‘Smelly food isn’t all bad.’ Discuss.
The work-lunch habits of Nathan, a food-obsessed co-worker, once inspired HR to ping out a carefully penned memo to @all. The subject line said something about breakroom etiquette.
‘Please refrain from bringing strong-smelling foodstuffs into work,’ the email body read. ‘Such include but are not exclusive to aged cheese, boiled or fermented cabbage and mushrooms.’
Nathan was first to reply. ‘You forgot hotdog water, Linda.’ Shameless.
I suppose any naturally occurring stinks are the universe’s way of reminding our mouths not to go near their sources, lest you suffer ill health or HR judgement. But the gratification some foul-smelling food offers the palate makes it worth the consequences. A bit like Linda, Mother Nature may not always be exhaustive in her communications.
Cheesy does it
Smell is one of the most powerful conjurers of memory, evoking images of long-lost kitchens or forgotten forest floor.
Every time I come back home from Glastonbury, the smell of peeled-off welly socks vividly reminds me of childhood summers in Malta. My week-old foot secretions (no less after they’ve non-stop partied with mud-filled boot germs) could probably create a lethal enough gas to pique the interest of a disreputable government. But to me, the scent would distinctly paint the picture of good old Uncle Marcel, a short and stout family friend from Dijon.
Each summer, as a token of gratitude for my parents’ hospitality, Marcel would bring down a wheel of èpoisses de Bourgogne — an unpasteurised cow’s cheese from his neck of the woods. Albeit fetid, this cream of the dairy gods is pasty, bold, nutty and very moreish. In preparation, its rind is washed and soaked in brandy before it is smear-ripened with a variety of fermentation moulds. Marcel would combine a 6-hour train and air journey with a legendary grin to signal nonchalant awareness of (on account of its violent stench) a French public-transport ban on èppoisses. Liberté, egalité, èppoisses.
The figurative association between the smell of cheese and socks is not new. But any cheese lover will admit that noses are usually capable of discerning one from the other. Nevertheless, I am stubbornly convinced that even on a molecular level, the smell of my putrid festival wellies faithfully clones Uncle Marcel’s delicious cheese. If you’re not buying this, ask science. The washed-rind process in èpoisses creates the perfect environment for a colony of microbes to settle and contribute to its colour, flavour and smell. One of the culprits in this process, the ominously named brevibacterium linens, breaks down cheese protein, which in turn results in the release of stinky gases.
Enter brevibacterium epidermis, a naughty cousin who works in the same trade. Albeit not a big fan of cheese, this guy has a wild foot fetish and is known for enjoying a good afterparty within the confines of a Glasto boot. Turns out the melange of gaseous release from old socks is pretty much the same as that of stinky cheese.
The truth about cabbage
Mother Nature was very keen on getting the right message across with this one. Stick your nose into a broken leaf of freshly picked cabbage and discover the fragrance of nature’s raw power: crisp, vegetal and slightly peppery. Overcook it and that rich country-life bouquet backslides into the pong of an old dog’s fart.
Cabbages are known for enjoying their structural integrity. Ripping their leaves off will provoke their defence systems to release the kraken, a ‘mustard oil bomb’ that includes the component glucosinolate. This chemical accounts for the exquisite smell that simultaneously holds the power of cheating a caterpillar into instant death. Conversely, glucosinolate is somewhat of an elixir for humans. Without it, cabbage becomes useless in defending us against cancer, hindering swelling or protecting brain cells. And if that weren’t enough, Glucosinolate in cabbage produces an enzyme that works as a powerful antioxidant and antimicrobial.
Cooking cabbage makes it easier to digest. Boil it, fry it, microwave it even, and you’re still likely get a good fix of Vitamins C and K. Glucosinolate, however, withers with heat. In fact, a 2021 Reading University study demonstrates that microwaving cabbage will reduce glucosinolate by 90%. Stir-frying it will kill off 70%. On the bright side, a light two-minute steam will only tax it at 3%.
The eau de latrine that pervades the air when your neighbour cooks the living daylights out of a minestrone is due to a release of hydrogen sulfide, a stern warning against dying glucosinolate. Not surprisingly, this is the same compound responsible for putridity in rotten egg and flatulence.
The cost of not digging mushrooms
I get it. Mushrooms are weird. ‘They grow from rot and thrive on death,’ as Angela Scanlon wits it. And let’s not forget that oyster mushrooms and laceras even smell of semen. ‘Spermatic’, even, if you’re pedantic about foraging terms.
If you ever wondered why mushrooms are mildly reminiscent of your brother’s bedsheets in later adolescence, this is down to a naturally occurring amino acid that is present in both fungi and male ejaculate. It goes by the name of ergothionene and is known for its mildly sulfuric, amine smell.
Interestingly, its health benefits are not to be sneezed at. A natural antioxidant, ergothionene will supposedly reduce inflammation and lower the risk of heart disease. And although its other health advantages still need to be properly assessed, the substance is sometimes used to relieve joint pain, cataracts and diabetes.
So, if you dislike mushrooms but care about your well-being, you now know of an alternative. You’re welcome.
