I liked Robyn’s description of this illness: “the sick.” It’s such an accurate way of describing this, this thing that has made me feel so lousy for so long.
All told, it’s a cold. A lousy sonafabitch at that. And I thought I could burn my way through it, but it’s not working. I’ve totally lost sense of smell and taste. We had sausages for dinner the other night. I got out the extra-hot horseradish. I put my nose in the jar and inhaled deeply. Several times. Nothing.
But perhaps this was an old jar that had lost its potency? I handed it to Mark, who waved it near his nostrils and declared it was as hot as ever. I heaped some horseradish on each piece of sausage that found its way to my mouth… nothing. Dijon mustard didn’t do it, nor did horseradish and mustard combined.
The lack of taste and smell had made eating really unpleasant. Eating has been reduced to a purely mechanical act. The equation has changed. It’s no longer food = pleasure. It’s more like food = fuel. Flavour fades far into the background and is superceded by texture and temperature. It’s not a fun way to eat.
Perhaps I should get more of those stuffed jalapenos and see if they do the trick?
