Foodism
In my father's mouth are many receptors. As he has aged, many of them have closed down and no longer receive guests. Food has to have a stronger flavour to appeal to him. Some basic taste sensations are magnified, their impact carried by simpler substances — salt, sweet. The complex aromas of his earlier years have diminished, undone by time.
It will no doubt be the same for me, as it has been for generation after generation of those under the sun. And I suspect this is why we are often so much less discerning of food when we are young than when we are older.
It's not that the young are less picky, but that their pickiness towards food is in terms of simpler things — texture, colour. When very young, bitterness is poorly tolerated, but sourness is fine. As the palate matures, all kinds of odd flavour sources have to be savoured and analysed — umame, menthol, tannins, vanilla, pink peppercorns, sea salt... — and the tongue is able to feel the difference as it acts as the platform that eventually brings in the powers of the nose.
One day, this is gone, as the palate ages to simplicity. But the memory of taste makes us search for what has been lost, and we have often gained the spending power to go looking for it. Sadly, it is gone forever.
If food is the music of love, then love too may go this way. We play games when younger, like strong sensations when very young, and aim for complex blends when we think we have matured. But at the end, all we need is the simple, direct stuff and the wisdom to appreciate it for what it is. Sometimes, old love is strong but consists of a limited palette: plain affection, basic respect, a sense of humour that will overcome daily difficulties.
Getting old, one should divest; one should become simpler, more appreciative of things. Food is food; love is love; music is music. The last of life is the best of life, because it all heads towards one point, that which keeps us all human and the same — the boundary between sensation and the lack thereof. There is no food beyond that line.
It will no doubt be the same for me, as it has been for generation after generation of those under the sun. And I suspect this is why we are often so much less discerning of food when we are young than when we are older.
It's not that the young are less picky, but that their pickiness towards food is in terms of simpler things — texture, colour. When very young, bitterness is poorly tolerated, but sourness is fine. As the palate matures, all kinds of odd flavour sources have to be savoured and analysed — umame, menthol, tannins, vanilla, pink peppercorns, sea salt... — and the tongue is able to feel the difference as it acts as the platform that eventually brings in the powers of the nose.
One day, this is gone, as the palate ages to simplicity. But the memory of taste makes us search for what has been lost, and we have often gained the spending power to go looking for it. Sadly, it is gone forever.
If food is the music of love, then love too may go this way. We play games when younger, like strong sensations when very young, and aim for complex blends when we think we have matured. But at the end, all we need is the simple, direct stuff and the wisdom to appreciate it for what it is. Sometimes, old love is strong but consists of a limited palette: plain affection, basic respect, a sense of humour that will overcome daily difficulties.
Getting old, one should divest; one should become simpler, more appreciative of things. Food is food; love is love; music is music. The last of life is the best of life, because it all heads towards one point, that which keeps us all human and the same — the boundary between sensation and the lack thereof. There is no food beyond that line.
etched with acid at 9:02:00 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home