According to scientists, our sense of smell is more closely involved with memory than are our other four senses. If you doubt this, just think about how a whiff of a certain odor can immediately bring to mind a person, place, or event from your past.

Now let's take this a step further. The sense of smell is also largely responsible for the way we experience food. Our taste buds are actually capable of determining only four different tastes: sweet, salty, bitter, and sour. The rest of our "taste" experience relies on smells.

With these two pertinent facts in mind, it's not difficult to understand why the aromas of certain foods are able to transport us momentarily to memories, both good and bad. Our brains learn to associate these smells with events that we've experienced.

When it comes to smells and memories, foods rank right at the top. I guess this is a holdover from our caveman ancestors, for whom food was the focal point of daily existance. Come to think of it, mankind really hasn't come that far when it comes to food. We're still obsessed with it. It's often the main attraction at any social event. It makes us feel warm and cozy. It's nurturing - both literally and emotionally speaking.

Every time I smell pine-sol and coffee at the same time, my mind travels back across the decades to when I was just a little girl sitting in my grandmother's pine oil-scrubbed farmhouse kitchen. My mother never allowed me to have coffee, but Granny did. She always added canned milk and sugar to mine, creating a sweet warm concoction served in a blue and white spatterware cup, which to me, rivaled the nectar of the gods.

I keep a can or two of evaporated milk on hand in my own kitchen, just so I'll have it for my morning joe in case we run out of regular milk. I admit, though, that occasionally I'll open a can even when the fridge is stocked with a gallon of skim milk, just so I can again experience Granny's treat.

Another food memory I hold close is fresh oranges. The fruit is not really one of my favorite foods, but they do conjur up one of my favorite childhood memories. When my brother and I were kids, we sat around in the family room at night watching TV with Mom. On many evenings, she would drag out her old cake pan and place 2 or 3 oranges in it. She sliced the golden globes in sections and passed them to us as we laughed at the antics of Red Skelton or wondered how Marshal Dillon was going to save the day. Now, whenever I slice an orange, the bittersweet smell tingles my nose, and as I enjoy the sweet-sour taste, my thoughts often race back to those simple times around the family hearth.

I guess my favorite food memory is triggered by roasted turkey and homemade cornbread dressing. When I was growing up, we only had these items twice a year - at Thanksgiving and at Christmas, so they were really special. The holiday bird and Mom's stuffing were the centerpiece of our family celebrations, always joyous, carefree times in my youth. I remember lying in bed on those cold November and December mornings, waking to the smell of the baking turkey, poultry seasoning, and onions and celery frying in the old black iron skillet. I could hardly wait to dive into a slice of white meat and a generous spoonful of dressing! And these wonderful memories still linger today when I enjoy a serving of these foods.

We're eternally tied to fond memories of foods. It's not just the tastes that hold power over us. It's the associations of the people who prepared the foods, of the happy events that surrounded the foods, of the people we shared the foods with. We cannot escape or dismiss these food memories, even if we wanted to. But then, why would we want to?

Learn more about this author, Holle Abee.
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