Taste of Memory

The taste of memory is a fickle process more complicated than a sweet pickle. As usual, I was in a rush. Hordes of holiday shoppers were moving a pace slower, all I needed was a drink. Just something cold from the case, notice how they put those near the cashiers?

The choices weren't good, all the designer water brands I never get, but no Fiji, my only plastic exception. An impatient line already behind me, I grab a Dr. Pepper can at the bottom and zoom thru an open self-checkout.

Three minutes later, sitting in the park, the sharp twang of the first soda sip reminds me suddenly of the last three recent times- it was terrible. Medicine harsh, and too everything, like the carbonation and corn syrup were competing for attention. Then, a bad chemical afterburn that felt like acid sandpaper mouthwash.

Yes, this same product- yet, actually far different from the icy bottled Dr. Pepper of my prehistoric youth. But, that's the issue: what do we sometimes remember when it comes to taste, flavor, and the overall experience or satisfaction of a frequent favorite? 

I didn't recall, at my moment of whim purchase, that the last several times were unsatisfactory- cold but tasteless. So, I must have actually flash recalled a time long, long ago, some endless summer vacation afternoon when that bottle of soda was perfect in every way. 

My taste of memory disregarded the more reliably recent impressions, and instead defaulted back to a long-term recollection of real sugar and spicy pungent flavor, light bubbles making it all good. 

Many have written about the mysterious link between taste-smell, and memory, how each may evoke an epiphany of recalling, when nothing else could spark an association, the scent of an old lover, or the taste of your mom's best recipe, it all comes back up as if from the deep waters of sleep, or from a vault of old dreams. 

Sometimes, a nostalgia with things we consume is quaintly tied to memory in ways both irrelevant, and sublime.