Cooking When I Can't Taste

I recently moved to Brooklyn for the summer for an internship, and somehow in the whirlwind of flights and packing I got a serious sinus infection. As part of the infection package deal, I lost my sense of taste for an entire week. This meant that for the first week in a new city, in a new apartment, working at a new job, not only did I have to battle constant coughing and nasal congestion, but I also couldn't taste my dinners. Or my lunches. Or breakfasts.

Boo hoo. I'm having a once-in-a-lifetime summer opportunity in one of the busiest and most incredible cities on Earth and happened to lose the ability to taste for a week the second I got there. Life goes on.

The thing is though, when you live to eat and you suddenly can't enjoy all of flavors' complexities, life begins to feel pretty gloomy. Why bother with seasoning if I can't taste it? Why try at all?

First and foremost, food is fuel. Regardless of taste, we need to eat balanced meals in order to function. I knew I needed to eat my protein, my carbs, and my veggies, yet the excitement that usually comes with making and eating my meals disappeared the second my taste buds flew out the door. I started with just salt in all my foods to save my spices from inoperative taste buds. I made salted crispy chicken (sorry to my Instagram story viewers, I couldn't taste any of that gorgeous chicken skin I posted) with white rice and salad. I had oatmeal with banana in the morning for a wisp of sweetness.

After a couple of days though, something strange happened. I started to get bored. I wanted to try new flavor combos. I started itching to play in the kitchen. So, how then, does one go about experimenting in the kitchen without wasting ingredients meant solely for added flavor? My answer: you get unbelievably creative with what you have.

Searching my fridge, I saw that my landlady had left me some asparagus. It was about to go bad, so into the ingredient list it went. There were some crunchy fried onions in the pantry. I had some pasta. All of a sudden I was making brown butter and lemon rigatoni with sautéed asparagus, crispy onions, and a fried egg. I added chickpeas later for some added protein to make it even more filling. It was gorgeous, nutritious, and fun to make. A couple days later when my taste buds decided to make an appearance for all of 15 minutes, I can confirm that it was delicious (though it desperately needed some pecorino).

I realized after that meal that I need purpose and rhythm in the kitchen. While I wasn't going to use my precious za'atar until my sense of taste was restored, I was willing to use nutrient dense ingredients to make my meals more exciting. My focus shifted more on play. How can I add more texture? Is this dish too dense? Too rich? How can I make it fun to eat?

Eating still wasn't as exciting, but it made the whole process of producing a meal much more meaningful. I felt more artistic in a way I haven't really tapped into before. I've never thought so much about the importance of crunch. Or temperature.

There are parts of food outside of taste that I realized I was taking for granted and temporarily having some blinders on helped me see layers of cooking that I haven't paid much attention to. I try to be a better cook every day, and while my taste buds going on extended leave was not on my calendar for Week 1 of NYC, I feel like I've expedited my cooking ability by 10x just by plugging my nose.

With those lessons learned, my sense of taste has returned and I couldn't be happier. I made za'atar potatoes and salmon with sumac, onion and garlic powder, and some black pepper. I made a proper salad dressing with garlic, evoo, salt, lemon, and Dijon mustard. I finally used the block of feta that's been sitting in the fridge. This time, though, I made sure my salmon skin was crispy and everything was served piping hot. I thought about the pros and cons of baking my feta vs crumbling it. I ate slowly and savored each bite.

I'm having double the fun doing the thing I love most and I genuinely could not be more grateful for one of the most lousy weeks of my adult life.