Finally, it’s the last of the senses. What’s funny about this one, Taste, is that it’s one of those things that other people seem to really care about and be bothered by, whereas I couldn’t care less. In a way, at least.
There’s a lot of different aspects to this, as you may have noticed with the other senses as well. Taste, in this post at least, will be mostly about food. That’s the most obvious thing, isn’t it?
To me, food is very important. The taste, the texture and even the colours can affect whether or not I can eat it.
Again, this not entirely true. I can always force myself to eat something, or try to force myself, but it’s as appetizing as forcing yourself to eat a giant tarantula, while it’s still hairy, alive and struggling on your plate. It’s sickening, to say the least. Not only because I am terrified of spiders, but I also have a thing with hair – I hate it in my food, or anywhere near it, to be honest. If I find a single strain of hair in my food I am already half way to the bathroom with the contents of my stomach making a second appearance. After that I won’t be eating anything for a while.
When I was at drama school as kid there was this thing people did: they brought cakes and food and other edible things to practice and everyone was supposed to taste it and say things like: ‘Oh my, that is just delicious!’ or ‘Mmmm! Wonderful. However did you make that?’. Those who were particularly keen would of course ask for the recipe.
I hated this with a passion.
One time, and I promise you it is a true experience, a girl had baked a big chocolate cake. It was a giant brownie or something like that, and I was told at the time by the others that it looked extremely delicious. Everyone was eating it – at first.
Suddenly, people started choking and making vomiting sounds, running desperately for the doors. I cannot remember if I was offered a piece or not, and I pray I will never recover all my memories of that day. Now, I’m pretty sure I didn’t eat the cake, but I saw it.
You see, the girl, she had dog. A big, yellow Labrador. I cannot understand how anyone could look at that cake and not see the billions of little yellow -white hairs sticking out of it. It was like looking at one of those blankets’ dogs sleep on. I am pretty sure I blocked everything else out after seeing the cake. It was horrible. People were sick in many different places, but happily I didn’t see too much.
The poor girl was so embarrassed. I remember her being comforted by one of the adults maybe the day after the cake incident. If you ever saw at a huge number of people being sick, you know it’s not something one gets over quickly. I am not sure anyone ever wanted to eat anything she brought again, had she ever decided to bring something after the cake incident. To the best of my memory, she didn’t.
I can hardly imagine anything worse than that cake – even today.
In spite of the cake incident, it was not the danger of hair, nor was it the sharing of food in itself that I hated. I love to cook for others. In fact, one of my favourite things in the world is when I’m dating someone and I get the chance to cook for that person in morning.
I love getting up early, while my partner is still snoozing in bed, making coffee and breakfast so that it’s all ready when my partner gets up. Once I dated a guy who would wake up early and do the dishes and such, while I was showering and then he expected to join in the making of breakfast or even cook for me while I sat and watched. That’s just silly. Needless to say, it didn’t last. One of the reasons it didn’t last is that he refused to understand why I couldn’t just eat the food he made. I can’t. Eating food someone else has prepared is worse than the tarantula on my plate – situation.
I’m not saying I can’t learn to eat food someone else has made, no, no, that’s not it at all. Only it takes a long time and a lot of getting used to. It’s a difficult process for me, no matter who you are. It takes a lot patience from the other person, I know.
Also, on a side note, I demand to make breakfast in bed for my partner on regular basis, it makes me happy and satisfied. I don’t know why. I also don’t understand why so many people don’t want to make time for things like that. I mean, it doesn’t have to be all the time, just once in a while.
I think moments like that are important and precious.
So, right about now you might be wondering why I don’t like eating something someone else has made. I like cooking and I like sharing food, so why do I continue to refuse eating what people make for me? Even when it’s people I care deeply about. Well, I can eat food my mother makes, at least most of the time. My grandparents too, but they would also be pretty broken-hearted if I didn’t. My grandparents are the kind of people who spend days cooking in preparation for the arrival of guests. They enjoy the process of cooking for people they care about, just like I do. But even with them, both my grandparents and my mother, it can be very difficult for me at times to eat the food they’ve made.
This is where you might find it strange. I can’t exactly explain why I can’t eat food other people make. It’s not just a germ thing, or a fear of hairs or anything like that. I know inside how I feel about this, but explaining in words is barely possible.
Is there some food that you absolutely hate? A flavour you just hate eating? Can you explain exactly why you hate it? Not just that you hate the texture, flavour or look of the food, but why do you hate that particular texture, flavour or look of the food?
It’s not that easy, is it?
It’s sort of like that for me. It makes me sick.
Other people generally get annoyed. They host dinner parties or something like that, and there I am, either forcing myself to eat, knowing I’ll get sick and probably need to stay in bed the next day without eating anything at all, or refuse to eat what they’ve cooked.
