A Foodie's Living Nightmare

I am a foodie. That's pretty obvious, given the time I dedicate to other two blogs Tashcakes! and Where I Like to Eat. I love looking at food, smelling food and tasting food. Well, almost all food. Show me a raw tomato or an aubergine in any shape or form and I'll run in the opposite direction, I have a very mild phobia of mushrooms and avocado makes me so sick I hallucinate; but in general, food is fun.

For the last couple of weeks I've been ill. So ill, in fact, I didn't notice what was gradually happening to me until a couple of days ago, when I began to feel more like a human being again. There were a few clues, although I didn't realise at the time.

The first clue was a most obscure one: my mood was flat. Not bad, just flat: walking to different places or putting something delicious in the oven or hanging out the washing triggered no emotional response from me. I put it down to just being run down from being ill.

The second clue was when I snapped off a square of dark chocolate to celebrate being able to breathe through my nose again, but somehow still feeling flat. Again, it did nothing.

The second clue was at work again when I decided to treat myself to a carrot muffin for breakfast at work. My colleague noticed me poking at it forlornly with a fork and smiled.

"Well? How is it?"

"It's got the perfect texture: light, moist and with just enough bite. But it tastes of nothing."

My colleague looked surprised, saying that our other colleague had eaten one too and had thought it was perfect, but then again I did make cakes every week so I'd be the most qualified to comment. We all shrugged it off- I can usually pick out obscure notes and flavours in things no-one else can when it comes to food, so we all assumed I was just being a tad critical. I finished my carrot muffin dejectedly, bemoaning the waste of calories that I could have spent on something tastier.

The final clue- the clue that made the awful penny drop- was yesterday evening when I was cooking beef rendang (a highly aromatic Malay curry) and baking vanilla cupcakes at the same time. My mum came home, and commented on what a wonderful smell it was.

"Which one?" I asked, beaming, and then I froze.

It hit me at once: I couldn't tell which smell was which.

In fact, I couldn't smell anything at all.

I panicked, and went to my cooking chocolate stash to snap off another square of dark chocolate. I popped it in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. My worst fears were confirmed: I had also completely lost my sense of taste. Even worse: the loss of my senses of smell and taste had also bizarrely robbed me of the memory of smell and taste. Everything was just... nothing. Nothing at all.

Have you ever been in a silent room, minding your own business, when suddenly everything just goes *silent* silent? You realise that the room was never silent to begin with, you just didn't notice the noise of the boiler, or the fan, or whatever droning noise there was in the background until it stopped? Well, losing your sense of smell is exactly like this.

What was I going to do? I knew of people who had, like me, gotten a severe cold, lost their sense of smell and taste, and then had literally never gotten those senses back again, even years after. I'm a baker, for pity's sake! How the hell am I going to experiment with new flavours when I can't taste what the frig those flavours are?

After dinner yesterday evening, my family trouped down to vote for the elections. Like always, the voting was held at my old primary school down the road. How I missed being able to smell the rubber smell of plimsolls and the sweetly acrid smell of wood polish in the gym, and all the old smells of when I was five years old. I've always been aware of the power of smell and how evocative it can be: certain smells can give me very strong flashbacks. However with my sense of smell gone, I was even more acutely aware of what I had lost.

The worst thing about it though is how disconnected to the world you become. No familiar smell of home when you walk through the door after a long day of work. No smell of damp leaves when it stops raining and the sun comes out. No smell of freshly cut grass, of people, of fresh baking or cooking, or more seriously gas leaks or burning.

My experience has so far been met with mixed reactions, mainly of those who can't imagine what it's like and understand how terrible it actually is- and those who can't imagine what it's like and think it's really no big deal.

IT'S A BIG DEAL.

Of the things I've eaten so far, the only way I know what I'm eating is through texture. I have the vague sense of if something is sweet or non-sweet (not even savoury), but it's more like an echo of sweetness rather than actually tasting sweetness. The lovely fragrant curry I made may as well have been textured cardboard. The chocolate I ate may as well have been pleasantly melting plastic.

However, there is hope: despite realising I've been like this for the past week without noticing and fearing I might be like this for a while, if not indefinitely, I noticed a faint scent of flowers a couple of hours ago when I put some hand cream on. It was there and gone again in a few seconds, but at least it gives me hope that my sense of smell and taste have only temporarily gone on holiday!

Not Afraid of Children

Well, maybe a little bit. But not enough to run away from one.

There I was in Centre Point, one of Kota Kinabalu's most popular shopping centres, eagerly clutching a syrupy iced drink. I heard a happy little sound next to me, and looked down to see a small child beaming up at me: he must have been about two years old, judging by the confident mixture of Bahasa Malaysia and toddler-babble he was burbling.

Smiling absent mindedly, I made to jab my straw through the plastic film that sealed the cup. The next few things happened all at once.

The moment the straw hit the film the little boy made towards me at top speed. A brightly coloured sugary fountain spurted out from the pierced film of my drinking cup, and scooted backwards to avoid getting syrup on someone else's child in a mosquito-filled land. As I scooted back the child chased after me, and I ran backwards even faster trying to staunch the flow of palm sugar and coconut milk. I heard the kid's family laughing in the background as I ran backwards, myself covered in syrup, as the child gleefully chased after me with outstretched hands.

Eventually the father came and scooped up the giggling child, and the family started off. Feeling the need to explain myself, I called after them in English:

"I didn't want to get him all dirty!"

All of a sudden, the family fell silent and stared at me icily, smiles all gone. They turned around in silence, the little boy still reaching out towards me from over his dad's shoulder.

