I also have a story about garlic. Sometime around the end of the eighties, we bought a cottage in Mělnicko. The cottage belonged to 40 acres of fields and Dad was all hot to finally earn something. He planted the very first season (well, he planted, that's a strong word, he let the plants fit better. The field had to be plowed first and got the appropriate seedlings. When it came to harvest, the whole crop was caught in mold. The result was piles of moldy garlic, which were then burned in the garden. It didn't want to burn much, it just smoldered. The smell (smell is not the right word, rather something between the smell and the smell) of burnt garlic accompanies me to this day. When I go somewhere to a restaurant and order, I pay attention to Setsakramen. I don't need garlic, even if I admit it's a shame. :)