Bad Taste
A common sense that’s taken for granted
“So, of the five senses, which one is the most important?,” asked Jon playfully, on one of our lazy Friday afternoons. Here, in the fast-paced, often stressful publishing industry, late afternoons on Fridays were for relaxing a bit, letting off some steam, and indulging in our usual silly Friday chats.
We went around the room, and shouted out which sense we each felt we could not live without. Each one of the other five editors claimed either sight or hearing as the most important sense. When it was my turn, I said, “taste.” Peals of laughter rang out, as my co-workers poked fun at my answer. I laughed, too, but I defended my choice by saying, “If my taste was messed up, life would be difficult.” More laughter.
Ironically, several years later, my sense of taste would go haywire.
This was when I was treated with chemotherapy for breast cancer. It’s difficult enough to have cancer, let alone the side effects of cancer treatment. One horrific chemo side effect is the patient finding that food and drink have a metallic taste. While I was on chemo, almost everything I ate tasted like a smorgasbord of wire, staples, and beverage cans.
My oncologist had encouraged me throughout my treatment to eat proteins and drink plenty of water.
I did neither.
Not because I was being disagreeable, but my body rebelled against almost anything I ingested.
At first, I tried relentlessly to make food and water somewhat palatable. I desperately put flavorings in water. Metal, still. I tried to make food more tasty. Metal. I did enjoy marinara sauce with food, but my chemo-ravaged body couldn’t handle sauces.
With my sense of taste perverted, I could not savor life and felt trapped in a world where food held no joy.
Here’s the upside. Candy and ice cream sandwiches tasted so good, so these were my go-to staples.
When chemo ended – and I know how lucky I am that it ended – my metallic taste buds needed time to recover. One day, I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and was pleasantly shocked. What so many people take for granted tasted like a delicious meal. To date, this has been the most excellent peanut butter and jelly sandwich I have ever tasted.
And, to this day, I’m thankful I can taste food again. In fact, just yesterday, I ate an apple and relished how lucky I was to taste it.
If I were asked today, “So, of the five senses, which one is the most important?,” knowing what I’ve experienced, I would still say “taste.” But I might say “sight,” as I am a visual artist.
I have so much fun creating oil paintings – and now watercolors. In fact, during our most recent watercolor class, we painted two wet-on-wet mini-landscapes. I thought I would lose control over the water and the paints, but I maintained control of both, thanks to an awesome teacher. Painting these landscapes has been a turning point in my watercolor journey, and now there’s no turning back.
Hi Beth,
Ah yes, I relate. Chemo definitely affected my sense of taste too. I think I've blocked out some of those memories because I can't remember what foods I ended up eating. There were certain days in the cycle when food tasted better than other days. I do remember that one taste I sure missed was the taste of my morning coffee. I wrote a blog post on that one!
If I had to choose which sense would be hardest to lose, it would be my sight. I'm a very visual person too. Of course, I wouldn't want to give up any of them.
Your landscape watercolors are lovely. It seems you are making tremendous progress in such a short time. I especially like the mood of the one on the left. I think it's because it reminds me of wheatfields of which I have fond memories from my youth when I'd visit my grandparents in ND. My grandpa grew wheat, and I'll always remember driving around looking at his fields. Thank you for stirring up that memory with your art.
I'm glad you continue to enjoy the class!
You make a good argument for taste. One of my every morning great moments is that first sip of hot, sweet, black tea. I would feel off-kilter is that experience weren't part of my day. And my husband and I sometimes make papaya coconut milk ice cream, a truly delightful taste experience. I can see why ice cream was a go-to for you during chemo.
When I saw the watercolors at the bottom of the page, a question(s) popped into my mind. What does the image of the sun-drenched patch of tall grass, soaking up the sun, taste like? And what does the water swirling around the rocks in the clear water taste like?
Of course, I wasn't looking for literal taste . . . I imagined that the sun-drenched patch of tall grass tasted like crispy oven fries with some chopped Rosemary sprinkled onto them. The kind when you've left them in the oven just the right amount of time so that they have a shell of a crunch layer on the outside. And I think that the blue watercolor, would taste like sliced cold cucumbers and cold tomato halves with a little Basil.
You're right, taste is nuanced, it's heightened by experience or the present company one's in; it is part sensual and part imagined. And let's not forget that we often use the phrase, "it left a bad taste in my mouth" in our culture. Or we say, "she has good taste."
Fun read, Beth. Now I'll be thinking about taste for the rest of the day. Thanks and big hugs, my friend.