If I lost my sense of taste tomorrow I would miss the coffee that kick starts my writing day; that takes an age to make it just so - three spoons, no sugar, splash of milk.
I would miss the sneaky Wispa bar that I pop into my Friday morning shopping basket with the milk and bread and fresh fruit and veg before we start the start the weekend, with everyone in the home peering in cupboards for quick snacks. I wave the Change for Life sugar swap app in my family's face smug with the knowledge that I have snaffled the secret chocolate treat in my car on the way home from the supermarket. Savouring each melting mouthful at the traffic lights.
I would miss the big Sunday Roast that has our dining table groaning under the dishes laden with everyone's favourites. This is the dinner where all plates are scraped clean and no morsel left uneaten. We rest full bellies in front of the telly waiting for the moment that we can squeeze in dessert.
If I lost my sense of taste tomorrow I would miss the cakes and cookies my middle daughter likes to bake on quiet Saturdays; the sweeties from my youngest daughter's party bag sweetie box that never seems to empty; the dishes that my eldest daughter presents with pride, hot from the home ec room, onto our kitchen counter. These are their tastebud heavens and they share them with me.
I would miss the tiny bones that disappear in the saltfish salad, that detract me, momentarily from the sun-yellow plantain and the golden brown bakes. The food of my childhood. The meal that brings love.
I would miss cardboard boxed fries dipped in banana milkshake and the greasy wrapped chips shared on seaside seafronts and the first slurp of a cuppa getting home after dark and the silk of a rum punch in the garden, in the sun.
If I lost my sense of taste tomorrow I'd miss the way a bite or nibble or swallow or chew can take me to a moment that sparks a memory; a meal that creates a story.
This post is in response to a #Post40Bloggers : Writing Prompt no72 : Lose your sense of taste tomorrow