There’s something special about memories that smell good.
I’m not sure how the brain does it, but there I was, walking from one room to another, right into the aroma of ginger bread cake. Not cookies. Cake. That’s what I called what my mom served 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.
My go-to person when this happens is my sister, who remembers more than I do. We’ve been talking a lot lately about those dishes — sharing memories.
The cinnamon and sugar toast made in the oven. Some crazy dish called milk toast — a piece of toast covered in hot milk and sugar. And that reminded me of her egg gravy over toast.
Such memories aren't linked only to Mom. I remember when Dad showed us how to make “California style” hamburgers. I was amazed by the new taste and Dad's cooking knowledge.
I smile now because he simply added lettuce and tomato to the burger. Onion was optional. Yep, I was easily impressed, but hey, 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 at the VFW.
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, I order the same thing. It's not quite the same, but it's close enough. Because it's easy to remember how it felt — our big night out.
And that memory is still delicious. They all are.
I’m Lonny Cain … and that’s my Perspective.
