On smells

I was going to call this, “on odors,” but I thought differently–odors are all smells, but not all smells are odors. Being blessed (or maybe cursed) with a sensitive nose, I have often hesitated to share my perceptions about how the world smells. Cities are particularly full of diverse smells, and nothing speaks to urban spaces like the smell of unburned diesel in the morning. It’s not a smell I like, particularly, but it is familiar. Of course, people give off a wide variety of smells, but there is nothing worse than someone who has perfumed their unwashed body. Nothing speaks to decadence quite like the combination of old sweat, rank cigarette smoke, and stale beer–a sort of bitter vinegary smell. The secret for smelling good as a person is simple: bathe and then use other smells sparingly–that’s intoxicating. You catch the person’s clean smell mixed lightly with flowers, spices, citrus, and it’s an experience you soon won’t forget. A word to the wise: never wear yesterday’s clothes if possible. Anything fresh, except for excrement, usually smells pretty good; anything dead should get gas mask treatment. The smell in most funeral homes is, for me, a nightmare smell that is hard to get out of my head. I have to hold my breath when walking past a beauty salon because of the intense horrible smells of the chemicals being used. Same goes for those candle stores in the malls. I actually don’t mind most subways which are combination of mechanical smells, moldy water, and people. For some reason that combination comforts me and means I’m on my way home. My favorite smells? Freshly baking cookies and breads, cut grass, a recently cleaned house, clothing coming out of the dryer, bookstores, freshly ground coffee, milk, cheese, and yoghurt, jamón serrano (a Spanish delicacy), wine, whiskey, freshly cut cedar, cloves and cinnamon, roasting meats, pizza, lillacs (the actually blooming plant), roses, and the wilderness. Of course, the chemical smell of new cars is very popular, but not with me. I find movie theaters with all their sweaty people and greasy foods to be a little overwhelming and decadent. Chain restaurants are sickening for the same reasons. The worse smell ever? Vomit, of course.

On smells

I was going to call this, “on odors,” but I thought differently–odors are all smells, but not all smells are odors. Being blessed (or maybe cursed) with a sensitive nose, I have often hesitated to share my perceptions about how the world smells. Cities are particularly full of diverse smells, and nothing speaks to urban spaces like the smell of unburned diesel in the morning. It’s not a smell I like, particularly, but it is familiar. Of course, people give off a wide variety of smells, but there is nothing worse than someone who has perfumed their unwashed body. Nothing speaks to decadence quite like the combination of old sweat, rank cigarette smoke, and stale beer–a sort of bitter vinegary smell. The secret for smelling good as a person is simple: bathe and then use other smells sparingly–that’s intoxicating. You catch the person’s clean smell mixed lightly with flowers, spices, citrus, and it’s an experience you soon won’t forget. A word to the wise: never wear yesterday’s clothes if possible. Anything fresh, except for excrement, usually smells pretty good; anything dead should get gas mask treatment. The smell in most funeral homes is, for me, a nightmare smell that is hard to get out of my head. I have to hold my breath when walking past a beauty salon because of the intense horrible smells of the chemicals being used. Same goes for those candle stores in the malls. I actually don’t mind most subways which are combination of mechanical smells, moldy water, and people. For some reason that combination comforts me and means I’m on my way home. My favorite smells? Freshly baking cookies and breads, cut grass, a recently cleaned house, clothing coming out of the dryer, bookstores, freshly ground coffee, milk, cheese, and yoghurt, jamón serrano (a Spanish delicacy), wine, whiskey, freshly cut cedar, cloves and cinnamon, roasting meats, pizza, lillacs (the actually blooming plant), roses, and the wilderness. Of course, the chemical smell of new cars is very popular, but not with me. I find movie theaters with all their sweaty people and greasy foods to be a little overwhelming and decadent. Chain restaurants are sickening for the same reasons. The worse smell ever? Vomit, of course.

On the smell of burning leaves

This is a nostalgia piece, and normally I hate nostalgia because it conjures a false image of the past that never existed, but this topic might be a little different because it has to do the master of memories, a strong evocative smell. When I was a kid, we had huge trees around our house, so we also had a lot of leaves on the ground in October and November. We raked the brown and yellow and red leaves into enormous piles which at some point we would burn. Today, of course, you can’t burn your leaves without the police and fire department showing up to raise hell with you, and to be honest, it is air pollution. Having an open fire on your property or in the street is totally illegal. Back in the day, if my memory serves me right, back in the sixties, we would burn our leaves each fall, and an almost magic smoke would fill the air. Both acrid and sweet, the smoke had an incredibly rich smell which evokes for me other times and other places, people, seasons, short days, crisp nights, bare trees, incipient winter. The fallen leaves, the burning leaves, were announcing the changing season. I was so much younger then, younger than anyone really has a right to be. When I accidentally smell that smell today, the memories just wash over me like a huge unexpected wave. That nostalgia plumbs the depths of innocence as you warm your cold hands over the flames of memory. Sparks fly up and away in the darkness, children smile and watch the flames, chatting about nothing, but the bonds of those times are strong even though all of that–the burning leaves–is gone, up in smoke, a mirage lost in the past of another lifetime, another country. They say the past is a place to which we will never return, but the memories conjured by those potent and pungent smells assail us in ways we cannot ignore. The burning leaves of our pasts are still there, still burning, and the poetry that we wrote then, inspired by those people, places and events, will always return us to the past when we catch just the slightest wisp of smoke.

