I NOSE NEW YORK

It ain't pretty, but it's still the cheapest
breakfast in town.

 Some people who know New York only from the negative news stories will say our city
stinks. I am here to refute that. New York smells. 

I was reminded of that recently when passing by one of the countless breakfast carts that set up shop around 7:00 a.m. Their aroma -- make that pungency -- hasn't changed in the 43 years I've lived here, and probably from the 43 years before that. It in fact sends me back like a time machine to my first full day in the city on that July morning of 1981. 

Best described as cheap bacon, cheaper eggs, and bread product fried in enough grease to service all the cars in the Indy 500, the smell is at once tempting and revolting. Thousands of people consume those sandwiches every morning, along with the shoe-polish thick coffee that comes with it, suffering no ill-effect whatsoever. Familiar with my occasional intestinal non-fortitude, I've never tried the worker's breakfast, knowing full well it would make a hasty exit before I could find a decent public bathroom (of which there are few).

Stained teeth and bad breath.

Other smells from my early New York days have almost disappeared. In the early 1980s, there was still a lot of cigarette smoking going on here. Sometimes I could tell the brand was identical to the one many of my college friends' smoked -- Winstons. maybe. To this day I can always tell the difference between the college and the 1980s-era cigarettes that still drift through the air once in a while, along with the more current brands. If anyone can figure out how I can make a buck with that skill, drop me a line.

Similar moments happen with perfume. By and large, none of the perfume that passes my way makes any difference to me. But once in a while, the redolence from an older woman zooms me back to my 1960s childhood. Did my mother wear it? My sisters? Or is it what all women wore then? By the way, you think a slogan like Promise her anything, but give her Arpege would fly today? 

As with ciggies, in New York I occasionally get a hit of perfume straight from my college days. My girlfriend? Other girls I hung with? Impossible to say, but it was the mid-'70s for sure. When I mentioned this to my wife, she asked, "Was it Shalamar?" That's like asking a guy, "What color are my eyes?"

Now that's garbage.

Other smells include garbage on a hot summer day. An especially good example occurred many years ago when walking my daughter to the orthodontist. Although it was only 9:00 a.m. or so, the sun was already beating down like a Ginger Baker solo as we passed a large pile of... stuff. I don't know what it was exactly. The odor that wafted from it seemed to be a combination swill, fecal matter, week-old flounder, and vomit. 

Because of my sensitive olfactory talent, this stink hit me first. So naturally, I thought it a good time to pull a fast one on my daughter. "Ahh, smell this summer morning!" I sighed. She took a whiff and nearly passed out before slapping her hand on her face, "Oh my GOD!" came the muffled cry. "What is that?!"

"New York," I replied sagely. She wasn't impressed.

Good Lord, get me out of here!

There are other New York smells, ranging from subway stations to pizza parlors to the low-rent bars with open doors letting out the tempting aroma of stale beer. The flowering trees make a nice change, but usually cause me to react with itchy eyes, a congested throat or hearty sneezes. Why is it the nasty stuff doesn't do that to me? I must be a real New Yorker.

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