Sense of Taste

(From 2004)

The fog that enveloped the city earlier has burned off with the steadily rising sun, so now I can see across the parking lot to the Mexican restaurant I’ll be eating at later. Our office just about keeps that place in business. Thank goodness. Seeing the world wrapped in opacity reminded me of the gloomy smoke last year during the wildfires, though without the accompanying inability to breathe and ash falling from the sky.

Didn’t pack leftovers today, so I’ll head over to the Mexican place in a minute and have my usual bean, rice, and cheese burrito with iced tea, basking in the 70s-era decor along with tortilla chips and salsa and one of the half-read novels I keep in the office for just such a moment. Perhaps a spiral notebook to take a few notes or write a few sentences, wiping away chip detritus and daubing up salsa stains as necessary.

I’m hoping the chile heat will burn away some of the solidity that an impending cold has built up in my sinuses. I want to be able to enjoy my food plans this weekend, including my first try at crepes and a simple Caribbean-style jerk chicken dish that had my mouth watering when I read the recipe.

When you lose your sense of smell, as you do with a cold, your food loses its taste dramatically, becoming bland and dreary. Which is rather what life is like without good-tasting handmade food.

Last year just before the fires, I got a bad case of laryngitis that was exacerbated when smoke filled the sky, then the air, then my throat and lungs. Unable to speak above a rough whisper for six weeks, I learned the wisdom of being silent and listening. Of paying attention. And when you do that, when you slow down and look around….

The mountains begin to appear silhouetted out of the foggy haze, and my stomach growls in anticipation of the spicy food to come. Enough words. It’s time to eat.