Imagine this: You’re a kid, and your family’s been on the road all day. You and your siblings are jammed into the backseat of the car, arguing over whether the windows should be up or down and who gets to control the radio. Finally, after a bazillion miles and way too many hours, you pull up to your grandma’s house. You pile out of the car and race to the front porch. Grandma opens the screen door wide, and you rush past her into the kitchen. You take a deep breath, and it smells just like you remember: Old mixed with musty mixed with whatever’s going in the crockpot.