There is a place in San Francisco, a small little restaurant down by Little Italy, called the Stinking Rose. Legend says that the Romans first called the beautiful little bulb of Garlic the "Stinking Rose". The smell in this place is intoxicating. Like when you spray too much cologne and you aren't sure whether it is good or too much, this place suffocates you in fantastic aroma. Bags of garlic hang from every wall and alcove. Strings of wine corks act as walls to separate guest, and their bottles hang from the ceiling. Everything on the menu wreaks of garlic. Recommended to me in particular was the Garlic Roasting in a Hot Tub. Spread on Focaccia rolls, these sweet roasted bulbs of flavor pack quite the punch. I am beginning to experience what garlic can taste like.
Being unaccustomed to roasting garlic, sometimes I fry it, press it, or even steam it. The affect it had on my apartment could not have been anticipated. I expect I should bask in the perfume for weeks. After successfully roasting the four bulbs for over an hour, they slipped gracefully out of their skins and into my artisan bread...but that is gratitude for another day. I am grateful for Garlic.
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