The sorrow and the curry

Oh sweet heaven, elder daughter is having a curry week. I loathe curry and am sickened by the stench of it. Elder daughter and the Resident Fan Boy love curry and thus experience the smell as an aroma. Younger daughter has not expressed an opinion, nor seems to notice.

I had an inkling that this would be a problem from the get-go. When I cook the Christmas tourtières, the fragrance lingers for a week -- the thing is, nobody minds because to my children, it's how Christmas smells.

Elder daughter tried to mitigate the curry odour by cooking a week's worth of work lunches while we were out at a concert, but I was bludgeoned by the smell on our return. I spent the better part of an hour before going to bed deodorizing the kitchen drains with salt, vinegar and baking soda, then scrubbing out the burners and stove top. I even had the RFB take out the compost, and wiped out the container.

Still my eyes burned, and the back of my throat constricted. I took herbal sleeping aids to deaden my senses, but woke up with the stale ghost of curry in my mouth. Soon I was driven out into the misty morning, gulping in the rain-washed air, and half-wishing it would sprinkle inside our house. From the safety of a coffee shop, I cudgelled my brain for a solution. I am morally opposed to those so-called air fresheners that claim to clean your house of pet-smells and cooking fish-smells, but I was desperate, so marched to the supermarket, searched out the most neutral spray, and, opening windows throughout the house, went after the curtains, furniture, and carpets that I suspected of harbouring and prolonging the stink. It seemed to help a little, though I could still detect a stubborn whiff in the area of the stove.

Elder daughter went out to play board-games with friends (that's a thing these days), and texted her father, complaining about the spray I'd used, and would the smell be gone by the time she got home?

It was, but the curry carried on.

This morning, elder daughter reheated one of her curry dishes to pack it for work. The smell, as predicted, has lingered, but not with the acridity of the weekend.

I hate to deprive her of what is obviously a culinary delight, but I have to live here too, and it's not like I haven't had to make sacrifices over the years. Maybe she can go curry-crazy when I'm in Victoria for the summer?