”Start as close to the end as possible,” suggested writer Kurt Vonnegut. Write something that does that without spoiling the ending. (Keep your reader hooked until that last line!)
We got back from the cinema and as we entered the house, I could see tendrils of steam rising through the air from the large pot on top of the stove. I could smell the sweet aroma of onions that have been gently sauteing in butter, there is a difference in the smell of onions sauteed in butter and onions sauteed in olive oil, the butter enhances the sweetness almost exponentially and that was what I was smelling. There was another distinct earthy aroma that was hearty as well, I was willing to bet that there was beef involved in a decadent relationship with those sweet onions.
As I was standing in the doorway, slowly divesting myself of the many layers of clothing that had been protecting my innards from the freezing temperatures, all of the distinct smells were successfully distracting me from any memory of being cold.
My nose picked up on another scent, this one was something that I rarely encountered except for special occasions where the men folk linger after a full meal with their cigars and digestif. The smell also brings to mind Crepes Suzette, the smoky scent that cuts through any richness and highlights the buttery notes of any dessert. Immediately after that scent dissipated, it was replaced by the familiar nutty smell that I have always associated with any grain that I have prepared in the past. The golden brown of a nutty Gruyere on tops of anything with the melted tendrils of the cheese delicately folding onto your tongue makes everything special.
I can’t wait to cross the threshold, put my nose over the pot and see the beauty with my eyes; the beauty that my nose has already experienced and introduced to my mind. The deliciousness of the soupe a l’oignon gratinee. French onion soup.