HOW FLAVOR DIFFERS FROM FRAGRANCE.
Throughout this volume I have used the word Flavor as if it were virtually synonymous with odor, fragrance, aroma. Strictly speaking, it is not, for taste usually enters as an ingredient; but from a gastronomic point of view the taste is usually so subordinate that it is almost negligible. To say it once more, we hardly enjoy vinegar unless it is fragrant, and while we like the taste of sugar we gladly pay from five to thirty times as much for it when it is flavored and sold as candy.
In the great Oxford Dictionary two definitions of the word flavor are given. It means, in the best literary usage, either a smell, odor, aroma, pure and simple; or it means "the element in the taste of a substance which depends on the coöperation of the sense of smell."
If asked for my own definition I should say that "flavor is the odor of a substance as perceived in breathing out through the nose while we are eating, and usually accompanied by a sweet, sour, salt, or bitter taste." This distinguishes flavor from fragrance, which we perceive in breathing in through the nose; as, the fragrance of a rose or a violet—and this is not accompanied by a taste.
A strawberry has both fragrance and flavor. Persons who cannot eat strawberries may still enjoy their fragrance, which is subtler and more delicious than the flavor. We must try to overcome the foolish prejudice against "smelling at things" (apples, oranges, etc.) at table; for the fragrance of foods also stimulates the appetite and thus helps digestion. When quinces or "pomegranates" (melon gourds) are ripe I often carry one in my pocket, so that I may enjoy its exquisite and beneficial fragrance after meals.
Cantaloupes, pineapples, pomelos (grapefruit), ripe peaches, and some apples and plums are fruits with a fragrance which is even more delicious than their flavor. In other cases—particularly cherries and pears—the flavor is much more important; and in some instances the fragrance is positively disagreeable while the flavor is exquisite.
This is true of the durion. Dr. Paludanus informs us that "to those not used to it, it seems at first to smell like rotten onions, but immediately they have tasted it they prefer it to all other food." The great naturalist, Alfred Russell Wallace, says of it in his great work on the Malayan Archipelago that "the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In fact, to eat durions is a rare sensation, worth a voyage to the East to experience."
I remember reading in the London "Telegraph," many years ago, an editorial, presumably by Sir Edwin Arnold, entitled "The King Is Eating Durions." It described His Majesty as being so completely absorbed in this task that his subjects had orders, on penalty of death, not to disturb him even if war should suddenly be declared. The natives give it honorable titles, exalt it, make verses on it. Cannot our Bureau of Plant Industry acclimate this gastronomic marvel somewhere within hailing distance?
Tobacco is one of those things the fragrance of which is more agreeable than the flavor. The time will come when smoking will be given up and tobacco simply burnt, like incense. That will make it harmless, although it will still be as offensive to some as to others it is delightful.