I hope not.
But after spending an inordinate amount of time in bed this weekend, moaning alternately about a headache and nausea, I finally got up and made myself something to eat: a mashed plantain.
But yuck, too sweet.
So I tried something else: too salty.
I worked my way through the cabinets, through the fridge, and into the fruit basket, trying to counterbalance the intense flavor of one food with another.
The subtle flavor of whatever I ate was amplified x 1,000 and everything that normally brings me pleasure was repulsive.
Maybe this new development would be easier to accept if I weren’t a hopeless foodie, my palate cultivated by a long-doting chef husband whose greatest pleasure is surprising me with new dishes, new flavors, a meal we can add to our journal of memorable eats.
But as it is, I feel pretty sad that the thrill of eating is gone… for now.