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SmellyBlog

Trends in Banana Flavouring

Candy Bracelet by Macrografiks
Candy Bracelet, a photo by Macrografiks on Flickr.
I remember the dramatic moment, when I discovered that my toddler daughter can recognize flavour (and therefore, scent). She was eating one of those candy bracelets as pictured above, and after chewing the yellow one, exclaimed: "Banana". In my days, the yellow ones were lemon flavoured. But after tasting one myself - I realized she was right, and the yellow was, indeed, banana flavoured.

How interesting, that a child who could barely learn words or symbols can associate such a plastic-like aroma and chalky-texture of "banana" with the real thing (for those of you who don't know me quite well, my daughter has autism, a neurological disorder which affects all areas of life, but first and foremost - language and socialization). I was amazed, puzzled and more than little curious...

Banana Beach Treat

My first personal encounter with the olfactro-gastronomic "banana" as an abstract (and, let's face it, fake) concept of the true fruit was on the beached of Bat Yam (a suburb of Tel Aviv), around the age of 3. It looked exactly like the ice cream bar in the above photo, and tasted about as remote from the real thing as possible. If anything, it perhaps was somewhat similar to baked bananas. But not really... All the same, I loved its creamy texture, cool frozen cream in faux-chocolate coating that crumbled under one's teeth in an instant. If you haven't tasted this before, try to get a hold of Comptoir Sud Pacifique's Vanille Banane, which is like a wild ride at the country fair, holding very little grasp in reality...


This banana flavouring trend persevered in the flavour world for decades, with more modern variations being only slightly more sophisticated, for example - Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream, which is based on the aroma of banana bread, with the addition of crunchy walnuts and gritty frozen chocolate shavings, for added interest. More recently, my daughter and I have become addicted to Murchie's Coconut Cream Banana flavoured black tea. It's a wonderful affair of deep and smooth black tea, paired with freshly baked banana bread spiced with allspice and real banana slices and coconut ribbons. It's especially soothing with a tad of milk added, and more often than never, we go overboard with a slice of banana bread right next to it.

This summer,  however, a new trend of bananas have rised to my palate's concious: the under-ripe raw banana, preferably with the peel. It first made an appearance in our lives at Second Beach Concession, which sold Peelin' Pops - Nestle's relatively new frozen desserts invention (which actually first showed up in Thailand in 2011...). This strangely innovative little bar is tiny but impressive: a modest amount of vanilla ice cream is covered with a thin layer of semi-frozen gel, not particularly sweet, and only charmingly slimy, which possesses an alarmingly realistic flavour of under-ripe banana. The experience of biting into the top of such pop and peeling off the "banana peel" is imaginative and addictive and I'm surprised not to have found it in more places.


Just a couple of weeks after the discovery of banana peel as a gourmet phenomenon we meet another strange banana tea: This time it's Red Banana from Banana Republic - one of my favourite tea shops in town. This rooibos tisane is again adorned with generous coconut ribbons, and flavoured also with banana and kiwi pieces. However, the banana has nothing at all with the ice cream merchants on the beaches of Tel Aviv, nor baked banana breads: it resembles the raw, not quite ripe yet banana, with peel and all. Seep that in boiling water, and the tea is smooth yet refreshing, fantastic as an iced tea as well, and tastes convincingly natural. It's lovely with milk - or without. Now I'm just waiting to find a matching avant guarde dessert to match it, because banana bread is too spicy and not edgy enough for this cup of tea... Perhaps a raw banana cream pie? Or slices of frozen banana served with a drizzle of coconut milk?

Smelly Tel Aviv


Blue Smile

When thinking of the scent of a place, the characteristic local earth is one of the first things I think about. For Tel Aviv, what comes to mind is grass on moist hamra soil. This particular soil is bright red colour and full of sand. It has a particular smell that is slightly musty when moist, and more mineral than earthy. Mingled with the scent of coarse grass that's in the many striving gardens and parks of the city, it is an iconic Tel Aviv smell.

The street scene below is from the not-so-aptly named Rehove HaBosem)(Perfume Street), just a few blocks away from my dear grandmother's home in south-east Tel Aviv. This little piece of shanty town is made up of illegal temporary housing made of wavy tin and scraps of other industrial left overs. The garbage can, bearing the white signage "The Perfume 19" is ironic and immediately caught my eye-phone's camera, for reasons quite obvious.

Perfume Street

Tel Aviv, aka Non Stop City, is not exactly renown for its pleasant perfumes. Like most places humid and hot, all the odours get amplified, including the non-polite ones such as garbage, urine-drenched street corners, cat-feces rolled in the sands of the sycamore boulevards, and sweaty people in tightly-packed buses.

I was determined to set on a mini scented journey in Tel Aviv to discover and share with you some of its more elegant and/or intriguing aromas. And here is what I found:

Sycomore figs, ripening on the trees, and further fermenting on the grounds of the boulevards, on benches, etc. Sycamore trees are an inseparable portion of Tel Aviv, and some are many hundreds of years old and are considered protected heritage trees. There was a point in time when these historic trees were attacked by the city of Tel Aviv because the fruit attract flies and bats; now the city has smartened up and forbids any logging or damage to those trees, to the point that some buildings are designed around a tree, in order to preserve it. These are trees that our own grandparents and great-grandparents climbed on and played under their graceful evergreen shade, and our own children can crawl inside their hollow hearts. If you ever visit Tel Aviv, you must seek out these trees and admire them - and if you have little children, they will forever remember the experience of getting inside the "cave" of such an ancient tree.

Frangipanni (Plumeria)

Frangipani (Plumeria alba) flowers, which can be found practically everywhere, are in my mind, a very Tel-Avivi scent. It was here that I was introduced to the flower and its name 19 years ago when I lived here. To me, frangipani will always be a coming-of-age scent, and a trigger for happy memories of independence and romance.

Banana Beach Treat

Banana Ice Cream Bars are a long-time childhood memory from a brief period when I lived at my step-grandmother's in Bat-Yam. My mom took me to the beach a lot back in those days, and did something out of character then, which was to buy me an ice cream bar (she's one of those 1970's granola gals who lives her life in fear of sugar from as long as I can remember) from the ice-cream vendor that would walk on the beaches with a large straw hat and announce his wares carried in an over-the-shoulder icebox. I was glad these merchants are still alive and kicking and made a point of getting ice cream bar for my daughter when we were at the beach (she picked another flavour). The flavour of these banana ice cream bars is very fake, and if anything is reminiscent more of an over ripe, baked banana. If you've experienced Vanille-Banane by Compoir Sud Pacifique - that's bang-on what you get when licking one of these pale yellow treats.

White Chocolate Flower

White Chocolate smelling flowering tree. This tropical wonder (not sure of the scientific name) grows on thorny trees, and produces silky cotton-like fruits.

White Chocolate Flower

Oleanders, both pink and white, are now in bloom everywhere. They smell powdery and sweet, a little like hawthorn, but also green and not unlike the fresh/waxy aspects of frangipani.
Pink Oleander

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