My dad smoked a pipe. He got this habit from his father, who was a big pipe smoker. Dad would describe a dilemma that his father spoke about: Grandpa Welling loved the way a pipe smelled when someone else was smoking it. The wonderful aromatic odor of, say, Balkan Sobranie tobacco, a musky, grey-smelling tobacco that would fill a room. But for my grandfather, as for any pipe smoker, what you taste when you smoke a pipe obliterates the wonderful odor of the tobacco in the air. So my grandfather came up with a solution: he’d puff away on his pipe, and then leave the room for a few moments. He would then reenter the room and exclaim, “Ah, that smells good!”

Extracte de l’obre The Life of Zola.