The taste of smells.
As children a group of us had a favourite game called staring. We gathered in a street and stared into the sky. Soon passers by would look up too, some stopping to better concentrate. If we were lucky enough to gather more than two we would add comments, “There it goes” and “That’s so fast,” pointing upwards. “Did you see that?” someone would exclaim to be met with an enthusiastic chorus of “Yes” and “Wow”. The prize was when a stranger, and preferably an adult, joined in confirming that they too had seen it. Of course there was nothing to see and just occasionally a passing adult would spoil our game by telling us so. Mostly, however, the strangers would be convinced and even convince others. I’ve often wondered why physiologists spend so much money studying human behaviour when children do it for nothing.
I was musing on all this whilst sitting in a bar reading a wine list. Amongst the florid descriptions was one for a Gewurztraminer from Alsace. It was described as having “white flower and violet aromas followed by an exotic palate of fresh lychee, fruit, subtle ginger spice and a back note of sweet Turkish delight”. I felt sorry for a Riesling that could only muster “Notes of apples and pears with a lemon lime finish”. A red wine I’d never heard of fared better. It was described as “Rich deep chocolate, liquorice and orange with a top note of toasted cashews and blackberries”. Are these descriptions adult staring? How many dare to say, “There’s nothing there” or “what about tasting of grapes?” I admit I’ve been lucky. I’ve walked at dawn through Moselle vineyards, smelling the slate, wild flowers and grapes as the rising Sun burnt off the dew and the bees started another busy day. Similarly, in Champagne where chalk gives a special background smell to nature and the tiny grapes taste sweetly of all the smells. It’s difficult to describe smell and perhaps each of us smells a smell differently making the task nigh on impossible. Most things in life need a reference point and wine lists (yes, I’m now hooked on reading them) don’t excite my smell-taste or the memory a glass of wine evokes.
We are coming up to autumn, a great time for smells in field and hedgerow. It’s also when cooler weather intensifies the smell of baking bread and fresh coffee. I loved late autumn as a child because of the smell of wood smoke and the cosy teatime it heralded. Indeed, my taste sensations are almost entirely related to recalled smells, taste and smell combining to recreate a pleasurable memory. Each season has its smell memory and one of my favourite winter ones is of the cowshed. Sweet smelling and warm, welcoming as one stamped snow off boots and rubbed cold hands ready for milking. I suppose that’s now a smell memory few can now collect.
I recall my then five-year-old daughter refusing to eat a vegetable that formed part of the lunch I’d cooked. “Why won’t you eat it” I asked “Because it smells ugly” she replied. I could not argue, it was her perception, but I do wonder what experiments have been done on the relationship between smell and taste. Oh, wait a minute, think of eating when one has a heavy cold – tasteless. I think I’ve just saved psychologists yet more money.
I was musing on all this whilst sitting in a bar reading a wine list. Amongst the florid descriptions was one for a Gewurztraminer from Alsace. It was described as having “white flower and violet aromas followed by an exotic palate of fresh lychee, fruit, subtle ginger spice and a back note of sweet Turkish delight”. I felt sorry for a Riesling that could only muster “Notes of apples and pears with a lemon lime finish”. A red wine I’d never heard of fared better. It was described as “Rich deep chocolate, liquorice and orange with a top note of toasted cashews and blackberries”. Are these descriptions adult staring? How many dare to say, “There’s nothing there” or “what about tasting of grapes?” I admit I’ve been lucky. I’ve walked at dawn through Moselle vineyards, smelling the slate, wild flowers and grapes as the rising Sun burnt off the dew and the bees started another busy day. Similarly, in Champagne where chalk gives a special background smell to nature and the tiny grapes taste sweetly of all the smells. It’s difficult to describe smell and perhaps each of us smells a smell differently making the task nigh on impossible. Most things in life need a reference point and wine lists (yes, I’m now hooked on reading them) don’t excite my smell-taste or the memory a glass of wine evokes.
We are coming up to autumn, a great time for smells in field and hedgerow. It’s also when cooler weather intensifies the smell of baking bread and fresh coffee. I loved late autumn as a child because of the smell of wood smoke and the cosy teatime it heralded. Indeed, my taste sensations are almost entirely related to recalled smells, taste and smell combining to recreate a pleasurable memory. Each season has its smell memory and one of my favourite winter ones is of the cowshed. Sweet smelling and warm, welcoming as one stamped snow off boots and rubbed cold hands ready for milking. I suppose that’s now a smell memory few can now collect.
I recall my then five-year-old daughter refusing to eat a vegetable that formed part of the lunch I’d cooked. “Why won’t you eat it” I asked “Because it smells ugly” she replied. I could not argue, it was her perception, but I do wonder what experiments have been done on the relationship between smell and taste. Oh, wait a minute, think of eating when one has a heavy cold – tasteless. I think I’ve just saved psychologists yet more money.
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