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"I am the Cinnamon Peeler's Wife. Smell Me."

Been thinking about cinnamon -- a lot. Go figure. Maybe it's because Mother Nature is laughing at me and it is very cold again. Could be because I've been baking.

When I was a child, one of my favourite breakfasts was cinnamon toast: toast spread with butter and then sprinkled with some sugar and cinnamon. If you got the balance of cinnamon and sugar right, it wasn't too sweet but the roughness of the cinnamon was cut nicely.

My mum also put cinnamon in plain yogurt for us to eat -- again, with a bit of sugar. I think that's why I prefer plain yogurt, with maybe a bit of honey or cinnamon, as an adult.

Years later, when I was seeing an acupunturist after my son was born, she recommended that I eat more cinnamon, to warm myself up. It takes a lot of energy to look after a newborn and, as you know, I get cold easily. So, I was to eat more cinnamon and ginger to help things along.

I once bought cinnamon bark tea with the expectation of a very cinnamony black tea flavour. No such luck. Turned out to be both almost flavourless and scentless. Truly odd. And very disappointing. I consider it unfair when something that promises fragrance doesn't provide it.

Lots of gourmand fragrances have a hit of cinnamon, which can be quite lovely. On me, Tauer Perfumes' Une Rose Chypree is a wonderful astringent but warm rose-cinnamon veil.

The title of today's post comes from a poem by one of my absolute favourite writers, Michael Ondaatje. The poem is called The Cinnamon Peeler and you can find the full version by doing a web search. I'm not going to quote any more of it  here -- go find it and have a read. Truly beautiful.