A few days ago, there was a knock on my door. It was about 2 pm, and I wasn't expecting anyone.

A rather large man in chef's whites filled the frame, his hat gripped tightly in his hand. I blinked and wondered why he'd knocked - luckily my Chinese fiance was home, and so I was able to find out.

Over a cup of tea, it transpired that he worked in the restaurant downstairs, and he had a bone to pick with me.

My apartment is two floors above a restaurant for students on the campus at which I teach in Tianjin, and it's a fairly popular one. During the semester, it's packed at meal times.

Unfortunately, it seems that my eating habits were causing terrible problems. The students were complaining about his food.

I was at a loss as to how this was my fault, until it was pointed out that they could smell the things I was cooking, and asking for them. My habit of opening a window to let things cool was exposing them to a range of odors that the chef couldn't match.

Smell is so powerful that a whiff can evoke very powerful memories and emotions.

For me, the smell of cooking is tied to some of my earliest memories - cakes baking, or things simmering on the stove. The smell of some things can take me to an exact point in my life, the emotional link is so strong.

In China, the smell of food is everywhere, from the richness of soups boiling, through the spiciness of lamb kebabs grilling over open charcoal, to the sweet notes of fresh brewed tea.

It weaves through supermarkets and streets, leads me to food stalls in narrow alleys, and fills my nose with delights as I wander through the day.

Occasionally I might come across something that I can't stand the smell of, and I'll back away from them. Stinky doufu (beancurd) is one such thing that comes to mind, and it's no reflection on Chinese cuisine - I can't stand the smell of the Western equivalent, blue cheese, either.

The scent of coffee or chocolate always grabs my attention, as does that of frying bacon. The smell of food draws me like a moth to a candle. It's led me to meet great people, and try so many different things.

Some of my best friends have been met over the smell of a meal a few tables away, which drew me over to ask about it - the most notable being when I was in a fish restaurant. The smell of a whole fish broiling over charcoal, surrounded by chillies and onions, was simply irresistible, and I couldn't help asking if I could try a mouthful.

So it came as a surprise to me that other people might not like the smell of food, or that it might lead to friction between neighbors.

I love to bake, and over the years in China, I've taught myself to knock out a pretty decent loaf. Sometimes I bake sticky cinnamon rolls, or apple buns, and the spice scent wafts out of the window. Other times, I cook a pizza, and the herbs and garlic sprinkled over the cheese gently drifts downstairs, causing a spate of requests for that.

It was more than the poor man downstairs could bear!

So I've done a deal with the chef, and I try to cook at times when there are no students about - with the windows shut.

A few days ago, there was a knock on my door. It was about 2 pm, and I wasn't expecting anyone.

A rather large man in chef's whites filled the frame, his hat gripped tightly in his hand. I blinked and wondered why he'd knocked - luckily my Chinese fiance was home, and so I was able to find out.

Over a cup of tea, it transpired that he worked in the restaurant downstairs, and he had a bone to pick with me.

My apartment is two floors above a restaurant for students on the campus at which I teach in Tianjin, and it's a fairly popular one. During the semester, it's packed at meal times.

Unfortunately, it seems that my eating habits were causing terrible problems. The students were complaining about his food.

I was at a loss as to how this was my fault, until it was pointed out that they could smell the things I was cooking, and asking for them. My habit of opening a window to let things cool was exposing them to a range of odors that the chef couldn't match.

Smell is so powerful that a whiff can evoke very powerful memories and emotions.

For me, the smell of cooking is tied to some of my earliest memories - cakes baking, or things simmering on the stove. The smell of some things can take me to an exact point in my life, the emotional link is so strong.

In China, the smell of food is everywhere, from the richness of soups boiling, through the spiciness of lamb kebabs grilling over open charcoal, to the sweet notes of fresh brewed tea.

It weaves through supermarkets and streets, leads me to food stalls in narrow alleys, and fills my nose with delights as I wander through the day.

Occasionally I might come across something that I can't stand the smell of, and I'll back away from them. Stinky doufu (beancurd) is one such thing that comes to mind, and it's no reflection on Chinese cuisine - I can't stand the smell of the Western equivalent, blue cheese, either.

The scent of coffee or chocolate always grabs my attention, as does that of frying bacon. The smell of food draws me like a moth to a candle. It's led me to meet great people, and try so many different things.

Some of my best friends have been met over the smell of a meal a few tables away, which drew me over to ask about it - the most notable being when I was in a fish restaurant. The smell of a whole fish broiling over charcoal, surrounded by chillies and onions, was simply irresistible, and I couldn't help asking if I could try a mouthful.

So it came as a surprise to me that other people might not like the smell of food, or that it might lead to friction between neighbors.

I love to bake, and over the years in China, I've taught myself to knock out a pretty decent loaf. Sometimes I bake sticky cinnamon rolls, or apple buns, and the spice scent wafts out of the window. Other times, I cook a pizza, and the herbs and garlic sprinkled over the cheese gently drifts downstairs, causing a spate of requests for that.

It was more than the poor man downstairs could bear!

So I've done a deal with the chef, and I try to cook at times when there are no students about - with the windows shut.