Department of Unexpected Delight, Part 2

Department of Unexpected Delight, Part 2

It occurs to me that the only thing that would improve LTH forum is Smell-o-Vision.

I continue to be astonished that, after more than 50 years, I am still able to experience a smell as truly new. More surprising, however, is that the emotional impact of a new smell is as great now as it was to me as a child. Proust, and, more recently, the film, Ratatouille, explored this intensity as a feature of memory. But what I am referring to is the pleasure of something never before experienced.

In another thread, I extolled the unique virtues of the black walnut. But a discovery such as that one always brings with it a certain anxiety. Will this be the last time I have this experience? Can another such peak be reached? And if so, when? Concerns of this smell-o-centric variety are given less attention in our society than they deserve. (For an interesting fiction read that gives voice to a sense-centric protagonist, refer to Nicholson Baker's The Mezzanine).

Perhaps the senses are given short shrift because we are so often over-stimulated. So much depends on the pause to consider a smell. A smell must be captured in some immediate way, isolated from the smells of the context. This condition exists across senses; the notion of "room tone" recording in film sound engineering illustrates the point. Just as there is no such thing in nature as no sound, there is no such thing as no smell, outside of the condition of anosmia.

It has been suggested that the reason people do not discuss smells lies in our puritanical roots. Smell seems a bit of a hot potato, even for scientists. Nevertheless, Dr. Luca Turin, the scientist-protagonist of Chandler Burr's The Emperor of Scent, embarks on his exploration of the biological basis of smell because of the importance of smell in his life. (He is a great connoisseur of perfumes.) Yet Turin is no elitist; his theory of the mechanisms of smell counters the assumption that the experience of a smell is subjective. Nevertheless, paradoxically, Turin's colleagues seem to view his interest in the whole topic as somehow transgressive.

Another source of difficulty with smell stems from the challenge to communicate the nature of a particular new smell to others. Other than offering comparisons to other, common smells, one may need to resort to more poetic forms of expression. In The Emperor of Scent, Dr. Turin represents a certain perfume with the metaphor of a silk that, seen from one angle, appears to be of one color, and seen from another angle, seems to be of another, complementary color.

But I digress.

I started this post with the intention of alerting the community to the exceedingly fragrant quinces at Marketplace on Oakton in Skokie. I was unable to smell anything unusual about them until I punctured the plastic bag I had put them in at the store. It was an experience every bit the equal of the black walnut epiphany I had last year.

I only wish I could share this wonderful smell with all of you. But perhaps eatchicago is already working on that Smell-o-Vision software.

The first time I grated fresh galangal for a thai dish, was one of those olfactory epiphanies for me. It's always been described to me as "like ginger" but that's a bald-faced lie: unlike the lemony sharpness of ginger, galangal is warmer, cedar-like. I just wish I could figure out other ways of using it besides as one small element of a thai dish. Would it work as a tea? Would it work as a flavoring in an aioli? Ice cream?

Before that, I have to go back a number of years to cardamom. Prior to getting my first dose of it pure, it's had always been a hidden essence in pumpkin pie, indian cuisine, etc. And unlike its winter pie companions of nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice and cloves, it seems to have a cooling effect, and is much more subtle. Just used it this morning in oatmeal.

When I was working in Zurich a few years ago, I'd helped a chef buddy of mine do a huge party for over 1,000 people on New Years Eve on Lake Zurich. At the end of the evening he gave me a huge truffle that was cryovacked (we we're slipping slices of them into lobster tails we were poaching in sweet butter).

I took it home and stored it, but it was a few weeks before I had the opportunity to use it. When I finally opened the air tight package, this amazing heady smell permeated my entire apartment. I was like Bugs Bunny floating toward a pie. I'd never smelled anything remotely like it, before or since. Probably my all time olfactory experience.

Ditto on truffles. There's a reason they're so prized. To describe the sensation to the uninitiated I usually say "Think mushroom to the power of ten."

