Tasteless in Paris
On losing my senses, figure skating and more.
It is quite an odd thing to have a craving for an oatmeal cookie or a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream when, in fact, you can’t even conjure the scent or taste of either. And, in fact, should they be placed before you, you wouldn’t be able to experience them in their true essence. But, unfortunately, between the last Friday letter and today, I experienced such sensations—or lack thereof. My ability to tell whether my garbage needed to be taken out or the difference between a grapefruit’s tart citrus and the sweet honey drizzled on top was brought into question. That’s right, ladies and gents: What I thought was a cold was, in fact, Covid. Here’s the play-by-play I know y’all want:
Woke up with a scratchy throat on Dec. 31
Saved myself from an even more lame NYE than being alone with a pastry from Cyril Lignac by waiting until the next day to home test. It was negative.
Tested again the next day, negative encore.
On Monday, Jan. 3, I sought out a PCR test in my neighborhood, but the options were either appointment-only (and the next available date was a week away) or a long line in the rain. I chalked it up to a cold and moved on; remaining masked when outside of the house and indoors.
I stayed at a hotel for work, eating inside its restaurant for dinner and the following day at another restaurant for lunch; remaining masked between bites. By now, I was congested, but felt it was par for the course for a cold.
By late afternoon Saturday—so an entire week since the first symptom of a scratchy throat—I realized I couldn’t taste or smell anything. My inability to properly enjoy my favorite pastry—a chou from Popelini!—tipped me off.
Of course, this also happens when you’re congested, but I took another home test to be sure and, voila, the two red lines appeared.
I then texted and called those I’d seen (all of whom, thankfully, remained negative).
After that, I deteriorated slightly with some dizziness and headaches, but for the next 7 days, during which I isolated chez moi and rotated between boring, texture-based meals of oatmeal, eggs, celery, and chicken soup, it remained mostly just a “cold” that wouldn’t quit.
Now on the other side of it—with my smell and taste almost fully intact—I feel lucky that it wasn’t worse. I’d obviously heard about the no-taste/smell repercussion but naively dismissed it. And let me tell you: It is a very strange and a very sad state of being. What is the point in eating anything presumed tasty? I wondered daily. I even joked that maybe I’d lose the extra 5lbs I put on “during Covid.” But then came the cravings. I yearned for a cookie. Ice cream. A piece of pizza. Still, it felt completely pointless to indulge. If I eat a cookie and can’t even taste it, did I even eat the cookie?
In the end, I did. Eat the cookie, that is. But, thankfully, I wouldn’t have to struggle with the quandary for long. After about 7 days, the first thing I smelled, unfortunately, was vinegar. I finally had the energy to clean the house and there I was, spritzing the bathroom sink when—POOF—I got a whiff of that pungent, sour stench. Then, a few days later, when I took the metro, I was assaulted by the perfume of a woman next to me. My first reaction was: “Damn, lady. Ease up!” Then I smiled to myself, grateful to be able to trace it at all.
My tastebuds, on the other hand, have been a bit slower to return; with strong flavors like garlic and ginger hitting me first. But the fact is, they’re nearly back and I couldn’t be more relieved to return to the important work of helping you all decide where to eat when you come to Paris—and, of course, tasting it all myself; not to mention playing around with recipes at home. Wishing you all a weekend full of only the best sensations. Go stick your nose in a vase of hyacinths or place a spoonful of peanut butter on your tongue because you can and because it is life! xx — Sara
Clickable
Sushi in LA is having a moment. | The New York Times
Maybe you shouldn’t watch ET or Forest Gump with your kids? | Esquire
Please let us have Wordle. | McSweeney’s
Try not to cry reading this reunion story. | WaPo
Survivalist fans of Yellowjackets, here’s a dose of realism. | Vulture
Mourning the loss of a NYC restaurant no one realized they’d love. | Grub Street
When a limo crash connects back to the FBI, who’s to blame? | Intelligencer
Watchable
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