With Thanksgiving but a week away, this year will be somehow be quite different.
For reasons that are for the most part mysterious and unknown to me, I’ve lost my sense of smell.
I didn’t leave it anywhere per se but it has all but dissapeared.
I’m confused, angry, sad and have nothing to blame my emotions on.
I can’t even smell my own farts, for God’s sake.
That alone can drive an old Boy Scout crazy.
The biggest problem in my mind is that I’m also a cook.
And I love cigars, beer and my amazing smorgasboard of aged pipe tobacco.
Sucks to be you, Michael.
Sense of smell is such a primal and primitive thing and something I’ve always taken for granted. Until now.
My mouth is now filled with odd and nebulous specters, the whispers of ghost flavors manufactured by a stumbling brain trying to make sense of what the hell is going on with my sleeping nose. And what my brain creates is pretty much horrible, nasty crap.
I really miss the taste/smell of a nice cup of coffee or tea, my spaghetti sauce simmering, fresh cut summer grass, Pamela’s Apple Crisp slow baking in the oven.
I miss the smell of people, well, certain people (you know who you are). Wow. That was a weird one.
I’m even missing the smell of me.
Feels like a small part of me has inexplicably disappeared.
The ENT confirmed that this was not an allergy complication but more likely the result of a viral infection (flu) that cold cocked the pants off my olfactory nerves.
So what does one do when they have to cook for Thanksgiving and the potatoes taste the same damn way as the carrots?
I’m thinking that this is one of the reasons someone came up with something called the ‘recipe‘.
I can’t trust my non-existent sense of taste and smell anymore but I’ll be damned if someone else will put their mitts on my Butterball.
In my heart and mind, I’m jarred to the core on this one but I also know that there are people counting on me to do what I’ve done for the past 33+ years. And will continue to do.
I can promise that this house will be filled with all the familiar smells they’ve come to know and love.
And although I won’t be able to truly take it all in this year, the smiles I hope to see as they come through the kitchen door on Thanksgiving is all I’ve really ever needed anyway.
For now, I’ll continue to pray that my missing sense decides that there’s no place like home for the holidays.