Can't you smell that smell?

I guess I'm out of touch with current trends and basically uncouth and white trash when it comes to cologne, but I like the smell of Old Spice. I still like British Sterling and Hai Karate, Brut, and the clean scent of Brylcreem. I also like Lava soap and Mrs. Butterworth syrup, regardless of what it does or tastes like and I've tasted both, believe me.

Butch wax is still a smell like none other and if I caught a whiff of it today, I'd say, "What, that's Butch wax." It is akin to vanilla extract; there's nothing like it. Now I was at Como en Mexico the other day to get some authentic Mexican ice cream and I got a generous dip of Rum Raisin and I looked up and said, "Why this tastes like egg nog." Now whether it tastes like egg nog to anyone else, is relative, right, but that's what it tastes like to me. On second thought, what exactly is a nog anyway?

When I was in Southeast Asia, on more than one occasion I was around the odor of burning opium. It has a very peculiar smell and once you've been exposed to it, you would never mistake it for something else. The closest smell to it in my olfactory memory bank is slightly burnt peanut brittle.

Have you ever noticed how a certain smell can launch you back in time to a certain place or event? It may not have been anything to remember, except the smell took you there. The smell of fresh cement always sends me to Cleveland, Ohio when I was visiting my Aunt Jean. I was very small and riding a tricycle on the sidewalk near her house and cement workers were pouring forms. It is a very pleasant memory.

Certain ailments can give us bloodhound smell abilities and almost everything smells either way too strong or repulsive. I went through this not too long ago after doing a 32 day mega-blitz of prednisone. Coming down off that stuff took about 5 nauseating days of smelling everything magnified and very little of it was pleasant. I remember passing a couple of ladies in my favorite grocery store on North Main and their flowery perfume almost gave me nose rickets!

Have you ever noticed how some kids often complain about certain smells being too strong? We dismiss it, but what they are trying to tell us is they have magnified smelling ability and we don't recognize it. To me, it would be a curse to be able to smell 100 times what I currently can. Imagine your neighbor coming in from work and you pick up on every odor they've been exposed to for the last 12 hours.  Pee-you!

I knew a lady who was in a car wreck and after that, she lost all sense of smell. Food lost its appeal and she ate rice with the same amount of enthusiasm that she did spicy Mexican food. Another curse! If this happened to Charlie Farrar, his love of super hot chow-chow would be gone and he would lose something precious and be boring.

Hawaiian surf!  That was the name of the (cheap) cologne I bought when I was a senior in high school (yes, I bought it with money I earned working). Man, I thought I smelled like something a female couldn't resist and then the Air Force sent me to Montana and the Great Plains where there was purportedly a woman behind every tree. I never had a chance to prove it's worth. No trees and no women. Of course at 18, I was as clumsy around the fairer sex as I am now, so maybe I really needed that cologne. It's too late, they discontinued it just like the Hollywood candy bars I loved so much.

I worked a couple of years in a restaurant ran by a Greek and he told me that burnt food spells catastrophe in a restaurant. "If it ever happens, scrape the grill, throw butter and onions on it and within minutes, people's mouth will be watering."

Geeze, I don't ever want to loose any of my senses and it does look like my hearing is taking a hit, but to lose my sense of smell would be tragic. I remember being around cows as a kid and not realizing cow manure had an offensive odor to many people. It just smelled like grass and cows to me. To tell the truth, I kind of like it.

I heard that savvy real estate agents will bake cookies in the house they are showing and folks immediately want that house. Well, it sounds like a good idea to me, because I like cookies and have been known to eat a wide variety when given the chance. Throw in a cup of black coffee and I'll sign the papers.

Each of us have a signature smell or odor if you will. If you don't believe it, ask your dog. Many of us mask it with unnecessary deodorant, but it is a very subtle part of our identity and one that each of us with a partner unwittingly enjoy. That is the one smell that is the most precious to me and the one I never want to lose.

