There’s a lot I miss about having a sense of smell. Freshly brewed coffee, sizzling bacon, the way the world comes alive in a bakery — it’s like music for your nose. But thanks to a particularly rude visit from COVID-19, that entire symphony has gone radio silent. My anosmia was supposed to be temporary. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. And while I’ve learned to live without it, it’s changed the way I experience food in ways that even the most flamboyant Food Network judge wouldn’t be ready for.
So now, I chase texture. I’m talking crunch, chew, snap, melt — the drama of mouthfeel. Because when your sense of smell is gone, taste doesn’t disappear completely, but it does get dimmed like a sad party with broken light bulbs. The secret to keeping meals interesting? Texture becomes the new superstar.
Why Texture Is Everything (When Taste Isn’t Enough)
Scientifically speaking, texture — or “oral somatosensory experience” if you want to sound like someone on Chef’s Table — is how your brain interprets physical sensations in your mouth. It’s how we know a potato chip isn’t a marshmallow. It’s why soggy cereal makes us irrationally angry. And it’s one of the few ways food still feels exciting for me.
Without smell to enhance or deepen flavors, I rely heavily on the mouthfeel. Creamy. Crunchy. Silky. Gritty. Bouncy. The more dynamic the bite, the more my brain pays attention. Give me layers. Contrast. That moment when crispy and soft collide like two chaotic friends at brunch who somehow work together.
The Best Bites Are Textural Symphonies
Let’s break it down. These are some of the textural profiles that get me out of bed (and into the kitchen or drive-thru lane) with enthusiasm:
- Crunch + Creamy: Think nachos with molten queso. Fried chicken with mashed potatoes. Anything that gives me a “shatter” followed by a “hug.”
- Snap + Chew: Fresh spring rolls. Sugar snap peas. That first bite of a good soft pretzel. Food that bites back just a little.
- Fluffy + Dense: Pancakes with bacon. Brioche bread pudding. I want to be confused about what’s happening in my mouth and enjoy the confusion.
- Slurp + Bite: Ramen. Pho. Anything with broth and toppings. If I can drink it and chew it? We’re having a good time.
Matthew (my sweet, patient, Amazon-Prime-having man) has learned that if I describe a dish as “texturally interesting,” that’s my highest compliment. I’ve been known to reject entire meals that feel too mushy, too smooth, too monotonous. I’m not saying I’m high-maintenance, but if it doesn’t give at least two textures, I’m out.
When Texture Goes Wrong (aka “Wet Bread Crimes”)
Let’s talk about the culinary war crimes that textureless food can be.
- Overcooked pasta.
- Soggy toast.
- Un-crisped pizza crust.
- Canned green beans that taste like sadness and hospital food.
Without smell to compensate, these feel like a personal attack. If I bite into something and it gives up before I do? Trash. Next.
And don’t even get me started on the betrayal of biting into what you think is a crisp apple, only to be greeted by mealy, flavorless pulp. That’s not food. That’s emotional manipulation.
Texture Isn’t Just Personal — It’s Cultural
So much of our culinary joy is rooted in cultural traditions — and many of those traditions are deeply textural. Chicharrón. Plantain chips. Elote. Mochi. Lumpia. Collard greens that are still slightly toothsome. Crunchy things dunked in soft things, wrapped in chewy things.
When I visit restaurants or recreate recipes from my childhood, I’m not just looking for taste. I’m looking for the feel of home. That soft-tough tension of carne guisada. The crispy edges of a Puerto Rican tostone. The firm chew of rice that’s just slightly overcooked the way my abuela made it (don’t come for me, I’m reclaiming the overcook!).
How to Make Food Fun Again (Without Smell)
For those of you who’ve lost your smell (temporarily or permanently) or who just want to get more out of your meals, here are a few tips from someone who’s been texturally surviving:
- Mix It Up: Add crunchy toppings to soups. Stir nuts into yogurt. Pair soft with crisp. Create conflict — then let your tongue mediate.
- Use Temperature Contrast: Hot brownie + cold ice cream? It’s not just for Instagram. That contrast tells your nervous system this is worth remembering.
- Get Saucy… Strategically: Don’t drown the dish. Dip. Drizzle. Splash. Let moisture accent, not smother. Nobody likes a soggy queen.
- Be Brave with Bites: Try that weird thing at the market that looks spiky or bouncy. New textures can unlock a kind of joy you didn’t know you needed.
- Eat Mindfully (Seriously): I know it sounds woo-woo, but paying attention to how something feels in your mouth can actually slow your brain down and ground you. That’s therapy-adjacent behavior.
Final Crunch
Losing my sense of smell was a gut punch. But it also made me pay attention in a new way. It forced me to slow down, savor the crackle, embrace the chew, and fall in love with food all over again — not through aroma or richness, but through rhythm, texture, and play.
So if you ever catch me lovingly crunching a chip with my eyes closed? Mind your business. I’m not weird. I’m just chasing joy, one bite at a time.
And that’s the real flavor I’ve learned to savor.