Neil and I went for burgers on Sunday. He had fries and in my great benevolence, I was helping him finish them. He started complaining about the saltiness of them. I laughed, thinking he was joking around. He was not. They were salty, and I was pretty much unable to taste it. And I used to be quite sensitive to the taste of salt.
Later that night we went to my mom & dad's for dinner. Mom made her famous garlicky garlic toast. I grabbed a huge slice and began to eat. The garlic toast tasted like... plain whole wheat bread. No butter, no GARLIC. I put my slice down, not wanting to insult my mom and her error in forgetting the garlic. But Neil was loving his slice, asking for a second. I knew then, that it was me that was broken. Again. I handed over my slice, explaining I didn't taste garlic.
To test my tongue, mom brought over the jar of solomacha. That is many, many cloves of garlic finely chopped and soaked in canola oil. With a tablespoon of lemon per quart of solomacha to prevent the garlic from browning. It's great to use as a dressing on food, a marinade, a started for frying food... it's my favorite condiment! I took a heaping teaspoon of solomacha and put it on a small slice of bread. I took a deep breath and popped the morsel in. And? I tasted the LEMON. But no garlic... although I felt the slight burn of too much garlic at the back of my throat, as I swallowed.
It's such a strange feeling, to KNOW you should be tasting something yet the flavour just isn't there. It amazes me how much of my "reality" is based on senses that can be so easily misled. A few coursing hormones, and an entire spectrum of my palette disappears. I just hope I can keep the rest of the flavours.