In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Smell You Later.”
Many particular smells define my childhood. They consist of roses in the garden, freshly cut grass, lavender, freshly baked cookie dough, and the smell of newly washed linen. But the smell that almost immediately takes me back to my childhood is undoubtedly the very sensuous aroma of my mother’s pot roast chicken on a Sunday Afternoon.
Indeed, countless of those afternoons were spent trying not to get under the feet of my mother, who was pretty preoccupied with organizing the dinner. Just the smell of the pot roast would have me enticed long before the meal itself was even served.
My family are exactly who you’d class as “serious food enthusiasts”, or “foodies”. Nothing could bond our clan together quite like the home comforts of a homemade meal. The fact that my maternal grandmother having been a home economics teacher before she retired probably has a lot to do with us being so “into” cuisine of any kinds…Italian, Indian, French, Greek, Mexican- you name the nationality, we’ve probably already got it sampled.
For many people, nothing brings back memories of their childhood more than the essence of an old family recipe. While tucking into the meal was comfort enough, just coming through the door and being greeted by the welcome whiff of a quality family recipe. Just the smell of the roast fuels my anticipation of consuming it, as well as basking the the company of the people I treasure most of all.