When I was younger, the happiest smell that emanated from my kitchen was that of bacon. Every Saturday morning I would lie in my incredibly comfy bed lined with the softest flannel sheets in the world. The moment after I wake up and took a deep breath and inhaled a big wiff of sizzling bacon is one I will never forget. It is a smell unlike any other. It is a mix of genuine joy and the feeling of warmth and comfort and typically extreme hunger. One morning soon after me and my brother had woken up, we raced to the kitchen in anticipation of the delicious breakfast waiting for us. The strong smells of bacon and eggs filled the house. We sat down in our chairs at the kitchen table and waited patiently. The smell of the bacon cooking on the stove was too smothering for us to sit there and watch it for one more second. We made eye contact and could read each other’s minds. "We need to get that bacon," we both silently thought. In an instant we both darted up from our chairs and made a bee line for my mom who was hovering over the stove. We give her our best and well rehearsed puppy dog eyes in an attempt to get even the littlest piece of heaven that was the bacon she was cooking. Our tactic worked, as it always did, and she gave us each a little strip.
Before shoving the bacon into our salivating mouths, we held them up to our little noses and took a deep breath hoping the smell would never fade. That smell was one that has stayed with me. It was the smell of family. It was the smell of joking around with my brother at the breakfast table all those mornings. It was the smell of love.