The taste of taste

My boyfriend Ryan recently made an appointment to get a new tattoo on a Friday evening. Knowing the tattoo was going to be large and would take several hours to complete, I suggested we go out to dinner beforehand. A friend of his who was also a part of the conversation laughed and said “I love how you guys plan everything around food.” His comment surprised me. I love food, but I didn’t think anyone else had noticed.

I’ve made some drastic changes to my diet over the past few months and try to maintain healthy eating habits (about 60% of my diet consists of raw fruits and vegetables), but I still love pizza, pasta, virtually anything with cheese, and of course, chocolate. I’m lucky that Ryan is even more health conscious than I am, but that he also has his weaknesses for certain foods. We keep each other in check, but we also revel in the occasional “unhealthy” indulgence, whether it’s a plate of cheese with Rosemary and Olive Oil Triscuits, or a big slice of tiramisu.

This past weekend, while afflicted with a case of bronchitis and horribly congested, I temporarily lost my senses of smell and taste. It probably wouldn’t have been too bad if I hadn’t already committed to attending a coworker’s wedding. The reception featured lavish trays of brie, salmon cakes, and pastry-wrapped asparagus, but I couldn’t taste any of it. It’s a strange experience to be able to notice only the texture and not the taste of your food. Without flavor, the salmon cakes were dense and unappetizing, and I finished them only for the Omega-3’s. The most satisfying foods were the ones that offered a combination of textures, such as the crisp asparagus surrounded by flaky pastry, or the succulent strawberries coated in a hard chocolate shell. When the bride and groom cut the cake (which consisted of layers of chocolate, lemon, and strawberry crème), I picked up a slice of chocolate, only to abandon it after two bites. What is the point of eating dessert if you can’t taste it? Dejected, I poured myself a cup of black coffee, foregoing my usual cream and sugar, simply to keep my energy up.

How awful it would be to go through life being unable to taste anything. I’d probably be extremely healthy, since cheese and desserts would no longer have any appeal. But I would miss the flavor of garlic and onion in a good lasagna, the nutty taste of gruyere cheese in a fondue, the sweet blend of chocolate and caramel and coconut in Ryan’s mother’s seven-layer bars. All these things bring me joy. If I plan everything around food, I make no apologies.

After the wedding, I was complaining about my affliction to a friend. She was reminded of the Campbell’s Soup commercial where the man has forgotten what good food tastes like “What’s that taste?” he asks after sampling the soup.

Announcer: “Taste.”

Man: “I love the taste of taste.”

I think I know how he feels.