Ham.
They say that smell is the most evocative sense. They say that it's one of the last to go as you die. It can transport you cascading through the years to an exact moment in time. Tonight wasn't a tale of smell, though it did play a part.
I went into the city today. Not something I do a lot. Into a big supermarket. I wanted to buy some goods from there; trying to eek out the bawbees, this month as cash is tight.
The super market has a Polish section. I like Polish food. It's akin to Scottish and British food in general, in that it had to be honest and cheap. Growing up in the 60/70's my folks didn't have much. Sundays saw me peeling tatties for the week... to be kept in a pail of water and cooked up for pretty much every meal. A pot of broth would be restarted on that day too. Following the time honoured strata of additions 'till the softened pinwheels of leeks, pearl barley the kale floated to the top and it was time to sup, as we would for the next seven days from the same dutchy.
One of the treats was going to my grandparents and there we would get the odd tidbit as they'd worked and saved all their days. One of the tastes was I remembered it cried Bavarian Ham.
Why the Polish family that had flown to Scotland to escape the Germans (and been incarcerated for their flight) would be stocking something called Bavarian Ham I don't know. They stocked the most overly sweet home-made fudge and I remember having my first crush on the eldest daughter who worked the till. But they also stocked Bavarian Ham.
For a treat on a Saturday my Grandparents would do sandwiches on that most Scottish of bread with only crust on the top and bottom. It's the sort of bread that's been hurled down to Jock Thompsons bairns from windows since time immemorial in their waxed paper wrapper. Immortalised in the Jammy Piece song. These pieces would contain Bavarian Ham. It's a smoked ham with a hard dark rind. A taste that I haven't felt imbue my mouth in a generation.
But here in the Polish section was something cried Szynka Babuni. Now I hope the Polish members can set me straight but I think it translated to Grandmothers Ham? Here was a packet from a company called Sokolowskie that contained a 140g's of a ham that had a fine marbled and dark rimmed appearance of what I could make out as smoked loveliness.
On getting home I decided to watch an old movie from the period to set the scene. The Extraordinary Seaman staring David Niven. No bread, I opened some oatcakes, slivered off some old and tart cheddar, topping each one with a Marcelled wave of dark rimmed dusky pink ham. The smell as I'd opened the packet shot me back Quantum Leap like through the years, and as my mouth closed around the cold yielding ham, teeth cleaving through the crumbly cheese and splintering the friable rough oatcakes, I was back in my Grand-folks living-room, Monty the goldfish was picking up gravel, Rowan and Martins Laugh In was back on the telly we didn't have at home and I was a little kid again. The better read amongst you may talk of Proust and his Madallenes, but in that moment I surpassed NASA and all the research institutes, was thrown back four decades to Ivor Cutlers Life In A Scotch Living Room where the taste of a preserved European meat product was a little taste of life without borders and a step closer to heaven.
I should have probably stopped there. It sounded good. On the second bite it wasn't quite there, my time machine had a flaw. I've a good palate and I had an inclination that something had changed. On reading the rear of the packet I saw that there was a soy part to the ingredients, I don't know if this was the rogue element in my periodic table of time travel but the taste was off a tadge. Still for £1.60 a packet I'm sure that NASA would agree that travelling four decades/£1.60 is a darn good deal.
They say that smell is the most evocative sense. They say that it's one of the last to go as you die. It can transport you cascading through the years to an exact moment in time. Tonight wasn't a tale of smell, though it did play a part.
I went into the city today. Not something I do a lot. Into a big supermarket. I wanted to buy some goods from there; trying to eek out the bawbees, this month as cash is tight.
The super market has a Polish section. I like Polish food. It's akin to Scottish and British food in general, in that it had to be honest and cheap. Growing up in the 60/70's my folks didn't have much. Sundays saw me peeling tatties for the week... to be kept in a pail of water and cooked up for pretty much every meal. A pot of broth would be restarted on that day too. Following the time honoured strata of additions 'till the softened pinwheels of leeks, pearl barley the kale floated to the top and it was time to sup, as we would for the next seven days from the same dutchy.
One of the treats was going to my grandparents and there we would get the odd tidbit as they'd worked and saved all their days. One of the tastes was I remembered it cried Bavarian Ham.
Why the Polish family that had flown to Scotland to escape the Germans (and been incarcerated for their flight) would be stocking something called Bavarian Ham I don't know. They stocked the most overly sweet home-made fudge and I remember having my first crush on the eldest daughter who worked the till. But they also stocked Bavarian Ham.
For a treat on a Saturday my Grandparents would do sandwiches on that most Scottish of bread with only crust on the top and bottom. It's the sort of bread that's been hurled down to Jock Thompsons bairns from windows since time immemorial in their waxed paper wrapper. Immortalised in the Jammy Piece song. These pieces would contain Bavarian Ham. It's a smoked ham with a hard dark rind. A taste that I haven't felt imbue my mouth in a generation.
But here in the Polish section was something cried Szynka Babuni. Now I hope the Polish members can set me straight but I think it translated to Grandmothers Ham? Here was a packet from a company called Sokolowskie that contained a 140g's of a ham that had a fine marbled and dark rimmed appearance of what I could make out as smoked loveliness.
On getting home I decided to watch an old movie from the period to set the scene. The Extraordinary Seaman staring David Niven. No bread, I opened some oatcakes, slivered off some old and tart cheddar, topping each one with a Marcelled wave of dark rimmed dusky pink ham. The smell as I'd opened the packet shot me back Quantum Leap like through the years, and as my mouth closed around the cold yielding ham, teeth cleaving through the crumbly cheese and splintering the friable rough oatcakes, I was back in my Grand-folks living-room, Monty the goldfish was picking up gravel, Rowan and Martins Laugh In was back on the telly we didn't have at home and I was a little kid again. The better read amongst you may talk of Proust and his Madallenes, but in that moment I surpassed NASA and all the research institutes, was thrown back four decades to Ivor Cutlers Life In A Scotch Living Room where the taste of a preserved European meat product was a little taste of life without borders and a step closer to heaven.
I should have probably stopped there. It sounded good. On the second bite it wasn't quite there, my time machine had a flaw. I've a good palate and I had an inclination that something had changed. On reading the rear of the packet I saw that there was a soy part to the ingredients, I don't know if this was the rogue element in my periodic table of time travel but the taste was off a tadge. Still for £1.60 a packet I'm sure that NASA would agree that travelling four decades/£1.60 is a darn good deal.