Baking Potatoes

The smell of baking potatoes is one of the nicest things to come home to. It smells of warmth and comfort and safety. Like most of my favourite smells, I have memories hung on this one, which amplify my enjoyment of it.

 The smell of jacket potatoes reminds me of being a very little girl. My mum would leave potatoes in the oven to bake while we were shopping in town; when we got home, lunch would be ready. I don’t remember much about eating the potatoes, but I remember that smell, the comfort of it when I was tired and cold, the way it rushed out at us like an excitable puppy as soon as we opened the front door.

The anticipation of the crispy skin and a hot, crumbly centre oozing with melted butter just about tops the eating. But the smell, the anticipation, that’s all part of it. And that’s there, even now, whenever I bake a potato.

Monkey by Kieran Hazell (www.ownbeat.co.uk)