What.

At first I thought they didn't understand me and were a bit wary of me as a foreigner, but I realised shortly afterwards it's sort of worse than that: they were treating me as a harmless (hapless) passer-by at first because I sort of look like I could come from Malaysia, in the right environment (especially around my family). I think I shocked them when I instinctively spoke English, 'revealing' my true origins. Ah well. At least the little nipper didn't seem to mind. Even if I did nearly accidentally turn him into mosquito bait.

Humans are Humans Wherever you Go

"Would you like a bread roll miss?"

"No, thank you." I smiled politely at the air steward proffering me the bread with a pair of tongs.

"It's nice and warm fresh from the oven." He jabbed the roll at me.

"Er... no, thanks, I'm good." My smile faultered.

"Here." He leaned over.

"No really, I'm-"

The air steward scowled and dumped the rejected bread roll on my tray and stalked onward with the meal trolley.

That was during the journey back from Kota Kinabalu to England. I suppose it was only fitting my trip ended with an awkward encounter.

Taking My Weirdmagnet With Me

Well I was going to allow myself a break since I'm on holiday in Malaysia visiting family, but then I realised I hadn't mentioned my two-week absence. I'm already halfway through my holiday, Sorry! I mentioned it on my baking blog Tashcakes! But somehow overlooked Wacky World.

Fear not, for there are stories to be told when I return: for example, getting chased against my will by a small child at the shopping centre today.

Until next week!

Wounded at the Gym

I flicked the fluff of baby hairs away from my face irritably as I ran on the treadmill- my baby hairs always spring out at the slightest bit of movement, no matter how neatly I tie my hair back. I accidentally scratched my right temple as I did so, which stung a little but not much- I was too busy focusing on trying to outdo my personal best to mind.

During my two hours at the gym this evening I noticed that quite a few people were glancing in my direction, and some were openly staring. I'm used to people occasionally taking a peek at the monitor of whichever machine I'm on to compare against how they themselves are doing, but the sheer amount of people passing and peering at me today was quite annoying. Still, I kept focused, not letting anyone distract me out of my 'zone'.

When I got home, I passed a mirror and discovered why I was the apparent centre of attention: an impressive flow of blood had made its way all the way down my face from my scratched temple, paired with a comically dramatic smear of blood across my forehead from a routine sweat-wipe.


Edit:

One of my friends Tisa pointed out that it was typical British behaviour how no-one actually asked if I was okay: I didn't even think of that! Although I'm not surprised- I did fall down the stairs of a double-decker bus once when the driver braked (broke?) too violently, and no-one checked if I was okay. Huh.

Chocolate Adventures: Godiva Challenge Finals 2014

Dare I say? I rather enjoyed the energetic chaos of baking under a time limit while hundreds of well-dressed people milled about, watching and chatting. In fact I'd love to do it again!

Heather, Danny, Victoria and I cooked up five lots of our dishes- one for each judge and one for the photographer- during the finals on Thursday, and I think we all did brilliantly. Ultimately, Heather was victorious with her intricate and amazing 'Conference of Chocolate' (it included poached conference pears, awesome pun setup!) All three were a lovely bunch to bake with, and the people of Godiva and Luxx PR were incredible.

There were a few frustrating times where us contestants were battling against the very swish but slightly puzzling equipment of the kitchen showroom we were working in. At one point I set my first batch of caramel on legitimate fire because my hob would only operate at too hot or too cold before switching itself off (resulting in me hovering my pan just over the hob for a good half hour to get a good caramel!) Heather's sorbet almost didn't freeze at all because the freezer was playing up, and one of the tempering machines Victoria was using didn't actually temper the chocolate.

Despite these little setbacks, all of us produced some pretty kick-ass desserts. I think best of all, I got some very invaluable feedback on ingredient balance and technique. My aim is always to improve, and getting a few tips from Godiva's head chocolatier was just brilliant.

I hope Godiva Chocolates repeats their Chocolate Challenge next year: I look forward to entering something new and original. At least next time around I'll be aware of the competition and have more than a few hours to come up with a recipe, make it and enter!

For my recipe that made it to the final, check out my blog Tashcakes! to see how my Praline Mousse Coeur is done.

In Which my Baking Pays Off

Almost two years ago, I promised myself I would bake something new at least once a week, and write something new once a week: and so, Wacky World and Tashcakes! were born. I've been diligently writing and baking ever since, and becoming more and more proficient at both. My writing has slowly gained me more and more recognition at work, but my baking remained a more personal love, shared with the people closest to me (and of course, I suppose, the anonymous faceless body called the Internet).

Yesterday, I found out that I had gotten though to the finals of Godiva's Chocolate Challenge competition with my praline mousse coeur.

I and four other finalists were chosen over a shortlist of 10, which were chosen from over a hundred entries. All four of us win an expenses-paid 5* trip to Brussels, and this Thursday we'll be put through our paces in Godiva's kitchens in London to bake our chocolate creations for a panel of four Big Name judges for the top prize: a visit to Godiva's chocolate Atelier, and our creation on the menu of Hix Soho for a week. There will also be a few hundred people watching, and apparently the odd journalist. I'm also up against a big name in the food blogging and writing world, a professional baker and a budding chocolatier... making me feel like a bit of a weird outcast wildcard.

I still think I'm having a crazy and weirdly elaborate dream.

Words cannot describe how I'm feeling... and I'm a professional writer. So far the closest I've come is 'excarded' (scared/ excited). Well, I am pretty darn excarded!!

Pinch me.

Ow.