The Scent Remembers When

(Food Feeds the Soul.)

Trisha Yearwood sang, “The Song Remembers When,” yet in my life, it is the scent that harbors memories.

My childhood brimmed with few joys, yet the aroma that filled my grandparents' home every Sunday morning is etched deep within me. The scent of my grandmother’s “red gravy” (spaghetti sauce)—whether it had slow-simmered the day before or was freshly made that morning—greeted me with a tight embrace as I stepped through her door, instantly igniting a hunger that caused my stomach to twist and shout with anticipation.

Sunday meals were a feast of red gravy with meatballs, bourguignon, Italian sausage, or roast, all accompanied by “Sunday macaroni”—rigatoni to anyone outside our family circle. This, complemented by sides like stuffed artichokes, Italian salad, and a green bean and artichoke casserole, created what were, unquestionably, the finest meals I have ever enjoyed. Above all, the red gravy was the showstopper, the centerpiece around which our family gathered.

Whenever I prepare my grandmother’s red gravy recipe, I am often moved to tears. It might not taste exactly like hers—perhaps nothing ever could—but the smell is an exact echo that transforms my home into a sacred space filled with memories of past laughter, shared embraces, and collective joy. This scent is not just a reminder of my grandmother’s delicious meals but a testament that there were some good times and that there definitely was love.

My grandmother’s food nourished us in every sense—our bodies and spirits. She infused each dish with love, and she reveled in the sight of her family united at her table. I like to think she knows how deeply her culinary legacy still affects me as I pour every bit of love into every meal I prepare for my family. Because of her, I KNOW I’m not just filling their stomachs.

Cheers to all who nourish the souls of others with their labors of love, whose memories we carry in the scents they leave behind.