Yesterday after running a few errands, I opened my front door and just stood. Breathing. Smiling. Ahhhhh … garlic! To me, the house smelled wonderful — like walking into an aromatic little trattoria. I realize this may not be the way everybody likes their house to smell, but for me it smells like good food – comin’ up!

Before I ran out for the parsley and beefsteak tomatoes, I had partially prepared clam sauce for our linguine. The sauce requires two large garlic cloves; the sauteed panko bread crumbs for the topping only required one. Reliable old garlic had done its magic. And to think I came to garlic later in life. All those missed years. Sigh.

I’m sure I ate my share of garlic in Italian restaurants without knowing it, but its solitary pungency in so many other dishes didn’t land in my kitchen until almost middle age. Growing up, I never heard of it.

In college, I had a part-time job working for a team of engineers. Sal, the boss, was a great cook, and often brought delicious goodies to work on Mondays. Sal taught me how to make spaghetti sauce his way – Siciliano. So, I bought my first garlic. But use it on something else? Fuggedaboudit. Never entered my mind until my late 30’s when I got into more serious cooking. It was then that I learned about all the wonderful enticing foods that a bland New England diet did not include. Not back in the day.

My mother’s cooking was good, but plain. Her specialty was New England Boiled Dinner – corned beef and cabbage with lots of extra veggies. She was happiest when broiling loin lamb chops, a blow-the-budget treat.

She loved shrimp and lobster, but never cooked fish of any kind at home. The idea of a fishy odor hanging around our apartment was not acceptable. She always took me to restaurants for fish – and Italian. We went to Boston’s Chinatown once a year. Sadly, I think we ate chop suey.

Coming from this background, the current range of available food blows me away.

We now take for granted that Indian, Hawaiian, and French breads are everywhere. Fresh sushi is available in our supermarkets! There are so many foods on our shelves now that I never heard of growing up. Heck, I was 21 when I saw my first white egg!

On a layover in Los Angeles, I sat a breakfast counter, watching the short order cook. He read the waitress’s order, reached into a huge bowl of white eggs, and cracked them onto the grill. I had ordered two, over easy. At home, all I’d ever seen or eaten were brown eggs. I wondered if those eggs he was flipping for me could possibly taste the same. They didn’t. They were better. California eggs were slightly different in flavor, richer tasting, probably from what they fed their hens. Back home in Boston, white eggs now sell for a premium.

Here, brown eggs sell for a premium. If simple white eggs were a surprise, I realized that I had a whole wide world of food to learn about. The exploration has been a fun ride.

I soon fell in love with Mexican food in San Diego, Phoenix and Dallas. It took a few more decades for burritos and enchiladas to go national. We still need to work on quality control of Mexican food east of the Mississippi, although Chipotle is getting close. I do love a shrimp taco fix every once in a while.

Mexican food prepared me for the spiciness of Szechuan Chinese and Thai food. Yum. But please bring a cold beer. Dear Richard loves spicy anything including hot peppers on hamburgers, omelets, and vegetables. On most everything except tapioca pudding. Pass the Frank’s Red Hot.

I looked in my fridge this morning just to see what was there that would not have been in my mother’s refrigerator: Cantaloupe, raspberries, and blueberries – in October?

Honey Crisp apples, kiwi and smoked salmon. Bagels, romaine lettuce, and ginger. Three kinds of fancy bleu cheese (a gift). Feta cheese, and yogurt. Orange juice not from concentrate. Hoisin sauce, Dijon mustard, and fig jam. Balsamic vinegar would not have been in her cabinet nor would avocadoes be sitting on the counter.

And there’s more, but you get the idea. Our food now comes from everywhere and we can buy year-round what used to be seasonal. Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches are here to stay, bit I do love having the opportunity to nosh on macadamia nuts. None of the above were available when I was a kid – at least not in Massachusetts.

We Silver Seniors remember when pineapple came only in a can labeled Dole, not aromatically lying in my fruit bowl, the size of a football. Life is good. Please pass the guacamole.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.