I have two. When I was a boy, I lived in an all Italian section of South Philadelphia. Every fall, all of the "old men" would make wine. After pressing the grapes, in front of so many houses were many, many empty grape cases with purple stains. It was a wonderful smell and an acknowledgement of the expertise of the old world gentlemen. I still have my grandfather's press. The other smell was one that made all of us in the neighborhood drool. We spent a major portion of our free time in a playground. Right across the street was a bread bakery with a wood oven. The smell of the just baked bread would waft over to the playground. The two kids whose parents owned the bakery would run home, grab a couple of loaves and bring them back to us. Was nothing better than just chewing into that hot crusty bread all by itself. We would get back to whatever game after the bread was gone. I miss those days.