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"### Losing My Passion\\n\\nLemon chicken with broccoli, arugula salad and a peanut butter cookie. That was my own Last Supper\u2014or, at least, the last meal I ate before I lost my sense of taste. After that, everything I put in my mouth reminded me of Elmer's Glue or had absolutely no taste at all.\\n\\nAt first, I blamed it on a nasty [winter cold](http://www.self.com/wellness/health/2011/11/fix-winter-health-problems-slideshow/). But when my bug disappeared in a week and my taste buds still hadn't revived, I saw my doctor. His diagnosis was hypogeusia, the blanket term for partial taste loss, though he couldn't tell me why it had happened or when it would clear up. He gave me a prescription and told me to wait and see if the meds would prod my nerve endings back into action.\\n\\nSadly, my buds didn't budge. Worse, a lingering, acrid taste in my mouth turned every bite into sour sludge. Mealtimes were an exercise in frustration: I'd inhale the delicious aromas rising from my plate, take a wary but hopeful nibble, then drop my fork in disappointment and disgust. So I returned to my doctor, who handed me a referral to a taste-disorder specialist. Afterward, as I stood on the street, clutching the slip of paper, I felt empty inside, and not because I'd eaten so little over the past few weeks. In a bit more than two months' time, I was set to fly to France and Italy with my family to celebrate my husband's birthday. The thought of being in Paris without tasting a buttery croissant or in Rome without savoring silky strands of pasta made me feel that the trip wouldn't be worth taking at all.\\n\\nThe specialist didn't ease my panic, but he did pinpoint the probable cause: an oral antifungal medication I'd taken for a minor nail infection. He explained that taste disturbances could be a rare side effect. As I sat there, stunned that my nail prescription might have been toxic enough to steal one of my senses, I half-heard him say that even though he was optimistic, he couldn't be positive I'd ever fully recover my sense of taste.\\n\\nI've never had to worry about extra pounds, which may explain why I've always had an amicable relationship with food. My earliest memories involve sitting around a rickety table in my family's summer cabin in Vermont. Using an ancient electric stove, my mother turned out boeuf bourguignon and butterflied lamb with garlic and rosemary for as many people as my parents could gather. The food powered the conversation, which grew to a low roar as the wine flowed. That house is now gone, but those meals taught me to equate food with warmth, love and togetherness. Food was the yeast that lifted up my life.\\n\\nWhen I graduated from college and moved to New York City, food quickly became the center of my own social gatherings. My friends and I colonized a zinc-topped Belgian bar in the Village, where we talked about sex, men and work over mussels, slender french fries and white wine. After I married, I re-created the recipe of those childhood gatherings: Take a group of friends, sprinkle in good food and wine (short ribs, a big Cabernet), season with interesting conversation and laughter, and always provide a little chocolate as the finishing touch.\\n\\nBut now, [hosting a dinner party](http://www.self.com/food/2011/01/2011-january-self-dinner-club/) was out of the question. Why bother? I couldn't taste the fruits of my labors. Instead, I threw myself a pity party. Food had been my anchor; now I felt adrift. After a stressful day at work or one of my older daughter's sullen preteen moments, nothing had felt as comforting as treating myself to a few Girl Scout Thin Mints. But I couldn't even rely on wine to melt away my stress because it tasted like rubbing alcohol. I reminded myself that losing my sense of taste was less dire than many calamities. But as much as I tried to make the best of the situation, the only thing I could savor was my own bitterness.\\n\\nMy social life ground to a halt as I canceled dinners with friends. I missed the camaraderie, but why torture myself with the smells coming out of a restaurant kitchen? One night, friends came to me, perhaps intending to lure my taste buds out of hibernation with a thin-crust truffle-and-sausage pie from my favorite pizzeria. As I inhaled the earthiness of the truffles, my hopes surged. Maybe the flavor would be strong enough to make an impact. I took a bite. Nothing but stomach-curdling sourness. I forced myself to swallow, then turned away, trying to hide my disappointment. Life without pizza. What was the point?\\n\\n### Refinding My Happiness\\n\\nWithin a few weeks, I lost 10 pounds, my rangy frame turning skeletal, prompting some friends to half-joke that they'd be willing to endure my dilemma for thinner thighs. (\\\"Gimme that drug!