What is Joy without Taste?

Anyone who has ever shared a meal with me knows that I could have an alternate career making mukbang videos—the joy I find in tastes is unparalleled. A buttery croissant? Pure delight. A warm cup of coffee? Bliss. A perfectly seasoned dish? Don’t even get me started. But life has a funny way of keeping us on our toes, and recently, a terrible flu decided it was time for me to experience something new:

eating without tasting.

At first, I thought, What’s the point? Without flavor, my beloved cookies were just crunchy calories. A cup of coffee? Nothing but hot, brown water. Even chocolate—CHOCOLATE—was reduced to a vague texture. Let me tell you, losing your sense of taste feels like losing your membership to the Joy Club.

I started asking myself: What is joy without taste?

The answer? Still joy. Just...in disguise.

The Challenge: Finding New Paths to Joy

When the thing you rely on for joy suddenly vanishes, it can feel like someone changed the rules of the game without telling you. But here’s the kicker: joy isn’t tied to one sense, one practice, or even one cookie. It’s adaptable, like a particularly resilient sourdough starter.

Here’s how I started finding joy beyond taste:

1. Joy has more than five senses. No taste? Fine. I turned up the volume on everything else. Suddenly, I noticed the satisfying crunch of my toast, the way soup felt like a warm hug in a bowl, and how beautiful roasted vegetables looked all golden and caramelized. If joy isn’t in the taste, it’s probably hanging out in the texture or the color.
2. Laugh at the absurdity. Have you ever eaten a jalape?o and felt...nothing? I have. Let me tell you, there’s nothing like realizing you’re invincible to spice to remind you that life is weird and wonderful. Joy loves a good laugh, so I let myself giggle at the strangeness of it all.
3. Be curious, not picky. Losing taste forced me to try new things. If everything tastes like nothing, why not try new combos that are more about texture? Crunchy meets creamy, soft meets crispy—the possibilities were endless and surprisingly fun to explore.
4. Remember the joy you already have. My cookie jar of joy isn’t empty just because one cookie (flavor) is missing. It’s still full of memories, laughter, hugs, music, and sunsets. Joy is sneaky like that—it shows up where you least expect it, like the time I realized coffee still felt amazing, even if it tasted like hot disappointment.

The Takeaway: Joy Is Always There

So, here’s your challenge for today:

• What’s a source of joy you’ve been leaning on a little too heavily?
• If one of those was unavailable, what other paths might lead you back to joy?

As a part of my joy practice, I’ll continue sharing occasional prompts to help you expand your own cookie jar of joy—because joy isn’t just one cookie or one sense. It’s a whole bakery of experiences waiting to be noticed, savored, and remembered.

And I am getting to appreciate the joy in so many of the other senses that don’t usually come first to me.

Because even without taste, joy finds a way. It’s resilient.