Taste and smell have the ability to transport us in the past. As a child, I felt the distinct difference between the cities of Continental Europe and the towns of Ireland, not least because of the cozy smell of turf fires covering the streets and lanes. The earthiness of inhaling the odors of dozens of fireplaces glowing with smoldering turf that had probably been cut not long ago remains one of those childhood memories that stick with me.
Closely related to the experience of strolling down a small town street at dusk and seeing the smoke from the chimneys is the taste of freshly baked Irish soda bread. My grandmother used to bake it for us. It looked very different from the factory wonderbread that was good for toast but for little else. Fluffy and white, this concoction of modern food engineering had little taste and nutritional value. You could actually moisten it and use it to stop the draught seeping into the room through the windows. Primarily, we ate it for breakfast, neatly cut into triangles, with a dab of jam.
But the real stunner turned out to be the homemade granny bread. Rich in texture and full of healthy grains, it tasted like nothing else. She usually cut it in thick slices, filling your mouth with a big bite meant you weren't able to talk for a while. Which was just as well because you enjoyed the wholesome taste of the soda bread and the salty Irish butter on top of it. A cup of tea, and you were ready to face the adventures of Ireland!
