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Nobody noticed we were slowly but surely painting ourselves
into a tight culinary corner. With time, all the wonderful vast choices the
good Lord put within our reach were reduced down to two.
It was either Tyson or DiGiorno.
Personally, I didn’t care for either. And against my better
judgment, I willingly conceded to both.
We never put our foot down to stop the insanity. We must
have been fooled by the fact that nobody appeared to be dying of hunger around us.
Our stomachs were getting filled plenty but it was more like eating Styrofoam than
sushi or sarma.
In the process, our palates atrophied along with our taste buds.
Our children couldn’t tell the difference between a turnip and catnip, Our
noses vandalized by seductive air-fresheners and scented candles, couldn’t
smell basil from cilantro anymore.
We started slathering Chick-fil-A sauce on everything and
calling whatever was buried under ‘tasty’.
Forgotten were the days of thyme and sage in our messy
kitchen…
Gone was the smell of bacon fat and caramelized onions that
made our stomachs growl like a roaring lion…
Gone was the fire of all four burners running red-hot, the
bobbing lids making our house steamy and us sweaty yet glowing…
Our onion-tears dried up.
We were eating without tasting.
Watching without seeing.
Listening without hearing.
And even though our stomachs were filled to the brim every night,
they felt strangely empty…
Which made me wonder...
What is worse… ?
Eating without tasting...?
Or not eating at all...?
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