Growing up in Rhode Island, grocery shopping consisted of several stops. Friday nights my mom would take me to the regular local grocery store for the basic essentials, bread, milk and eggs. It was the Saturday morning trips that always felt like an adventure. We would drive into Providence to go to the Chinese markets. One for seafood – which I dreaded because of the fish market smells and quite frankly the crabs and fish eyes scared the hell out of me when I was younger -and another Chinese market right across the street from the fish market for vegetables. The last stop would be the small Indian stores for more vegetables. If it wasn’t a seafood weekend, it was most likely a chicken weekend. For that we’d travel to the famous Federal Hill in Providence where we’d go to Antonelli’s Poultry, the only live poultry store in Rhode Island.
There is a scent that is so familiar that no matter where I am I feel like I’m home. The aromas of the spices mixing together in the air feels like your walking though a foreign spice market. Your nose tickles and you breath in to almost taste the food. The smell of my family’s chicken curry. The anticipation of eating my most favorite Indian dish is the same every time, as if I was a small child waiting for dinner time. It means home, it means family, it is nostalgia at its finest.