My Mom was born & raised in Perth, Australia. Mom kinda had a problem with cooking most anything. One of her best was leg of lamb. Dad would sniff it in the store and define it as an old ram, old ewe, or young ewe. Mom would bake it perfect. Yes, you could smell it a fair piece upwind. I would slice it about 3/8 thick, horseradish mustard, thick cut white onions, take it to work. The complaints were awesome.
True story....memory bank opened up this slid to the front...
It was 1965, close to Christmas. I had my lamb sammich in a bag next to my chair. This guy, my Supervisor, was Jewish, a freak mathematician, hysterically funny, walks by, stops, takes a deep whiff and turns to look at me and says " how do you get past the smell? and I said, Smell never bothers me.
Jewish buddy sees some ladies turning purple and says you wanna try that again? I said nope. He goes off grinning and was my best friend for many years.
The ladies we will not discuss.