THE INEVITABILITY OF DISTASTE
LIFE IS JUST A SLOW MARCH TOWARD LOSING ONE’S TASTEBUDS
Idon’t remember hovering over the edge of a long plastic banquet table, staring at a ring of thawing shrimp, but I’m told that’s how it happened.
I would like to imagine that I, a smart and observant child, was mesmerized by the icicles that protruded off the shrimp’s translucent pink flesh before melting into a stagnant pool of water.
Or maybe it was the shrimp water itself, and how it reeked of cheap plastic and fish caught a minimum of three years before being served. But it’s hard to say what I was thinking, or if I was thinking at all. At five years old, the truth is that I probably just wanted to copy the grown-ups.
Adults had begun dismantling the shrimp ring’s perfect circle around me, peeling off individual chunks and dunking them into a sophisticated bowl of cocktail sauce that sat in the ring’s centre. I followed suit by flinging a floppy, sauce- covered shrimp into my mouth.
But the bitter horseradish felt like an electric kettle was suddenly boiling water on my tongue. It burned so intensely that I had to spit the whole thing out; right onto the neighbours’ freshly cleaned white carpet.
It might be hard to recall much from early childhood, but nearly everyone remembers a deep loathing for foods they have since grown to love. Learning to enjoy strong flavours remains one of the most universally accepted signs of growing up.
“Children are programmed to like fatty and sweet foods and to dislike bitter foods,” says Toronto- based Ear Nose and Throat (ENT) doctor Alex Osborn.
“Newborns and infants have about three times as many tastebuds as adults. Taste is a subjective experience and it is hard to interview a newborn about the tastes they are experiencing, but this increased number of tastebuds suggests that taste may be much more intense in young children compared to adults.”
The average person is born with roughly 10,000 tastebuds, but this bounty of taste receptors quickly begins to dissipate as we grow older. By age 40, cells start to lose their ability to regenerate, and tastebuds that are burnt from hot foods have difficulty healing and may never return.
As the ability to taste deteriorates, most adults become less sensitive to the spicy and bitter flavours they couldn’t tolerate as children. But this hardly explains the whole story when it comes to matters of flavour.
“As we transition to adulthood, we may consciously try to seek out new foods and try to like them,” says Dr. Osborn. “We can train ourselves to like certain foods and the motivation for wanting to like something is as important, if not more, as how it actually tastes.”
I have noticed this theory play out in many foodie circles, where an appreciation for the pungent flavours of rancid smelling cheeses, slimy strands of sea urchin and bitter IPA craft beers riddled with hops is akin to possessing a superior personality trait. In these situations, it’s hard to have an honest opinion about taste.
Instead, determining whether you “like” a food involves a complex interplay of emotions, social cues and chemosensory input because the ability to enjoy intense flavours is seen as a standi n symbol f or maturity and sophistication.
A similar phenomenon also happens at the everyday level.
Each time we navigate the complex world of food choices we’re forced to confront what those choices say about us.
Where salads made from dark, leafy greens have come to symbolize health, an appreciation for coffee, wine and dark chocolate continues to be equated with discernment and adulthood. This makes it hard to decipher how much of a food’s perceived flavour comes from the actual sensation of taste, and how much comes from social conditioning.
Of course the idea that marketing can affect a food’s flavour isn’t exactly breaking news. But despite a cultural obsession with eating, it’s seldom acknowledged t hat f l avour is experienced on a sliding scale. And unlike the critical senses of sight and sound, for which we have glasses and hearing aids, losing the ability to taste is rarely talked about or treated. There is something distinctly threatening about the inevitability of distaste.
Food is supposed to be “The Great Unifier,” not yet another entity that gives some people a better experience than others.
There is also the fact that food television has made eating an increasingly visual act. Wanting to “lick the screen” is the modern equivalent of sending compliments to the chef, and flavour has been all but elbowed to an almost secondary position when it comes to our deranged ideas of what constitutes good eating.
The irony of this bombardment of food imagery is that it has turned flavour into an afterthought. But even though flavour is, arguably, less important than it has ever been, limitations when it comes to tasting food still robs you of one of life’s greatest and most dependable pleasures.
The idea of a foodie may be relatively new, and most selfidentifying foodies are still relatively young people. But as foodies get older, tastebud enhancers could be a billion-dollar business.
Either that, or we can all get together and finally admit that sea urchin and craft beers aren’t really that great and move on.
I’ll bring the shrimp ring.
Once we hit forty, women only have about four tastebuds left: one for vodka, one for wine, one for cheese, and one for chocolate. — Gina Barreca
A truly elegant taste is generally accompanied with excellency of heart. — Henry Fielding