Paperwork: There’s something special about memories that smell good

A memory overwhelmed me the other day. When I smelled it.

I’m not sure how the brain makes that happen, but there I was, walking from one room to another, right into the aroma of a ginger bread cake. And there was no cooking going on in the house.

I smelled ginger bread cake. Not cookies. Cake. That’s what I call it. The kind my mom used to make. We ate it hot out of the oven with whipped cream on top.

This has been happening a lot lately – flashbacks to smells and memories of my mom in the kitchen. Or sometimes my grandmother or dad.

My go-to person when this happens is my sister. She remembers more than I do. We’ve been talking a lot lately about the meals Mom used to make. Memories shared. (Now guess what surprise dish she made for me at a recent birthday dinner?)

These memories are about more than food, of course. Those smells and flavors of the past are memories of Mom.

The cinnamon and sugar toast made in the oven. Some crazy dish called milk toast. As I recall it was a piece of toast covered in hot milk and sugar. Talking about that reminded me of her egg gravy over toast.

I’ve tried to recreate some of her dishes, like the big brick of shredded wheat smothered in real butter and sugar then doused with hot milk. But my Frosted Mini-Wheats, “butter” and microwaved milk always turns into a sad mush.

It was always special when Mom made popcorn in a big pot to munch on while we all watched our black and white TV. Now and then she made fudge to go with it. I hoped for the fudge to fail, whatever that means. I only know we then got to eat the warm concoction like hot fudge with a spoon.

As you can see, many meals and snacks were created from a limited budget. It was probably the sugar we liked the most.

Flavor memories aren’t connected only to Mom. I can remember the evening we had hamburgers and Dad showed us how to make them “California style.” I loved the taste and was amazed at my dad’s cooking knowledge. I had learned something I could share with friends.

I smile at this memory because Dad simply added lettuce and tomato to the burger. Onion was optional. That’s about it. Yep, I was easily impressed. (I should note that back then a tomato tasted like a real tomato.)

We seldom went out to eat when I was a teen, in the early ‘60s. So it was a big deal when we loaded into the car and drove to a Friday night fish fry. It was always the same place, a few miles up Route 25 to the Batavia Overseas VFW Post 1197 between North Aurora and Batavia. I saw it as a fancy restaurant.

We could order anything off the menu. We had choices! But I always got the same thing. A bottle of root beer (maybe two), fries and breaded, deep-fried shrimp with the great sauce.

Even now, if we do a fish fry at a VFW, I will order the same thing. It’s not quite the same, but it’s close enough. Because it’s easy to remember the four of us around a table and how it felt – our big night out. And that memory is delicious.

They all are.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His Paperwork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail The Times, 110 W. Jefferson St., Ottawa, IL 61350.