Not Green Tea

          From Creative Writing. On Taste.          

          I let the awkward ridged oval sit on my tongue. I’m surprised by how much I can actually taste it. I thought maybe the outer layer didn’t have taste—that it was only the inner layer which gives it the hallmark flavor I’m used to tasting in pastries or bread or chicken salad. But when I think about the earthiness that permeates my mouth it only makes sense that the rough outer layer has flavor as well. At first I thought it tastes just like it should. The taste I’m used to. But it has a heavy, earthy feel and flavor to it. Like I’ve picked it straight off of the tree it grew up on. But as it sits longer, I’m reminded of the light, unsweet flavor of green tea. Matcha is what sits on my tongue although nowhere related. What began bitter is turning lighter and lighter. It’s like I took a great swig of green tea but all I have is an almond sitting on my tongue.

            It is time to bite in. if the outside tastes so different at longer points, what must the inside taste like? How do the tastes differ from each other?

            I rub the almond across my teeth first to scrape away the outer layer, slowly. The taste changes into a more metallic-I’ve-got-blood-in-my-mouth but it soon becomes lighter and less metallic. Now it’s more fruity—like I’ve bitten into an apple without rubbing it on my shirt first.

            Now it’s bitten in half. The taste changes entirely. It’s a more savory, meaty feel in my mouth. It’s still rather light and fresh, but has a wonderful, strong flavor. I never thought of almonds as savory until now. Plain almonds aren’t sweet, they aren’t salty.

            After the almond is chewed and swallowed, the taste linger for a few moments, then begins to morph. The landmark almond still resides, but is masked by the taste of a gas stove in my mouth. All recognition of almond begins to subside. It is faint, now. Almost gone.