For the month of January, I’m participating in Bloganuary, a daily blogging challenge.
Today’s Bloganuary prompt:
Do you have a memory that’s linked to a smell?
Dill. Hands down, without question. The smell of dill makes me think of my maternal grandmother. Baba, as I lovingly referred to her, was a tremendous cook of traditionally Jewish food.
Her matzoh ball soup was unrivaled in its deliciousness. And it’s the smell of dill permeating the house, while the soup simmered, that immediately brings up memories of her.
Typically, she did all the cooking. But on a couple rare occasions, I remember helping her. Like that time I stood on a stool so that I was tall enough to work beside her at the counter, filling dough circles with meat mixture, folding it over, and pinching the ends to make kreplach (Jewish dumplings). Or, gasp, when I was allowed to help her roll a couple of matzoh balls.
To this day, any time I use dill in my cooking, she comes to mind. And I think about how my bond to her has only strengthened after her passing, how proud she’d be of me, and how impressed she’d be in my ability to modify her invisible recipes to be vegan-friendly.