15 Books Like What the Nose Knows

Gordon Shepherd gave the developing science of neurogastronomy – which studies how the human brain perceives food from the information processed through smell, taste, sight, touch, and hearing – its name. A leading expert on olfaction, he is perfectly qualified to draw the link between aroma and flavor, and why Luca Turin would claim that smell provides 90 percent of what we taste. His description of the importance of retronasal smell, and the mechanics involved, turned a term that was fun to toss around tasting beer with friends into a revelation.

Luca Turin, a biophysicist and writer, is obsessed with smell. You know those poetic-seeming, almost made-up descriptors we see in wine marketing? Well, that’s how he talks about smells. Turin also wants to figure out how we smell, which we still don’t know the answer to. Ultimately, by delving into some past research and building on it, he finds some answers, though they’re still not widely embraced.

Burr shares Turin’s story about the complexities of navigating the world of sensory science, especially as a passionate iconoclast. It also left me thinking about the art and science of sensing and about who has more expertise–the seasoned perfumer who can detect the fine notes within a glass bottle or the research scientist trying to describe the smell in a purely factual, scientific way.

Harold McGee, known for his books on cooking, brings molecules to life in Nose Dive. The book truly is a field guide, with tables throughout listing the source of aroma compounds, the components smell, and the responsible molecules. For instance, looking at molecules explains why Europeans might think American garden strawberries smell more like pineapple than strawberry. Nose Dive is also inspiring. “When we nose an intriguing flower or finger a leaf or sip a cola, and take the time to sniff repeatedly and searchingly for component smells, we experience their qualities more fully than when we smell with brain on autopilot,” McGee writes.

In Neurogastronomy, Gordon Shepherd likens smells to human faces, writing that they are easy to recognize but hard to describe. In Flavor, Bob Holmes introduces readers to a small tribe of nomadic hunter-gatherers in Malaysia, the Jahai, who have more than a dozen words to describe smells, none of which relate to the smell of any particular object. Vocabulary, he writes, is something we can learn with little effort. His experiences with chefs, gastronomy experts, and food scientists may inspire readers to find personal vocabularies. In the end, he writes, “What’s important is that coming up with a description forces me to pay attention and paying attention enriches my flavor experience.”

This is one of my favorite books about food in the past couple of years. Chinese cuisine has always fascinated me based on its breadth of styles, techniques, and depth of flavor. Not to mention that Chinese takeout generates some of my strongest autobiographic olfactory memories from childhood. Yet, until this book, learning about Chinese food has always been daunting to me.

Dunlop’s enjoyable coverage provides a wonderful overview of the difference between regional cuisines, use of ingredients, flavors, cooking techniques, and philosophy of food. It was not just a true joy to read, but it also inspired me to try cooking at home. And luckily, Dunlop’s got that covered as well with Every Grain of Rice: Simple Chinese Home Cooking.

This is a fantastic introduction to the history of smell. Despite being willing to read most anything written about smell, I usually balk at historical texts as often these have a soporific effect on me. However, this historical coverage kept me engaged from start to finish.

The chapters on early religious incense practices and the perfume trade throughout the Middle East and Europe are edifying. I learned a great deal about the impact of the economics of perfume on shifting trade routes, which is something I hadn’t come across in other books on smell. What truly grabbed my attention and formed the basis for many conversations when reading Past Scents were the chapters relating smell to race, gender, and class throughout recent American history. 

Since the historical focus is predominantly Western, you might also want to consider reading Sandalwood and Carrion: Smell in Indian Religion and Culture by James McHugh.

I like to daydream about how my olfactory perspectives would change in different scenarios such as being one of the borrowers or colossus. This provides by far the most exhaustive and fun to read introduction to canine olfaction that provides so much fodder for my olfactory flights of fancy.

It is hard not to get caught up in thought experiments about what it must be like to have such a fantastically adept nose, how cool it would be to engage in overt social chemosignal behavioral exchanges, and at times even to wonder if we are odorifically missing out by not sniffing all the repugnant stuff that dogs simply love to wallow around in smelling.

Horowitz’s coverage is cutting edge based on her lab’s research and expansively covers a larger field of study than one might expect at the outset. This is one of those books you pick-up and just want… show more.

Eating, one of my favorite daily rituals, is contiguous with my love of smelling and cooking.  Most of what we consider to be the flavor of food arises from retronasal olfaction (the olfactory pathway from the back of the nose). And a great deal of our gustatory experiences are created from a confluence of multiple sensory channels within our headspace.

This piece of knowledge and many others are wonderfully covered in this book. Bringing to bear his cutting-edge research on mutli-modal perception, Spence provides what is to my mind the most enjoyable scientific introduction of gustatory perception and in particular an in depth explanation of why eating and drinking, when done well, are on of life’s greatest (multi-modal) pleasures.

Kiechle’s Smell Detective shows how smell, the mute sense, has been in fact quite “talkative.” By going back to the nineteenth-century United States, the book discusses how cities back then smelled and how people living there reacted to it. Olfaction is actually a critical source of knowledge. Smell can tell you a lot about your surrounding environment and other people. It also gives historians clues to understand how people lived in the past. Moreover, smell, like other senses, is not a simply subjective, biological phenomenon. Sensations we experience change over time—imagine smell and sounds on the street today and hundred years ago. It is also cultural and political, too. How people understand certain sensations is a historical product—a certain “bad” small was racialized and associated with a lower class, for example. This book is an excellent way to “sniff” out the history of the senses.

It seems as though Peter Wohlleben's The Hidden Life of Trees kicked off a slew of new books on seeing nature from a fresh perspective. Learning that trees communicate, as do other plants, warning and protecting each other is a sort of modern, scientific parlance for what in Shakespeare’s day might have been the fairyland antics in the anima of plants. But Thirteen Ways takes it a step further, opening an unexpected sensorial ‘conversation’ with our arboreal kin. Naso may be “smelling out the odouriferous flowers” in Love’s Labours Lost but Haskell has us inhaling deeply these silent sentinels that populate our lives with scant acknowledgment, with “every aroma is an invitation to stories of interconnection between trees and people.” And he proceeds to tell us some stories that make you ache for the intimacy of knowing a tree so well. I can’t wait to be able to identify a… show more.