A snout that tastes like a good snout should – or a masked trout replica?

30 October, 2010 – I decided to smoke. It’s said to be sensual pleasure, surely within the realm of taste. Chefs smoke. It’s bad for their palate, they know, yet they’re romantic professionals making a living from their keen taste buds.

When I first had the idea for The Unpalatable Truth I did a cursory internet search for “improve my palate”. From the results I learnt little, except that I would not be taking an algorithmically-friendly route. I’d be wayward, off the beaten path, exploring under my own steam, unaided by an engine of search optimization.

Nose to Dead Rat’s Tail Salad

23 October, 2010 – I knew someone with thirty perfumes. I lived with her, for her, for just shy of three and a half years. I will call her the Maximalist, not least because that is what she called herself.

I did more of the cooking. She didn’t have much of the learned intuition for food, but no one could doubt that she loved it. Perhaps I was the better cook but she certainly seemed to have a far better sense of taste. She had the heart-felt, passionate, the elevated response to food that I crave.

Cook on, Give me excess of it

15 October, 2010 – There were many reasons why it took me so long to knuckle-down and begin writing. Laziness wasn’t one reason, physical exertion was.

I had the idea for The Unpalatable Truth, and at that time I also threw myself into exercise. Indeed the thought that I should explore my sense of taste came while I was on a treadmill, a treadmill with an excellent view of the Fryer’s Delight, a chip shop. This, I think, hints at something of the dilemma.

Chilli, garlic, olive oil with linguine plus parsley too

5 October 2010 – Any fool can follow a recipe. I’m told I can cook and cook well but all I do is do what it says in the book. There is no magic, no conjuring up of flavours. I don’t engage with what is on the plate, never mind with what is on my palate. I have this nagging sense that I don’t really appreciate food: for all the praise, for all the satisfied eaters, perhaps I don’t have a particularly good sense of taste.

And yet cooking is the one thing which I understand. The one thing I know, while I don’t know if I know food at all. There are times too when I don’t really know life at all. With food, and with life, there are hidden depths, things which are passing me by, things which I am missing – or more keenly that I am missing out on. I eat but do I truly taste? I taste but do I really savour and enjoy?