"Oh, my god," my co-worker spins around the corner and is at my desk, "I miss pizza rolls, you guys, pizza rolls. What kind of a junk food freak did I become?!"
She is speaking in a volume that, to her seems normal, but it is, in fact loud enough to disturb the whole office. The three of us look up and kindly wait for her to continue.
"I mean, I'm on this new diet..." (Yes, how could we forget...) "And, it's like I can only eat sticks and heated chicken breast, god, it's killing me."
To entertain her effort in coming over and trying to engage us, I say, "Pizza rolls, huh? That's the one thing you miss?"
Her eyes get big, "Yes!" She slams a flat palm on my desk for emphasis.
After more of a loud and somewhat meaningless discussion, my co-worker is content to go back to her office, and I am left, strangely, with the thought of Totino's Pizza Rolls. I think of their odd box shape, drab color, and entirely unappetizing appearance in general. But, as another co-worker warms his tortilla soup in the microwave and the smell wafts softly through the office, I swear I smell those piping hot little precious stones and a flood of memories course through my head. "Is someone cooking pizza rolls?" I ask my co-worker as he comes back into our office.
He makes an exaggerated pause, looks at me, and then silently mouths, "I knoooow" while rolling his dark eyes back.
I smile sheepishly and turn back to my computer. I am SURE I smell Totino's Pizza Rolls now. I imagine the gooey, partially liquified cheese and those pimento-like pieces of "pepperoni" never staying neatly packed inside that greasy crust as advertised; the contents of each roll spilling out with each bite and burning your chin over and over. The strangest part happens when I start to feel annoyed that this woman in my office called these treasures junk food.
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My brother had, I'm sure, the utmost pleasure of driving me home from school in my years of 8th and 9th grade. We were two very different people, but I admit, I always felt a little proud when my brother would tear into the school parking lot littered with minivans and parents, swiftly navigate his way through the mess blaring music I never recognized, but sounded damn cool, and all my girlfriends would swoon. I would hop in the car, wave to my friends, and then we would whisk away like we were never there.
An interest in music is something both he and I shared and I loved the days he felt like making conversation with me. He would play a new band he liked in the car for my opinion and we'd laugh about songs played on the radio. We had our "staple" bands- bands we owned literally everything and anything they touched or recorded. His was Nine Inch Nails from way back when I was small, and I had my obsession with The Smashing Pumpkins. We would listen to music I thought was so advanced- Pop Will Eat Itself, KMFDM, but then we'd also relax with some Offspring and Weezer. I loved the way he would trust my opinions and we could talk the whole ride home.
When Mike's car would pull into the driveway home, my heart would sink a little at the thought that our conversation would end and we would be back to being mild, silent roommates again. Once in ever while, I think he thought the same thing and would spontaneously deem it "DQ and Pizza Roll day." When this suggestion was brought up, I never declined. We would drive down to our local Dairy Queen where I would order my childhood favorite- "Medium Hot Fudge Sundae with extra hot fudge" and then we would go to the grocery store for those delectable Totino's Pizza Rolls. As my hair blew in the wind and hot fudge stained my lips, we would drive back home where we could sit and talk more while the pizza rolls baked in the oven.
At home, I'd sit on the counter top, scraping the last of my sundae away from the plastic cup while my brother would confide in me about this new girl he liked and the math teacher from hell. I would hang on his every word and feel pride as he asked for my input. The pizza rolls sizzled and hissed in the oven as we talked. Finally, when they were scalding hot, he would remove them and we would laugh as we tried to eat those ridiculous things, burning our chins, squirting out the mystery ingredients, and smiling. After successfully devouring the entire package, it was time for my brother to retreat to his room silently, we would become our very different selves again, and I might not see him until the next school day afternoon.
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I find that I have been blankly staring at my computer, eyes a little glazed over as I'm remembering that nostalgic smell, though the odor in the office is clearly tortilla soup and whatever weird concoction our dieting co-worker has most likely burned by now. I decide that I should blog about this experience because I think it must be meaningful somehow. I figure I am not alone in having a connection to someone almost entirely remembered by a thought that leads to a smell. If I hadn't heard the words, "pizza roll," today would I have had the luxury of revisiting this cobwebbed yet bright spot in the back of my mind this afternoon?
If you're interested, please leave your meaningful food/smell story down in the comments section. I would love to see what makes anyone else feel the way I do today.
Love,
gini
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