Happy birthday to the best dog in the world…

Streaka is 12 today!

Or…another reason why life is too short to eat crappy food.

A couple of years ago, I had a really bizarre set of experiences over a couple of weeks. Every few days, I’d awaken from a dead sleep by the smell of food. Not just any food, mind you; it was the smell of something I’d eaten the day before.

Lest you think this was just a rather bad case of dyspepsia, let me assure you that the experience was quite pleasant and had nothing to do with the release of any gastric gases. The first time it happened was the night following one of our “corned beef hash cook-off” dinners. There was one serving of hash leftover and, after we’d eaten, I wrapped it up, thinking it would make a fantastic breakfast the next day. I woke up in the middle of the night to the smell of the perfect corned beef hash. I could almost taste the crispness of the potatoes, the sweetness of the onions, and the saltiness of the beef. I drifted back to sleep, muttering to myself fuzzily that it wasn’t fair of someone to eat my breakfast in the middle of the night.

The next morning I pointedly accused someone of doing just that and was very surprised to learn that not only had no one been cooking up the leftover corned beef hash during the wee hours but my breakfast plans could go ahead unmolested, as the corned beef I’d smelled cooking the night before was still wrapped up in the fridge.

I put it off as an odd dream.

That is, until a few nights later, when I was awakened by the smell of the most buttery, rich, and (dare I say it) perfect caramel. If Plato had crawled out of his cave and had some caramel while out in the sunlight, it would have tasted how that caramel scent smelled to me. You guessed it…the day before I’d had a single caramel from a confectionery in Berkeley.

At this point, the chances that it was “just a dream” were dwindling. In fact, I was sure I was dying of a brain tumour.  (I’ve always thought that, if one is going to fantasize in a hypochondriac manner, one should “go big or go home!”)

Only one more nocturnal olefactory awakening occurred for me and, as I’d eaten nothing particularly fantastic the day before, it was the smell of coffee that woke me. Now, I love the smell of a good pot of coffee brewing but as I do tend to associate it with the smell of skunks, the experience wasn’t quite as wonderful as the corned beef hash or caramel hallucinations.

After that…nothing. If I’d had a brain tumour, I’d gotten better awfully quickly.

Until this morning, that is. Last night I’d braised some pork shoulder in sauerkraut and white wine and, sure enough, in the wee hours this morning, I was awakened by the archetypal smell of that meal. It smelled so good…

This time around, I’ve decided that, rather than wandering off in some sort of hypochondriac haze, I’m going to make the most of my brain’s synesthetic confusion. Until it stops, I plan on eating only the most wonderful things I can think of, in the hopes that I get to experience their essence the night following.

So far today, I’ve gone with carnitas (alas, this batch wasn’t as good as the usual carnitas from this source so I’m hoping that it’s not on the short list for nocturnal smells) and an orange and ginger-flavoured fruit gel.

I’m rooting for the fruit gel…