For more olfactory literary adventure, a book you probably already know about, but if not, got a copy of Patrick Suskind's Perfume:

From Library Journal

"Set in 18th-century France, Perfume relates the fascinating and horrifying tale of Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, a person as gifted as he was abominable. Born without a smell of his own but endowed with an extraordinary sense of smell, Grenouille becomes obsessed with procuring the perfect scent that will make him fully human."

jbw wrote:For more olfactory literary adventure, a book you probably already know about, but if not, got a copy of Patrick Suskind's Perfume:

From Library Journal

"Set in 18th-century France, Perfume relates the fascinating and horrifying tale of Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, a person as gifted as he was abominable. Born without a smell of his own but endowed with an extraordinary sense of smell, Grenouille becomes obsessed with procuring the perfect scent that will make him fully human."

That's a fabulous book. You can practically smell everything as you read it. Haven't seen the movie version that came out recently, though.

JoelF wrote:The first time I grated fresh galangal for a thai dish, was one of those olfactory epiphanies for me. It's always been described to me as "like ginger" but that's a bald-faced lie: unlike the lemony sharpness of ginger, galangal is warmer, cedar-like. I just wish I could figure out other ways of using it besides as one small element of a thai dish. Would it work as a tea? Would it work as a flavoring in an aioli? Ice cream?

Joel, galangal might make an interesting flan flavoring. Probably, you could grate a bunch of it, wrap it in a muslin towel, and squeeze out the juice. Once, I made an earl grey tea flan that was lovely. The vanilla was left out, but the caramel did not interfere with the spice. And, what about galangal instead of ginger in gingerbread?

JoelF wrote: Before that, I have to go back a number of years to cardamom. Prior to getting my first dose of it pure, it's had always been a hidden essence in pumpkin pie, indian cuisine, etc. And unlike its winter pie companions of nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice and cloves, it seems to have a cooling effect, and is much more subtle. Just used it this morning in oatmeal.

Cardamom is great in coffee as well. I assume you have had limpa bread from The Swedish Bakery in Andersonville.

Jazzfood wrote: I was like Bugs Bunny floating toward a pie.

I'm enjoying that image, Jazzfood.

You are talking about black truffle, right? I've not had much in the way of fresh black truffles, but after Schwa's white ones, I'm clear that the $330,000. paid last week for the world's largest white truffle is not too much.

jbw wrote:For more olfactory literary adventure, a book you probably already know about, but if not, got a copy of Patrick Suskind's Perfume:

From Library Journal

"Set in 18th-century France, Perfume relates the fascinating and horrifying tale of Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, a person as gifted as he was abominable. Born without a smell of his own but endowed with an extraordinary sense of smell, Grenouille becomes obsessed with procuring the perfect scent that will make him fully human."

I would have loved to read this book, but I couldn't tolerate the violent imagery. Still, the idea of a person born without a smell is deeply sad. The sense of smell clearly contributes to the survival of the species, and someone without a smell might indeed feel inhuman.

I'd really love it if a dog would weigh in on this topic.

I can't think of many better uses for quince than the following: foie gras with baked quince, courtesy of the New York Times:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/12/dinin ... ref=slogin

BR, great idea, but where to get foie gras? I used to get it at Fox & Obel once in awhile.

Josephine wrote:BR, great idea, but where to get foie gras? I used to get it at Fox & Obel once in awhile.

I suppose suburban stores still carry it, and of course, there's always CG&G.

HI,

I've heard Treasure Island carries foie gras. I think there is a thread where someone else was sourcing foie gras sometime ago. While it may not be in Chicago, it is in the suburbs.

Foodstuffs in Glencoe might be as source as well as Sunset Foods. Sunset will special order if it is not on hand.

Regards,

Cathy2 wrote:HI,

I've heard Treasure Island carries foie gras. I think there is a thread where someone else was sourcing foie gras sometime ago. While it may not be in Chicago, it is in the suburbs.

Foodstuffs in Glencoe might be as source as well as Sunset Foods. Sunset will special order if it is not on hand.

Regards,

I've sourced it from Foodstuffs before (Evanston & Glencoe) but I think they need to special order it. As long as that's the case, you can order it yourself, and probably save a few bucks by going direct.

=R=

Hudson Valley Foie Gras

Artisan Foie Gras