart apple. This week I finally, after many attempts recreated her legendary apple crumble and I was taken back to that very dining table in Worcester as the smell drifted from the oven and the recollection was instant.
She sadly passed away a few years ago, but being able to remember all the wonderful things she could create in the kitchen without following recipes and even being able to make something close to one of her own dishes is very special to me.
I hope to replicate all the smells from that kitchen, but if I don't succeed I know I can be whisked back there instantly with just a whiff of apple crumble.
*I'm using useful perhaps misleadingly, I'm sure evolutionary speaking smell is a much more useful than putting names to faces.
The kitchen is home to a plethora of inviting smells and the all too familiar smell of burning. My strongest fragrance driven culinary recollection is that of my paternal grandparents kitchen. (Giving them joint rights to the kitchen might be stretching it, my Granddad barely set foot in there.) We would often go there, perhaps once every fortnight, for a good Sunday roast. As soon as you would walk in this amazing aroma wafted around you enveloping you in a shroud of invisible delight. My grandmother was the best cook I have ever known, she wasn't flashy about it but the skill of getting everything done at exactly the same time and it being perfectly cooked was not lost on me. Her roast potatoes in particular were simple, but I have yet to recreate them to a level I am happy with. It was the smell of the fat heating up in a pan waiting for the honest spuds that would welcome you. When I do them now, that initial smoky smell takes me right back to the doorway of that kitchen.
Whilst eating dinner another aroma would sweep around the table for the kitchen. More often than not three or more desserts would be on offer. Unbelievable really. More often than not it would be the apple crumble that would sit right at your nostrils, the smell of the brown sugar just starting to caramelize on the top and the sweet fragrance of the tart apple. This week I finally, after many attempts recreated her legendary apple crumble and I was taken back to that very dining table in Worcester as the smell drifted from the oven and the recollection was instant.
She sadly passed away a few years ago, but being able to remember all the wonderful things she could create in the kitchen without following recipes and even being able to make something close to one of her own dishes is very special to me.
I hope to replicate all the smells from that kitchen, but if I don't succeed I know I can be whisked back there instantly with just a whiff of apple crumble.
*I'm using useful perhaps misleadingly, I'm sure evolutionary speaking smell is a much more useful than putting names to faces.
1 comment:
I love apple crumble. Although some of those "hearty" meals from Blighty can seem too stodgy and heavy for the Florida climate - especially during the 9 hot months of the year.
I like the key lime pie and other southern desserts too, of course. Which reminds me, there is some ice cream in the freezer!
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