Not only are people annoyed with me, they seem to feel sorry for me. Odd, really, because I love my own cooking. I wasn’t always good but cooking every day kinda make you better. I may not be a professional chef, but then again, when other people’s food made you sick, it doesn’t take much skill for you to prefer your own. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I am not particularly bothered by the fact that I can’t eat their food.
I think my mother must be one of the most patient people on the planet. She struggled so much with making me eat as a child. She did the craziest things. She would create strange, artful packed lunches, with drawings on eggs and funny shaped food. I don’t think I ever had a packed lunch that even looked slightly similar to the other children’s packed lunches. Breakfast was one of the worse things, though, and she would make whatever I wanted every single morning as long as it would make me eat.
I hate processed foods as well, but luckily, my mother always cooked things herself if she could. It didn’t matter if it was almond milk, cheese or if it required her growing a million strawberries in the back of the house because all I wanted to eat at the time was fresh strawberry smoothies. I prefer fresh foods and if I can grow it myself in the garden – even better! In that way, I was lucky. If my mother had forced me to eat, I honestly don’t think I would be alive today – and no, I’m not exaggerating.
Of course, there’s also the matter that our daily food choices affect our planet and I honestly believe we must take care of the earth by for example eating less meat and such, but that is a different post in itself.
The secret here is that she engaged me in the cooking process from an early age. She had me in the kitchen when she cooked and let me help when I was able to. It was the same with working in the garden, even though the sunlight made being outside very difficult. She would hang a giant sheet above me, so that I would feel better when outside.
I have heard many on the spectrum prefer processed foods, but I don’t know if that’s real or just a myth. Of course, I personally would rather eat a frozen pizza, even knowing how bad it is for you, than I would eat a pizza some other person had made themselves. In that way, I understand that some may prefer processed foods. If my mother had not made me participate in the cooking, I suppose I might have ended up preferring processed foods too. As things are now, I cannot imagine not cooking for myself.
I didn’t always enjoy cooking, of course, because it was a necessary evil of sorts. In time, after much trial and error, I figured what kind of food makes me feel good and what makes me feel bad. While experimenting, I started enjoying myself while cooking. When I realised that I could share food I made with others (something that still astounds me, because honestly, why would anyone want to eat food someone else made?!) it was like miracle. As I’ve said before, I want to connect with other people and the connection I felt when someone I care about happily eats food I’ve prepared is beyond my wildest imagination. I never thought someone would be happy to eat something I made. In fact, I never thought anyone would like anything I ever did.
It is not just when other people cook that I don’t want to eat it. I don’t like yellow, so often I don’t want to eat things like fresh corn. If you roast it on a grill and the colours changes to almost black, I don’t mind. It’s the yellow colour I don’t want to eat. Not orange, I like orange – orange is okay colour. It’s a special kind of yellow. People find it odd that it’s not all nuances of yellow, but only some that I don’t like to eat, but that’s just who I am. I love eating things that have a red colour and with red, all nuances are okay. I have very specific preferences, so it can be difficult for others to figure out. Colours are really only important to me when I have bad day. On a good, I might even eat corn – but I probably won’t be happy about it.
Textures are important too, but less so than colours. In fact, I am often rather adventures when it comes to textures, because my physical sensitivity is quite strong, it can be an amazing experience. Of course, it can be pretty bad too. That’s just life, and textures happen to be something I don’t mind taking chances with.
Now comes the big one. Mixing things. Things should not be mixed. Everything should be as separate as it can be. Of course, sometimes the visual experience of a meal demands that things get a little mixed, but I can generally handle that if I am the one mixing it. Stews and such I really hate eating if I didn’t mix things together myself. On a plate, everything should be sorted – every single thing should be in its proper place. Sauces are an exception, since they should always cover something, but never everything. Food is, in many ways, a complicated process to me.
Remember what I said at first? That it’s one of those things that other people seem to really care about and be bothered by, whereas I couldn’t care less? People always feel so sorry for me when I talk about food and my eating habits, and I never understand why. I love the way I eat. I love that I am still figuring out how to cook the best food I can. I love making everything from scratch. Yes, it takes time. It takes time every day, but it’s worth it! And shockingly, it takes up far less time than people think. I sometimes wonder if people think cooking for me is like creating a seven-course meal or that I’m sad I can’t eat out at restaurants all the time. I’m not. There are some restaurants I can eat at relatively comfortably, but I still prefer to cook for myself.
I don’t care that I can’t eat the food people make for me, and I know people think I should. I love cooking for others, not just for myself, and I don’t see why it should be a problem. There’s got to be people out there who don’t care that I won’t eat their food, maybe even people who are grateful they don’t have to cook. And if it really matters to someone, hopefully they will have the patience it takes to make me comfortable eating the food they make. All it really takes is patience.
The first article I wrote about this is called Hypersensitivity, and in case you want to know more about this topic, it’s a great place to start. You can also just skip to any of the other senses, which are: Sight, Hearing, Smell or Touch.
