Pizza never lies
It is day 3 of 2021, and a day or two before I test positive for covid-19. Hungry, but not ravenous, I take a bite out of a slice of plain jane Margherita pizza. Made in a rustic wood-fired oven in the not-yet-snowy mountains of Lebanon, the pizza in question is arguably and objectively a good one, a great one even if the Google reviews are to be believed, but distracted by an odd-tasting wine (which now I realise, not the fault of the vineyard), I almost don’t notice the lack of flavour of the pizza. It is only when my dinner date, slice devoured, turns to me to say, “It’s pretty good, isn’t it?” that I feel the first alarm of many that will ensue.
At that exact moment, I experience what will become a phenomenon more familiar to me than I’d like, yet no less fascinating, days after that first deceiving bite.
[I was too alarmed by the series of events to take a picture of the pizza so there isn’t one, sorry!]
My gut reaction at that moment is definitely “OMG it’s covid” (a testament to the strong branding of the symptom, added months after the initial list published by WHO) but then quickly followed by disbelief: Could this be? Losing my ability to taste?! I hurriedly finish the slice, straining in vain to taste every layer, then followed by my first bite of spaghetti arrabbiata, which offers more oomph in the flavour department, both garlic and chili making it through to my brain. For a second, my fears are assuaged.
Reality bites
When I had first come across “loss of sense of smell and taste” as a new addition to the covid-19 symptom list, I found it odd, to say the least. A fever, a cough; I could understand. Even good old fatigue (although, really, who doesn’t experience a bout of that these days?) The problem with the new symptom was that it was so alien to me, privileged enough for so long to have enjoyed the full benefits (and sometimes the trials) of a fully working olfactory and tasting system.
Really, I should have seen it as what it was: a brilliantly clear and undeniable symptom. There is no way to experience it and not be absolutely sure of what it is. This is not a grey area symptom, like a tickle in the throat or half a degree of increased fever can often be, but a very specific, black-and-white confirmation. You can either taste the coffee, and smell the soap, or not. There is no in-between.
Since testing positive and losing 100% of my taste and smell functions for almost two weeks, I have, without exaggeration, experienced reality differently. In fact, I will go so far as to say that I started to question it completely.
The first time I stick my nose to the perfume bottle nozzle, as a way to ground myself I suppose, and smelled absolutely nothing, my brain goes into Explanatory Mode. Without any feedback from my senses, it does what the trusty human brain knows how to do well: it sends me a 404 error. Page not found. “What you think you are experiencing is not real.” In the same way that the brain manufactures a feeling of nausea when you are reading in a moving car, finding itself unable to reconcile the spatial movement of the body with the conflicting feedback it receives from the eyes and mimics a reaction to being poisoned; my brain simply tries to convince me that I am dreaming. A self-preservation mechanism, I guess.
In a mini panic, unable to smell a thing, I start to wonder if I am dreaming or awake. I am really hoping to wake up clutching my bottle of perfume, its scent overpowering me to a waking state. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, I stand there, hearing the traffic from the street, feeling the breeze from the open window, smelling nothing at all, and wondering what kind of odd dream I am navigating.
Tied to memory
A few days ago, a friend curiously asks me, “So wait a minute, what do you taste then when you eat? Like, nothing?” The short answer is yes, nothing, but what the brain tries to do is fascinating and scary at the same time.
When I bite into a banana for the first time since my positive test, I have an expectation: sweet and enzyme-y and banana-y. But as I munch through, I feel the familiar squidgy texture of the banana, and the coolness of its temperature, but nothing else of what is familiar to me. My brain scrambles to fill in the blanks, trying to recall the flavours, but at that moment they are totally abstract. Even though I know I could describe what a banana should taste like, I’m unable to conjure up the flavours to complement my experience of texture and temperature.
Sadder still is my experiment on a lovely square of Cadbury chocolate, filled with caramel bits, and perfected by decades of R&D. The melt-in-your-mouth feature is there, but none of the sweet, buttery, or caramel flavours. It leaves me with a feeling of sadness, of dread, of emptiness. My mind, filled with beautiful memories of chocolate, cannot accept the reality, and I find myself wondering, as I do many many times during this time, whether I am actually in a strange dream I’ll want to recount frantically to anyone who will listen the next morning.
We go through life taking certain things for granted, that snow is cold, and that the sunshine feels warm against our skin. That sirens are loud, and that when a tree falls in a forest and we’re there, we hear a thud. That it gets dark at night, and bright during the day, and that the ocean will always be blue. That coffee smells wonderful, and that a pile of garbage smells awful. That clementines taste delicious, and that coriander tastes miserable.
Our senses are our way of experiencing the world, and what separates our dreams from our reality, so when two out of five (and probably the two we take most for granted!) are abruptly taken away, our sense of reality is completely distorted, leaving us with a perpetual sense of “Is this real?” and “What about this?”
Recovering and rebooting
Today, day 11 of testing positive, and day 13 of the pizza epiphany, I can taste a little. The creamy labneh and smattering of zaatar just come through, but barely, and the bananas taste of something, though it’s not what my memory had stored. Coffee tastes just bitter, lacking most of the enjoyment I used to get from it. The scent of the coconut candle hints at a tropical beach, but only if I close my eyes and add some imagination to it. Popcorn is strangely satisfying, vaguely salty, and fun to eat, but strawberries only seem to muse at something. The smell of my favourite hand cream fights to be noticed, and I can notice it, but only just.
While some inklings of taste make it through and occasionally smell too, the flavour profiles are basic, and the richness I seek still evades me. The world feels muted, and unexciting. Food has become fuel, one of the saddest of all thoughts, and the idea that chocolate and I have drifted apart this way too painful a breakup to even consider.
I am incredibly grateful covid-19 was merciful on me and may have now even provided me with some immunity for the next few weeks as I await my turn in the vaccine queue. I am grateful I didn’t infect more people around me, confined to my bedroom (and now office, dining room, and living room). I am grateful I’ve had Mother feeding me, her flavour functions intact, and her worrying cogs in motion, always wondering what the next meal shall be.
While I patiently wait for my taste and smell to return to full throttle, I will continue to dream up new things I want to cook, and baking projects I want to tackle, leafing through the two cookbooks that have kept me company in quarantine: the fresh newness of Ottolenghi’s Flavour (thank you Tala) and the comforting familiarity of Lebanese Home Cooking (thank you Mother), both of which carry the essential joys I glean from cooking, smelling, and tasting.
One more thing
You made it this far! I’m working on a project and would love your thoughts. Can I kindly ask you to extend the generosity of your attention for a few more minutes to take a survey? It’s fun! (Thank you!)
"Without any feedback from my senses, it does what the trusty human brain knows how to do well: it sends me a 404 error. Page not found." I loved this part. Food as fuel is definitely a sad thought to think of. I'm so happy you're recovering, and I'm looking forward to see what you will cook / request first when your taste is back! Salemtik beans. Love you loads. Just took the survey, was super fast and fun!