On the smell of burning leaves

This is a nostalgia piece, and normally I hate nostalgia because it conjures a false image of the past that never existed, but this topic might be a little different because it has to do the master of memories, a strong evocative smell. When I was a kid, we had huge trees around our house, so we also had a lot of leaves on the ground in October and November. We raked the brown and yellow and red leaves into enormous piles which at some point we would burn. Today, of course, you can’t burn your leaves without the police and fire department showing up to raise hell with you, and to be honest, it is air pollution. Having an open fire on your property or in the street is totally illegal. Back in the day, if my memory serves me right, back in the sixties, we would burn our leaves each fall, and an almost magic smoke would fill the air. Both acrid and sweet, the smoke had an incredibly rich smell which evokes for me other times and other places, people, seasons, short days, crisp nights, bare trees, incipient winter. The fallen leaves, the burning leaves, were announcing the changing season. I was so much younger then, younger than anyone really has a right to be. When I accidentally smell that smell today, the memories just wash over me like a huge unexpected wave. That nostalgia plumbs the depths of innocence as you warm your cold hands over the flames of memory. Sparks fly up and away in the darkness, children smile and watch the flames, chatting about nothing, but the bonds of those times are strong even though all of that–the burning leaves–is gone, up in smoke, a mirage lost in the past of another lifetime, another country. They say the past is a place to which we will never return, but the memories conjured by those potent and pungent smells assail us in ways we cannot ignore. The burning leaves of our pasts are still there, still burning, and the poetry that we wrote then, inspired by those people, places and events, will always return us to the past when we catch just the slightest wisp of smoke.

On ice cream

Is there a more superfluous food than ice cream? Sugar, sugar, and more sugar, and nobody needs more sugar. Perhaps what is wrong with the consumer mentality is emblematic of what is wrong with eating ice cream. No doubt that ice cream is one of the funnest, most delightful on the face of the earth to eat, but nobody needs ice cream to survive. There is no essential nutrient or vitamin that is only contained in ice cream which means we eat ice cream, not to survive, but because we are slaves to our hedonistic natures, which are fulfilled by all the sugar and fat in ice cream. Let’s face it, there are fewer more tasty delights in this world than a banana split made with vanilla ice cream, chocolate, strawberry, and pineapple toppings, a nice, ripe banana, lots of whipped cream, and covered with a sprinkling of chopped walnuts–with a healthy dose of caramel drizzled over the whole thing. People pay good money for that sort of treat, but who needs that kind of sugar in their life. Ice cream is emblematic of societal excess. A society is too successful if they can dedicate resources, time, and energy into the production of food that serves no nutritional end. Sure, one might argue that this is just another dairy product and that people can benefit from the calcium, some trace minerals and vitamins, if they eat ice cream, but the benefits have to be minimal when one considers all of the sugar and cholesterol that they will also be consuming, so what is the benefit, then, of eating ice cream? Is it possible that there is more to life and nutrition and health than just eating broccoli? I mean, I like broccoli as much as the next guy, but can man live by broccoli alone? Certainly, I have picked an extreme case with broccoli (which I love to put into my salads, by the way), but nobody would classify broccoli as a “fun” food. Yet, is it necessary to have “fun” foods? Perhaps nutritionists have studied why we like to eat caramelized walnuts and whipped cream, quadruple mocha lattes with extra whipped cream and caramel, or bananas foster, but I’m also sure that there answers would always be rather unscientific and subjective because who can turn down any of those things? I suspect that mental well-being, bolstered by the ingestion of delightful food, might lead to a healthy, well-fed person if they don’t ingest so much as to become as big as the great outdoors. This is, however, the rub: we love to eat fun foods, but they essentially bad for us in large quantities, so the trick is to learn moderation–eat a little instead of a lot. Yet, I would also say that for human beings this is almost an insurmountable paradox. Gluttony did not make it onto the list of the seven deadly sins for nothing. Human beings are by their very nature incredibly gluttonous because long ago, when food was scarce, only the gluttonous survived to pass on their genetic material–the thin, moderate folks were eliminated long, long ago, which brings us back to ice cream, a super-food that can give you the energy you need to get up and get all those important chores done, such as surviving until the next day. If you survive until the next day, you may have offspring, carbon copies of yourself who will have the same gluttonous motivations that were underpinning your own success. Go ahead, enjoy with heightened delight and glee your next bowl of ice cream.

