This morning I somehow ended up with a little extra time, so I decided to invest it in preparing a crockpot meal. I knew my husband would get home before me and walk into a kitchen filled with the smell of baking meatloaf. The thought made me smile.
As I prepared some breakfast for myself and the meatloaf for the slow cooker it struck me how wonderul the scents of cooking can be. The delightful summer smell of a tomato fresh from the garden. The pungent smell of onion, and the spices as I opened the small containers to add to the mix.
These are not the scents from Calvin Klein, or Stella McCartney. They are not amber colored liquids in beautiful bottles and elegant packaging. The smells of a kitchen are more basic, more honest. Onion doesn't pose as a rose....pepper doesn't disguise it's scent with pine or sandlewood. Cooking smells make us think of home and hearth....friends and family.....comfort and contentment....without being anyting but what they are.
Coffee and bacon frying make me think of my grandmother's house where I snuggled in bed on chilly mornings during Christmas vacation, listening to the murmur of her voice as she talked with my Mother and Grandfather.
A roast baking in the oven reminds me of waiting for dinner on winter evenings after school. Mom was in control of the kitchen while Dad watched TV in the living room. I holed up in my bedroom pretending to do homework while, in truth, I was reading Tiger Magazine and listening to the Everly Brothers.
These thoughts ran through my head as I kneaded the concoction that would be our dinner and placed it into the pan. Perhaps it's just a flashback....or maybe it's just a sign that I am in the time of life where I appreciate the smell of pot roast just as much as the scent of Patchouli. Life is good.
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