\\\" one wisecracked.) \\\"Really, you don't want this to happen to you,\\\" I'd say, frustrated that they couldn't see the bigger picture\u2014that I was starving, physically and emotionally.\\n\\nDinner at home got tense, too. My usually boisterous girls would eat with their eyes on their plates, trying not to watch me listlessly push my food around. One night, I served a curry so overseasoned that my younger child, normally a fan of spicy food, burst into tears at first bite. It's no wonder that, as my taste troubles began to dominate every conversation, my family's sympathy began to wear thin.\\n\\nThen one day, while shopping at Costco, I started swaying in front of the megapacks of cookies; I was close to fainting from lack of food. Back home, I forced down a banana, vowing to nourish my body, even if I couldn't enjoy the food. The sourness in my mouth gradually disappeared as I began ingesting small portions, still without the slightest sensation.\\n\\nIt wasn't until the fifth week of my ordeal that pops of flavor started to hit my palate. Some weren't pleasant\u2014like the deep fryer oil in an egg roll or the lard in a cookie\u2014but I could also discern baked potatoes, red peppers and hard-boiled eggs. Salt came through; sweet was elusive. Often, single flavors in a dish would emerge, like cumin, and I adapted my menu to what I could taste. Soon, my diet resembled something a nutritionist would approve of. I ditched sugar and alcohol. The cookies and crackers that used to power my day tasted like paper, so I skipped them, too, along with meat, which was akin to licking cardboard. Strong fish like wild salmon registered, and vegetables, though bland, were also palatable. To make sure I fully enjoyed any flavors that did peek through, I ate more slowly. Gradually, I regained most of my lost pounds; even better, my skin glowed, and I slept like a baby. As my energy soared, I ran my first 10K race and began training for a half marathon.\\n\\nIn short, I'd never felt better\u2014physically. But the bursts of flavor were also a reminder of everything else I was missing in my life. The more I could taste, the more frightened I became: What if I could never fully appreciate a fudge brownie again?\\n\\nYet each day brought a new gift: the fresh thyme in vegetable soup, a hint of ginger in a stir-fry. I began to make cautious forays to restaurants with friends; then, one night, I dared to revisit the same truffle-and-sausage pizza that had seemed so flavorless nine weeks earlier. I sniffed it cautiously, then lifted a slice to my mouth. What I tasted was almost elemental: wet earth, tree roots. The flavors might not appeal to everyone, but to me, the moment was nothing short of a full-on foodgasm.\\n\\nFourteen weeks after my Last Supper, my family and I were in Paris, eyeing a basket of fresh croissants. I grabbed one, smearing it with strawberry jam and sweet butter, took a bite and smiled. It tasted like pure joy. I'd always considered food to be fuel, and I knew it was the engine of my social life. But on some level, I'd been taking every bite for granted. These days, when I bring a fork to my lips, I pause and experience food in a new way: sensually, tasting its essence. Wherever I am, in Paris or at home, when I eat, I'm not only feeding my body; I'm feeding my soul.\\n\\n### Why Does Taste Go on Hiatus?\\n\\n__It's all about the taste buds.__ Human beings have nearly 5,000 of them in the mouth, throat, larynx and esophagus. The ones in the mouth are dotted with receptor cells that normally detect at least five basic flavors: sweet, sour, bitter, salty and savory. But sometimes, medication\u2014among other things\u2014can damage these receptors so they can't send taste signals to the brain, says Richard Doty, Ph.D., director of the Smell and Taste Center at the University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine. Indeed, 1 to 2 percent of people younger than age 65 have experienced some degree of taste or smell loss, and nearly half of older folks have some level of impaired taste or smell.\\n\\n__*Here's what you can do...*__\\n\\n\u2022 Check your prescriptions. Mani-pedi addicts, beware. The antifungal drug terbinafine (also known as Lamisil), often used to treat nail infections, can induce full or partial taste loss in up to 2.8 percent of people who take it. Certain medications for sleep, blood pressure and cholesterol can also interfere with taste. Some mouth, ear and nose infections, minor surgery such as a tonsillectomy and, rarely, gastric reflux disorder or a head injury may cause problems, as well.\\n\\n\u2022 Give it time. Most taste disorders go away by themselves in three months to two years; but if they don't, meds such as antibiotics and steroids can speed the process, so get yourself to your M.D. She may refer you to an ear, nose and throat specialist to make sure some other health issue isn't at play."^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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