Stories from Staff: Reclaiming Culture Through Food

From “The Smelly House” to the Good Smelly House

By a Proud Filipino American Mom – Meesh Talbott, Director of Volunteerism & Community Engagement

Growing up, I lived in what the other kids called “the smelly house.” It wasn’t because our home was dirty or neglected; it was because the smells wafting from our kitchen were unfamiliar to them. My mom, an immigrant from the Philippines, filled our home with the aroma of garlic, vinegar, fish sauce, tamarind, and all the ingredients that made our meals deeply flavorful and tied to generations of tradition. But to kids who were used to the milder smells of meatloaf, mac and cheese, or pizza, our food seemed strange. And that made me feel strange, too.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was turning my back on something special. As a kid, I’d avoid my mom’s cooking — not because it didn’t taste good, but because I wanted to eat what the other kids were eating. 

I craved acceptance, not adobo. My lunchbox was a source of anxiety. While my classmates unwrapped PB&J sandwiches, Lunchables, or school pizza, I’d open my Tupperware to a hot, fragrant serving of sinigang — a comforting Filipino soup made with tamarind broth, vegetables like napa cabbage and green beans, and sometimes an oxtail bone. To this day, I believe a hot bowl of sinigang will cure any sickness. It was always served with rice, like most of our meals. And like clockwork, kids around me would plug their noses, grimace, and say things like “Eww, what is THAT?”, or “That smells disgusting!” Sometimes, it felt like everyone was holding their breath, myself included, wondering what weirdness waited inside my lunch box. 

Their words and looks stuck with me. I would beg to buy school lunches, but the answer was always the same: it’s too expensive and not healthy. My mom was right, but try telling a kid that pizza isn’t healthy. Also, I wasn’t concerned about whether or not we had pizza money. Just give me the dang pizza.  

As I got older, I stopped inviting friends over because I was embarrassed by how my house smelled when my mom cooked. And even as an adult, I noticed those same looks and comments from coworkers or neighbors when they caught a whiff of my lunch or heard what I was eating. Some even pretended to gag. So, I adjusted. I played it safe. I brought more “acceptable” food to work. 

I avoided cooking certain dishes if I thought the smell might linger. I’d come home and immediately sniff the air, paranoid that my house smelled like food. And if it did, I’d go into panic mode — opening windows, lighting candles, spraying air fresheners—trying to erase the scent of something I actually loved. All while my kids told me they couldn’t smell anything. This is when I realized that something was starting to shift.

Now, when I cook, my kids come running into the kitchen — not to ask what stinks, but to try to guess what’s for dinner based on the smell of the ingredients hitting a hot pan. Most of the time, they’re right. 

And they’re not shy about it either. They invite their friends over when I’m cooking because, in their words, “My mom’s making some bomb Filipino food — you have to try it!” Their confidence has helped heal something in me.

I once watched a TikTok that finally gave words to something I’d felt my whole life: “Don’t yuck my yum.” You don’t have to like what someone else is eating, but you don’t have to disrespect it either. It’s not about forcing anyone to love sinigang or Tortang. It’s about respecting that behind every dish is a culture, a story, and a person. Instead of saying, “Ew, that’s gross,” we can say, “I’ve never seen that before — what is it?” Or, “No thank you, I’m not a fan of [ingredient].” There are ways to express unfamiliarity or even dislike without shaming someone else’s heritage.

So yes — we’re still the “smelly house.” But now, I wear that with pride. 

We’re the good smelly house — the one filled with laughter, memories, and food made with love. The one where my kids feel proud of their roots, and their friends know they’re always welcome at the table.

And finally, I do too.

Note: The Stories from Staff series is shared in the unedited voice of YMCA of Greater Seattle staff. They reflect personal experiences and perspectives, and do not necessarily represent the views or official positions of the YMCA of Greater Seattle.