Rendered tasteless
Last night at a restaurant, I ate a bowl of sweet pea soup. It was green like the first new sprigs of spring, and silky as the blouse I was wearing. Was it good?
I wouldn’t know because I can’t taste anything. A vicious head cold has seen to that.
You probably know this cold, the one that’s been making its rounds the last few weeks. It started two weeks ago when the farmer had sneezing fits that blew the dust off the furniture. Allergies, we said. But then it became more than that.
I attacked all surfaces with Clorox, but I caught it anyway. First came the sneezing, then my head became engulfed. The next two days were miserable, and on day three, when I climbed out of my haze, the virus settled in my upper chest. Ten days later, I’m no longer sick, but there’s still a little something lingering there.
This same virus has made its rounds of my family and friends – including those I’ve shared it with and those I haven’t been near. They all report the same progression of symptoms.
And the worst of it is that I’ve lost my senses of smell and taste.
The olfactory part I can live without for now. There are enough other people in this house to detect the dangers of natural gas and smoke. (As a side note, I’m feeling a little more warmly toward my dogs these days.)
But the tasting part is making me unhappy. Until the sense is gone, you don’t realize how much our everyday happiness is related to tasting good things. There are studies that connect depression in elderly people with the loss of the ability to taste. I get it.
I first noticed the problem when I took a few bites of a fish taco. I could see the flavors: sharp cilantro and fatty fish and salty queso and bright mango. Chewing, my mouth was struggling to locate the flavors, the way the brain works when searching for a word. I did recognize a bit of lime, though, the only ray of light that broke through. I stopped eating the taco after three bites. It wasn’t that the calories weren’t worth it; the effort was just too frustrating.
Coffee is a cup of warm nothing these days. Salads are tiring. The chili I plan to cook for dinner will just taunt me.
Of course, there’s texture. I’m aware of crunchy, cold and juicy things, and sometimes salt comes through. Oh, and in some cruel irony, the vitamin pills I take every morning still taste awful, making me gag and scrunch up my face. They are the vitamins suggested to restore the sense of smell and taste. Go figure.
I suspect my senses will return to normal with time. Until then, maybe I should embrace this situation as a mini weight-loss plan. If I can’t taste it, what’s the point?
The brain’s olfactory center is directly adjacent to the memory center, making smell the strongest sensory link to what we remember. Maybe one day soon these trying days will be erased.
But I think I’ll always wonder about that sweet pea soup. Sadly, all I remember is that eating it felt good. I’ll bet it was delicious.
Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.