Funnel Cake in Salt Lake City.
The year was 2007. I had come out to Provo, Utah to visit my sister who was studying at BYU. We enjoyed a Thanksgiving break full of adventures including but not limited to eating pizza, driving through beautiful valleys, a trip to Salt Lake City, hiking, and a Polish-speaking roommate drinking water from the far side of a glass while standing on her head.
While in Salt Lake, we could not but notice the unavoidable smell of funnel cake wafting through the urban air. We could not get away from the delicious fried scents —you know how powdered sugar doesn’t really have a smell, but you can tell if something has powdered sugar on it just by smelling it? Yeah, this funnel cake that had tactfully invaded our nostrils with its odor had been dusted with powdered sugar— we couldn’t get away, even by going into the buildings on Temple Square. It was as if the entire ventilation system of a few city blocks had been pumped with squirt waffles.
Our grandfather gave us a call while we were out and we mentioned the wonderful smell of fritters. All he said was, “That’s how they get you!”
Now when I cross campus, drive down the highway, sit in my apartment—wherever I may be, if I smell the marvels of funnel cake, I am transported through time and space to Salt Lake City in 2007. I’m with my sister. We’re on the phone with our grandfather. And all we can smell is funnel cake.