Nothing can compare to tuning skis in the garage...
Cool music softly filling in behind the drip of melting wax on p-tex, accompanied with it's intoxicating aroma as you run the iron through it's course. Taking you back to your childhood memories of your dad performing the same ritual before your races the next morning. Now completed by your own 10 year old kid walking into the garage, double checking your work, giving a nod, followed by a smile and exiting. All while a half full pint glass sits just out of arms reach.
What can I say, my mom never baked, so the smell of dad tuning ski's is about as close to "Comfort Food" as I ever got.
Looks like you found a great girl and I'd bet my last dollar she thoroughly knows the meaning of "BlueBird."