On ice cream

Is there a more superfluous food than ice cream? Sugar, sugar, and more sugar, and nobody needs more sugar. Perhaps what is wrong with the consumer mentality is emblematic of what is wrong with eating ice cream. No doubt that ice cream is one of the funnest, most delightful on the face of the earth to eat, but nobody needs ice cream to survive. There is no essential nutrient or vitamin that is only contained in ice cream which means we eat ice cream, not to survive, but because we are slaves to our hedonistic natures, which are fulfilled by all the sugar and fat in ice cream. Let’s face it, there are fewer more tasty delights in this world than a banana split made with vanilla ice cream, chocolate, strawberry, and pineapple toppings, a nice, ripe banana, lots of whipped cream, and covered with a sprinkling of chopped walnuts–with a healthy dose of caramel drizzled over the whole thing. People pay good money for that sort of treat, but who needs that kind of sugar in their life. Ice cream is emblematic of societal excess. A society is too successful if they can dedicate resources, time, and energy into the production of food that serves no nutritional end. Sure, one might argue that this is just another dairy product and that people can benefit from the calcium, some trace minerals and vitamins, if they eat ice cream, but the benefits have to be minimal when one considers all of the sugar and cholesterol that they will also be consuming, so what is the benefit, then, of eating ice cream? Is it possible that there is more to life and nutrition and health than just eating broccoli? I mean, I like broccoli as much as the next guy, but can man live by broccoli alone? Certainly, I have picked an extreme case with broccoli (which I love to put into my salads, by the way), but nobody would classify broccoli as a “fun” food. Yet, is it necessary to have “fun” foods? Perhaps nutritionists have studied why we like to eat caramelized walnuts and whipped cream, quadruple mocha lattes with extra whipped cream and caramel, or bananas foster, but I’m also sure that there answers would always be rather unscientific and subjective because who can turn down any of those things? I suspect that mental well-being, bolstered by the ingestion of delightful food, might lead to a healthy, well-fed person if they don’t ingest so much as to become as big as the great outdoors. This is, however, the rub: we love to eat fun foods, but they essentially bad for us in large quantities, so the trick is to learn moderation–eat a little instead of a lot. Yet, I would also say that for human beings this is almost an insurmountable paradox. Gluttony did not make it onto the list of the seven deadly sins for nothing. Human beings are by their very nature incredibly gluttonous because long ago, when food was scarce, only the gluttonous survived to pass on their genetic material–the thin, moderate folks were eliminated long, long ago, which brings us back to ice cream, a super-food that can give you the energy you need to get up and get all those important chores done, such as surviving until the next day. If you survive until the next day, you may have offspring, carbon copies of yourself who will have the same gluttonous motivations that were underpinning your own success. Go ahead, enjoy with heightened delight and glee your next bowl of ice cream.

On bacon

Anything I could possibly say about the joys of bacon would be superfluous and redundant. We are a bacon nation, and we put it on burgers, salads, sandwiches, and just about anything else that can be eaten. Chocolate bacon is heaven on earth. Bacon is bad for you, your heart and your survival. Pure fried cholesterol, bacon dedicates all its time to clogging up your arteries, hanging off your waste, enlarging your thighs, and making you jowly, which is great if you are trying out for department store Santa, bad if you want your jeans to fit for one more day. The variety of bacon in the supermarket cooler is only equaled by the sausage section right next to it. For some mysterious, if not wholly mystical, reason, we love to cure white pork fat, fry it, and pig out, as it were. If there is one more slice of bacon on the plate, I will eat it, regardless of the number of pieces I have already eaten. Eating bacon is almost as bad as smoking, and certainly the long term effects are as bad or worse. I’m not going to compare bacon to sex for all sorts of reasons, but common decency should rule even when discussing sex. Bacon I’m not so sure about. Let’s face it people: America is obese and bacon isn’t helping the situation at all. I adore bacon that is particularly crunchy and overdone, bordering on burnt. The crisp crunch between my teeth, the sweet taste of fat, the fine smoked aroma of hickory or mesquite all add to its strange allure. Nobody needs to eat bacon for any reason at all other than pure self-centered egotism and self-indulgence. I wouldn’t, however, turn it down if someone passed me the bacon platter. Bacon does not help with digestion, it contains no essential vitamins as far as anyone knows, and a piece the size of a domino meets an average adult’s entire daily need for fat. Who ever ate a piece of bacon the size of a domino? So I live with this self-indulgent vice which is bacon. The best way to avoid bacon is to just leave it in the store and forget about it. Yet, the smell of frying bacon is so toxically magic that no one can resist it, and of course, the only thing I cannot resist is temptation itself.