Some aromas hold people we miss

I love the smell of coffee, although I rarely drink it. Sometimes in the summer, I’ll drink some icy, sugary-flavored thing with a mound of cream on top, but for the most part, it doesn’t agree with my stomach, so I am a tea or matcha drinker by default.

But the delightful aroma calls out to me.

When I was a child, some of my fondest memories, growing up in my grandparents’ home, were the fantastic smells from the kitchen. A bouquet of fresh coffee greeted me every morning as I opened my eyes. Pair that with the sweet aroma of buttered eggs, fried crispy bacon, and warm toast soaked in sticky strawberry jam.

Whenever I’m in the kitchen, I am immediately transported back to my six-year-old self. I’m standing on the edge of the carpet, my tiny toes stretched across to the decorated linoleum kitchen floor. Even now, I can see my grandfather in his jean overalls draped with a white apron. I loved watching him shake salt and toss flour as he made drop biscuits, spicy fried chicken, greens, okra, and creamy potatoes from his garden.

The food was secondary to the company.

Our home was the neighborhood hangout where the children would come and pick mulberries while swinging on the crabapple trees in the backyard. It was a haven, where the kitchen and the front porch were central to the gatherings.

It’s where my grandfather would lay out tables and chairs for cold fried chicken, beer, and stacks of dominos. It’s where my grandmother spread newspapers with mulberries and topped them with sugar and a pinch of salt. Where the kids came to play and left with purple hands and sticky faces.

The kitchen was also where my grandmother and her sisters played cards, gossiped, and ate sweets. It’s where the neighbors came freely in and out for conversation and a taste of whatever was on the stove.

It’s where funeral bakes and cake rested in the oven while comforting conversations were held at the table. And holiday casseroles draped the counters, waiting for packages to unwrap and wine to fill the glasses.

Those days are long gone, and I miss them.

I miss the recipes that, try as I might, I can’t seem to replicate. I miss the neighbors who dipped in and out during the day. And the favorite aunts and uncles who decorated our homes during the holiday season. I miss my grandfather’s coffee bouquet in the mornings.

Some aromas hold people we miss.

That time for me was a place that provided nurturing beyond the sustenance of food.

—J. Lashelle

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