I arrive at the Sir John Soane’s Museum in central London not knowing quite what to expect. The Georgian-era house of famed architect Sir John Soane has been carefully preserved since his death almost 180 years ago. The nooks and crannies are filled with his sculptures and paintings, all still intact.
But I’m not here to admire the catacombs or brushwork. I’m heading downstairs to the kitchens.
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As part of a seven year-long restoration project, the house’s kitchen has been returned to its original state after being used as a stockroom. I meet food historian and founder of art and food events company AVM Curiosities Tasha Marks, who along with four other designers, is exhibiting a bespoke piece of work for the new space.
The restored kitchen. All photos courtesy of Sir John Soane’s Museum and Gareth Gardner.
Marks’ contribution? Scent chambers that aim to evoke what the kitchen would have smelled like in Soane’s day.
“I was excited by the idea of animating the space through smell,” says Marks as we descend the stairs towards the kitchen. “They’re quite simple flavours and all food and drink smells that would have been around in the 18th century.”
I take a deep inhale as I walk through the door, waiting for my senses to be assaulted.
Nothing.
Marks lead me across the room and explains: “I’ve captured the scents in these glass jars in the corner. I like that it adds an interactive element to a museum space where you’re usually told not to touch anything. I want people to lift the lids and touch the jars.”
I try to hide my deep exhale and I nod like I knew that’s how the exhibition worked all along.
“We don’t use smell very much in isolation or practice using it. So, when we smell something and we don’t know what it is, it’s really hard to guess. That’s why I made the decision not to label the jars,” says Marks with a smile. “Go on, then. Guess what they are.”
Each jar contains lava rocks (like the sort you could use on your barbecue) because, Marks explains, “they’re porous and I’ve also matched them look like the stone floor.” Lifting the lid on the first, tall jar, I’m at a complete loss as to what I can smell. “Something slightly acidic” is the best I come up with. Moving onto the next, my instinct tells me it’s something herbaceous. The last one is the most distinct: chocolate.
I ask Marks to put me out of my misery as I go back to the jars again and again, trying to connect the scents with their origin. Spoiler alert coming up if you plan on paying Soane’s kitchen a visit.
The scent chamber jars.
“The first one evokes Champagne because Ruinart Champagne was Soane’s favourite drink. It would have been quite exotic in the Georgian era because they were still quite fond of sweet wines like port and sherry,” says Marks. “For Soane to like Champagne is quite unusual. We have a Ruinart essence in there and the jar is tall like a Champagne flute.”
For a guy who I’m later told used to hold wild parties with the likes of Lord Byron, I’m not surprised Soane was fond of fizz.
And the jar I thought was herby? Wrong.
Marks explains: “The middle jar is candied orange and lemon peel. These were two fruits that were accessible but not mega cheap. They were an affordable luxury so the candied orange and lemon peel were in a lot of dishes, but still had a hint of being slightly exotic.”
I’m pleased to hear that I at least managed to get the last one right. Kind of.
“The final one was hot chocolate,” reveals Marks. “In the Georgian era, people went out for coffee and they generally stayed in for tea. Hot chocolate bridged those two worlds. People could go out to coffee houses for hot chocolate or they could stay in and have it.”
I ask Marks how she decided on the scents.
“I used archives in the Soane, including a great book called At Home With the Soanes which was written by one of the curators,” explains Marks. “I was going to do more complex flavours—a Christmassy one and an evening dinner party—but when I smelled them, it was hard to differentiate the scents. With simple scents, people also project themselves onto the smell. The smell of citrus might remind you of something, as well as the space.”
The restored stove. Photo by the author.
As we move around the kitchen admiring the restored stove, Marks explains how she creates the scent essences before using a pipette to imbue the rocks. She refreshes the smells each month.
“You have to use synthetic essences in museums so you don’t bring in any bugs. There are all different places that I source from,” Marks explains. “A lot of Italian companies are really good at essences because it’s a flashback from the molecular gastronomy thing. Or I source from perfume companies and chewing gum manufacturers.”
Marks adds: “I’ve produced freshly baked bread by reducing things down but it’s never as strong as how you want it to be. It’s a bit like making potions in the bath.”
I try not to think about the Breaking Bad bathtub scene.
Before we part ways, I ask Marks, whose previous works has been focused on eating (the creation of Georgian ice creams or a turrón tasting menu, for example), why scent has become so appealing.
“Smell has a wider reach, it lasts longer, and it’s universal,” says Marks. “It’s the sense so closely linked to memory and I liked the idea of evoking and creating memories of the space.”
With the scent of citrusy Champagne chocolate still in my nose, I leave with a small idea of what Soane’s kitchen might have been like, back in the day.
