Reinvented Palate

My nephew . . . Jawa (not the most flattering name, but I'm running out of cute little Star Wars creature aliases) usually marches into the house and gleefully lunges at Barbara's Morning Oat Crunch, a.k.a. Babi Cereal. He can inhale three bowls in one sitting. 

On Shabbos afternoon, he discovered the chocolate stash (which is practically in plain view, being the only "junk" allowed besides for homemade cake) and every few minutes, casually slid into the pantry to snatch Kit-Kat after Kit-Kat. 

I warned him that he was going to barf soon, and I tried to distract him with Babi Cereal. He was puzzled why it "tasted different, like bread." He thought there was something wrong with that batch.

Our taste buds often operate on a comparison basis; A after B doesn't have the same flavor if A is before B. By itself, Babi Cereal is sweet enough, but it can't compete with the high sugar register of Kit-Kat. 

When people ask me about how I eat, they can't quite believe I have no desire for certain foods. Frankly, I can't believe it either. If anyone told me when I was 16 that one day I would shudder at a potato chip or Nabisco cookie, I would have laughed until my ribs cracked. 

I'm not bravely squelching deep, frantic desires for Entenmann's. I don't want it. It doesn't taste good. It has no flavor. I feel like sludge after consuming it. It doesn't do anything for me anymore. 

Currently, I am on a strict no-sugar diet (which will end soon, please God) and I moan in bliss over winter squashes, carrots, Brussels sprouts, and parsnips—seasoned only with garlic powder, black pepper, and evoo. 

Via Stranded in Cleveland

One can retrain one's taste. It takes some time, but if one holds on during the initial hard cravings, the mouth has moved on to better, tastier, healthier things.