There’s strong evidence to back up the repeated scientific claim that our sense of smell is the one with the best connection to our memories.

That strong evidence is my own light switch that flips on whenever I smell fresh-baked biscuits. A light switch that turns on the decades-old bulb so that I can see my mother pulling a sheet pan of that breakfast bread from the old gas oven. It was a small stove that was in the kitchen of our home in Ashdown, Arkansas.

When I smell bacon or sausage today, I still can see and smell them. She used to fry both to go with the biscuits and gravy that were the base of the Southern food pyramid. All of these filled our stomachs for the day ahead.

At school, we had a choice. Brown bag it, or take 15-cents and buy a hot lunch in the cafeteria. Often, I took my lunch. Not because school lunches weren’t good, but because what my mom made was better.

There is a distinct smell to a baloney sandwich that was made with a thick slab of baloney from Shur-Way Grocery. A hometown store with a meat market that was second-to-none. That meat was surrounded by Miracle Whip and two pieces of Holsom or Wonder Bread.

Of course, no respectable baloney sandwich is part of a complete meal unless it has a bag of Fritos. Way before there were Ziploc Bags, there were Saran Wrap bags. You had to fold them just right so that your Fritos didn’t get stale or spill out into your lunch box. The smell of Fritos then was stronger and more distinct than it seems to be today. Maybe that’s an illusion distorted by time, or maybe I’m right. I suspect that the government has gotten into our Fritos and removed whatever it was that made them less greasy and more flavorful than they are now.

Either way, the smell of Fritos then still hangs with me today in a way that new Fritos can’t cancel out.

Even the smell of my lunch box had a distinctiveness. The white plastic had a pungent odor when it was new that faded somewhat, but lasted the rest of the school year.

In the late 1960s, lunch boxes were cool, and usually covered with a big celebrity, movie star, or cartoon character of the day. Mine had The Banana Splits, which was a live-action Saturday morning show. Hindsight, it was a goofy program. At the time, it was neat.

I always knew that when I opened its lid, I’d soon be eating a great-smelling baloney sandwich.

Sometimes, my grandmother would pick me up from school. I could always tell which of her friends had been in her car by the remnants of the perfume, which filled the Ford station wagon that seemed 30-feet long.

“Was Mrs. Arnette in your car today?” I’d ask.

“Yes, why do you ask?” my grandmother would respond.

“It smells like her in here,” I’d say.

The same was true about other ladies. They each had their own aromatic stamp that indicated they were either nearby or had been.

Mrs. Arnette smelled like flowers that had been dowsed in honey. A sweet smell that some of the other ladies also wore, but you rarely encounter today.

Years ago, I ran across some items at an estate sale. The minute that smell hit my nostrils, I immediately thought of Mrs. Arnette. It was definitely the same scent she had worn.

It made me smile.

She sat in back of and to the left of my grandmother in church and she always had Juicy Fruit Gum in her purse. If you smiled and said please, she was always good for a piece of gum for any kid who asked.

I still think of Mrs. Arnette whenever I smell Juicy Fruit.

There are men in my past who come to mind because of the cologne they wore. My grandfather wore Aqua Velva. Some of the other guys wore everything from Old Spice to Brut to English Leather.

All three were aptly named. That’s exactly what each smell represented.

One of the most distinct smells that draws memories is the popcorn my mom popped on top of that old gas stove.

No one had a fancy air popper or any type of modern popcorn device. We all made it the old fashioned way. We put some butter in the bottom of a big pan with a lid, placed the right amount of kernels in the pan, put a lid on it, and shook the pot above the burner until it all popped and the lid bulged with fresh corn.

We’d sit in the living room and watch The Wonderful World of Disney, while sharing a big bowl of homemade popcorn.

It was way better than any movie popcorn.

The scientific claim that smell is the strongest of the senses when it comes to memories is true. And I’m grateful for it. The simple smells can bring back special memories. Brut and English Leather I could do without. But that popcorn was something else.

 

©2025 John Moore

John’s books, Puns for Groan People and Write of Passage: A Southerner’s View of Then and Now Vol. 1 and Vol. 2, are available on his website TheCountryWriter.com, where you can also send him a message.