The Fajita Del Mar Conundrum

Chipotle Shrimp

Have you ever experienced an imbalance in the solar system or a paranormal occurrence when ordering a meal at one our fine Baytown restaurants?  I might not be correctly identifying what we experienced with any degree of accuracy.  It could have been a dub-step in the space-time continuum, or some bizarre sequence of miscommunication on a grand scale; whatever it was, it has never happened before and hopefully, won’t happen again.

My Bride and I had a hankering for some delicious Mexican food and it may be argued that the large restaurant on the main drag with the big sign and the beautiful architecture doesn’t serve authentic Mexican food, but it does indeed, according to my discerning palate. 

We elected to sit out on the patio, as it was about 75 degrees F. out with a nice breeze and low humidity.  “Wow, it is really nice out here,” I said, looking around and my beautiful bride agreed.  It was our first time under the open sky and we liked it already – we just didn’t have a clue that Jupiter, or Mercury, or maybe even Saturn was pulling a strong magnetic invisible force against us.

“I’m starving!” my bride exclaimed.  I knew for a fact that all she had for breakfast was one banana and I forsook from my normal healthy breakfast of boudin, mustard, and onions and ate oatmeal with walnuts and raisins.

“I could eat an entire rack of endangered Sumatran rhinoceros ribs with a side order of whooping crane,” I remarked and thumped my rib cage for effect.  “Where are the chips and dips?” I said; looking around, ready to begin tough-grubbing.  I casually noted the arrival of a steady stream of customers, including an entire tour bus, but not to worry.  We were already seated.  Our chips were surely on their way.

Now on the million other occasions we’ve been there, the chips usually arrive before you can get seated real good and pull out your Smartphone to check your social status.  Fifteen minutes passed and the waitress arrived and we told her we were ready to order.

I’ll be forthright and come out and say that I “don’t order anything I can’t pronounce!” which incidentally isn’t true, but I love to say it to anyone who will listen. 

However, we were literally starving, so I cut out my usual witty anecdotes and butchering the King’s Spanish, I ordered a numbero unoh, and pointed at the chipotle shrimp.  My bride is much more cultured than I and speaking what sounded to me like Castilian Spanish, gave offered her request.  The African-American lady taking the order was impressed, I could tell.

“Uh, we never got the chips and dips, ma’am”  I said and nodded my head side to side, which due to the fact that I was famished, made me nauseous and a bit dizzy.

She assured me she would get on it immediately and departed to get us “some dip”.  Another ten minutes passed and the chips miraculously appeared in the hands of one of the wait staff.  I say that because I didn’t see them until they were standing by the table with the delicious appetizer.

 

We had just about consumed the bowl of tortilla chips and dip when our food arrived at the hands of a new waitress – well, my food arrived.  My bride’s meal was not what she ordered.  Aghast, the waitress announced she would return with the correct meal.  “Uh, we never got our drinks also.  One sweet tea and one unsweet tea, ma’am.”

“Heavens!  I’ll be right back!”  To her credit, she bounded off like a kangaroo, except in a figurative sense.  Ten quick minutes later, her delicious Tex-Mex victuals arrived and five minutes later our drinks.  I could feel a strange quiver of paranormal activity, or maybe some of those CO2 emissions I’ve read so much about in the atmosphere, but ignoring the skin tingles, continued to dig into my numbero unoh meal with gusto.   

As the new waiter set down the drinks, we noticed there were no delicious packets of artificial sweetener on the table, or that there wasn’t no “gwacklemoley or picro de gano”, as I attempted to pronounce it, accompanying my bride’s meal.

The eager to please bringer of our tasty food zipped off and came back about five minutes later and we completed our dining experience without further atmospheric or 6^th dimensional disturbances.  I can safely attest that none of these things have ever happened in this finery to my personal knowledge and the food was totally satisfying and delicious.  The obvious answer was the wait staff was simply over-whelmed by the incredible number of patrons – or something very strange was happening in...the Force.

Enter the manager.  When this fine gentleman caught wind of our culinary dilemma, he personally came to our table and explaining the circumstances as extra-ordinary, promptly reduced our bill to the point that it embarrassed my bride.  She placed a ten dollar bill on the table as a generous tip and we left, fat and happy.  Will we be back?  You better believe it!