My father opened the canister of coffee beans and dumped several into the electric grinder. Then he turned to me.
Big noise coming, he warned. He wasn’t kidding.
With a crescendo of sound, the machine vaporized the beans into coarse grounds. As it did, a savory aroma filled the air.
My father gathered the grounds into a filter. Then he put the whole thing into a coffeemaker and hit Brew.
A dark liquid soon filled the carafe, with steam wafting off the top of it.
My father poured himself a cup and let it cool. The aroma took over the kitchen.
I want a sip, I exclaimed. My father obliged.
With great anticipation, I put the cup to my lips. But what washed over my tongue was not what I expected.
It was sour, bitter even.
I put the cup down in disgust.
Some days later, my family was out and about.
I was started to get hungry when I spotted the glow of the Golden Arches. A McDonalds location was nearby.
I want a burger and some fries, I cried out. Can we stop?
My parents looked at each other and sighed. They know there was but one answer.
Moments later, we were inside the McDonalds. The odor of burger grease filled the air as we placed our order.
It was an unconscionable scent for our noses to endure. But it proved to be just a momentary distraction.
Our burgers and fries soon arrived. And we devoured that food like a pack of wild animals.
Each bite beckoned for another in quick succession. We couldn’t slow down.
Sure, the greasy odor was still there. But the food was savory enough that we didn’t care.
Our taste buds had won out decisively.
As I write this, it’s been years since I had a McDonalds burger. And it’s been hours since I had a cup of coffee.
Yes, my behavior has inverted. Chalk one up to getting older.
But my questions surrounding these delicacies have not.
Indeed, every time I take a sip of my bitter brew, I wonder why I continue to commit myself to such unpleasantries.
And every time I catch a whiff of that greasy McDonalds odor, I wonder why I ever thought it was a good idea to eat there.
The answers, of course, are as sensible as they are nuanced.
Coffee offers me the caffeine boost I need to get going each morning. Since I cut back on sugary drinks years ago, it’s one of the few beverages left that can offer me energy and alertness. Plus, it still does smell amazing.
And McDonalds food always tasted heavenly to me as a child. I didn’t need an olfactory cue to get my Pavlovian responses going. The smell, in fact, was irrelevant.
Yes, one sense has long been sufficient for me to enjoy coffee and – at one point – McDonalds. Smell and taste needn’t be in concert for either.
Still, this is more the exception than the rule.
Smell and taste are often inextricably linked. What seems soothing to our nostrils is often palatable to our tongue – and vice versa.
Some of this has to do with these body parts sharing an airway. But it also just makes intuitive sense. It seems right.
So, when the chain is broken, we’re devastated.
Consider the early days of the COVID pandemic. Some of those unlucky enough to be afflicted with the virus back then lost their sense of smell. Once the shock of this development gave way to despair, many found themselves with a deep sense of longing.
I didn’t experience such hardship, but the accounts I read of those who did were harrowing.
Flowers, cologne, leather – these soothing aromas were all relegated to a fading memory. Some food now tasted strange. And even if it didn’t, the lack of a scent took the joy out of eating them.
Many lived in this version of hell for months before regaining their sense of smell. Others still haven’t recovered it.
Either way, the affliction continues to cast a long shadow. What was one simple is now complex. What was once joyous is now fraught.
Smell and taste might not seem as essential as the other senses. But they’re plenty important.
And they’re generally better together.
If you spend a little too much time on social media these days, you’ll likely see a strange term bandied about. An abbreviation called ASMR.
ASMR describes the tingles you feel down your spine when you’re exposed to a certain trigger. Many of these are sound based, such as the crunch of boots on fresh snow. But visual identification also plays a critical role in the ASMR process.
Seeing what it is you’re hearing can help you place it. Suddenly your memory recalls how that same trigger felt in the past. And that sets the tingles in motion down your spine.
(OK, maybe it’s not exactly this way. I’m not a scientist, after all. But I’d wager this explanation is not all that removed from reality.)
I’m no aficionado of ASMR. I don’t tend to spend my mornings watching videos of wrapping paper getting crumpled.
But as an extreme introvert, I understand its importance.
You see, our senses are our superpowers. But those powers can overrun us.
Sometimes, this can lead us try to something seemingly repulsive – like coffee or a McDonalds burger. Other times, it can cause us to endure prolonged bombardment – such as the loud noise and bright lights of a rock concert.
Regardless, a rogue sense is rarely beneficial without moderation. Concerts, coffee, and McDonalds can each wreck you if enjoyed too frequently.
The key to avoiding this fate – to harnessing our superpowers – is to tap into something radically different. Something that ASMR provides.
That something is the sensory connection.
Yes, when we experience our senses in tandem – one building off another in a subtle way – we can attain a sense of profound bliss.
We connect with our environment rather than recoiling from it. We open ourselves to both novelty and reflection. We give our soul license to roam free.
It’s no wonder that many of the most wholesome things in life – renowned literature, haute cuisine, strolls through nature – evoke the sensory connection. The vehicles for these indulgences might be our eyes, or our tongues, or our feet – but they’re hardly running the show. It’s a team effort.
We best not forget this. Or else we miss a golden opportunity to get the most out of life.
Single sense thrills have their place in our world. But they don’t belong in the center of it.
Let’s open ourselves to something greater Let’s tap into the sensory connection.