4: perambulatory

I like to walk through the neighbourhood in the five or six o’clock hour and spy nasally on what all of the different houses are cooking for dinner. Usually what I think I can smell is highly dependent on what I’m hungry for myself: lately, not having eaten meat in roughly a month, I imagine savory wafts of fancy chicken dinners curling out of every open window. Yesterday I thought I caught the smell of my mother’s famous meatball soup from the three-story corner house and I stood, transfixed, frozen, suddenly starving not for food but for home.

Personal appetites have no foothold on Sundays, though. I think that Sunday might, as a rule, be garlic night in Oakland, because every time I go walking on a Sunday evening it’s garlic, garlic, garlic everywhere! I’m always a bit concerned that my hair has picked up the scent of it by the time I get home. I can be all about an ultra-garlicky pizza or cesar salad every once in a while, but smelling it on every streetcorner makes me feel a bit vampiric in the aversion that rises in my chest.

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~ by Not Alice on November 4, 2007.

One Response to “4: perambulatory”

  1. I LOVE garlic. Love the flavor, love the scent. I wouldn’t mind coming home smelling of garlic after a walk, and I really do like the smell of it that clings to my fingers after I cook with the stuff.

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