For many years, vanilla has given me comfort. When I used to work in Dubai, I’d bake a batch of simple, un-iced vanilla cupcakes on Sunday mornings (the week there begins on Sunday), then take them to an office that pretty much devours me the entire day and leaves me for dead. But as soon as I return home, I could still smell the vanilla that had been trapped in my kitchen since my departure that morning. That alone wipes away the stresses of my day. When I’m not baking, I light vanilla candles. I normally don’t run out of them.
It was only early this year that I decided to pick up something new to go with my usual vanilla tealights from Ikea. They were bigger, heavier votives in glass, dark chocolate in color and gave off the sweetest scent of apples that had been cloaked in cinnamon.
I have since moved back to Manila. No Ikea candles here. The closest I can get to replicating that wonderful perfume is by cranking up that oven and making some good ol’ apple pies. Remembering that I seriously dislike doing the dishes, I’m making them strictly hand-held.
So with the apples, brown sugar and cinnamon bubbling away inside the oven, as expected I caught a waft of something decidedly familiar. Oh the memories resurrecting! Cliche as it may sound, I am wrapped in some serious fuzz right now.
xxx
Karima
