Some of my very favorites:
Newborn baby smell. Doesn’t last for long. Unspoiled.
Japanese villages food stalls.
New cut lumber.
Old car smell. As opposed to the clean, factory-generated new car smell. I’m talking an old Rolls Royce or Bentley Town Car that has endured five kids, three grandchildren and cartons upon cartons of Dunhills or gold-tipped Windsor cigarettes.
I love the smells emanating from any bakery anywhere.
In my chef career, I was blessed with a couple of real chocolate masters as pastry chefs.
I love the smell of donuts frying in the morning. (as opposed to napalm).
I love the smell of Cassoulet du Lapin baking in earthenware.
I love the smell of a real Christmas tree Christmas.
I love the smell of puppy breath. Any puppy. Anywhere.
I love the smell of new guitars.
I love the smell of sweet pungent buds.
I love the smells of Thanksgiving.
I loved that smell of the first girl you slow-danced with as her body heated up her perfume.
I loved the smell of football when I played it.
The smell of hurt, pain, and the intoxicating scent of sweet victory. Even the unique smells of the locker room. You won’t understand unless you’ve played and lived it. You really do miss it when you stop.
I love the smell of some pipes.
I love the smell of an early morning mountain campfire.
I love the smell of a slow-simmered pot of Cioppino, splashed with Pernod and finished with freshly grated Parmigiana.
I love the smell of a freshly-baked Chateaubriand and the smells associated with the first bite of the flaky pastry and medium rare Filet Mignon as the tarragon-rich Sauce Bearnaise dances on the palate.
What about the smells I am not so fond of?
The usual things come to mind: any bodily fluid or seepage and that includes both number one and number two.
I don’t like the smell of the hospital for obvious reasons.
I love the smell of flower markets and can spend all day there.
I love the smell of rain. The electric anticipation before the clouds open up and the playful joy as it cleanses us.
I love the smell of the ocean.
I love the smell of new money.
I love the smell of any major league baseball park on gameday. Football is way better for tailgating, but hey, warm peanuts and hot dogs are tough to beat.
Shut up.
I love the lonely smell of anticipation as you prepare to open up a new restaurant to the community.
I love the smell of just about every marijuana dispensary I’ve ever been to.
I’ve loved the smell of nearly every girl or woman who allowed me proximity to sniff their essence.
Did that sound as creepy as it did to write?
And in 1968 Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire, there was no smell that warmed the heart like the baker on his rickey cart, stacked high with freshly-baked loaves of all shapes and sizes.
I miss it.
Stay well.
