Tasting Notes

Samantha Jensen (Fiction)

 Mrs. Foster was back again for the third time this week. She set the small chocolate box on Maya's counter and shook her head. ‘I'm sorry, dear. It's still not quite right.’

Maya closed her eyes and let the woman's words wash over her. Underneath the apologetic tone, she tasted something conflicted. It wasn’t joy. But it was not quite sadness either.

‘Mrs. Foster,’ Maya opened her eyes. ‘What's the real feeling you're trying to capture?’

The elderly woman's fingers worked the strap of her handbag. ‘Sunshine and strawberries. That's what I want to remember.’ She paused and closed her eyes. ‘But my sister's wedding day was…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Complicated?’ Maya finished gently. She'd tasted it from the beginning: bergamot and black pepper at first, hope twisted with something bitter. ‘You weren't happy for her, were you?’

Mrs. Foster's eyes glistened. ‘I watched the man I loved marry my sister. And I've smiled at him across the Thanksgiving table for fifty years.’ Maya nodded. Not betrayal. Betrayal was too sharp for this feeling. This was the quiet pain of complicated love.

‘Come back this afternoon,’ she said. ‘Now I understand what you need.’

After Mrs. Foster left, Maya pulled out dark chocolate and bergamot oil, but she left out the pepper this time. Rose was what she needed. For love that hurt and never quite healed.

The bell chimed. Maya looked up from Mrs. Foster's batch. A man stood in the doorway. He appeared to be in his late thirties, wearing jeans and a navy sweater, a wedding ring on his left hand. There were dark circles under his eyes. He looked around, hesitating before approaching the counter.

Maya wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Good morning. How can I help you?’

‘A friend of mine suggested that I … She’s a grief counsellor actually,’ he hesitated. ‘I don't know if you can even do this, but… can you make a chocolate that tastes like my wife?’

Maya's breath caught. She was aware of his energy, could almost read him, or at least the rawness of his emotions. To her, his grief tasted like ash; heavy and suffocating.

‘I can't make a person,’ she said gently. ‘But I can make something that brings back a moment. Tell me about a memory. I'm Maya, by the way.’

‘I’m James. There was this farmer's market we used to go to. She loved candied apples.’ His voice went flat. ‘After chemo, everything tasted wrong. She couldn't eat them anymore.’

He kept talking, giving Maya places, dates, and things Rachel used to like. But it was all facts, without any of the feeling. Like reading a medical chart instead of remembering someone he loved. When he finally stopped, Maya chose her words carefully.

‘I'm so sorry for your loss.’ She paused. ‘Here's the thing—I can’t work with just facts. I work with feelings, emotions. And sometimes grief buries those feelings, puts them just out of reach.’ She met his eyes. ‘I can try something from what you've told me, but I think we'll need a few sessions to get what you are looking for. The memory needs an excavation. Does that make sense?’

James looked at her for a long moment. Then nodded.

‘May I ask, how long has it been?’ Grief is sharpest when it is new. Maya was sensing James was drowning. Her mouth felt like a campfire.

‘Six months. My friends tell me I need to move on but I don’t know how. My daughter is three, and soon she won’t remember Rachel. The counselor I’ve been going to thought maybe having something physical might help, as crazy as it sounds to think a box of chocolate could help.’

‘It’s not as crazy as it sounds, believe me.’

‘Can you tell me, like … what is it you do, exactly? I’ve never heard of anything like this,’ James asked.

‘I take the feelings attached to a moment and I create flavors that match the emotion. It’s called synesthesia. You may have heard of people who can see sounds and hear colors? Mine connects feelings and flavors. I know it sounds wacky. But it works.’  The more she spoke, the more relaxed James’s shoulders seemed, and the more flavors Maya recognized. ‘Tell me about your wedding day,’ she asked, in hopes that a specific and happy memory would elicit the emotion she’d need to make what he wanted.

James spoke of the location, a winery, and the weather, of how nervous he was and how he stumbled over his vows. He spoke of how beautiful Rachel looked in her gown, and the seemingly never-ending line of well-wishers as they left for their honeymoon. Hints were coming through for Maya, but what they meant remained elusive.

Petrichor, cardamom, vanilla. Anticipation and warmth.

Those had nothing to do with the story James was telling.

Her cheeks flushed. Maya looked away, trying to clean the back of her counter as he spoke. She found paper and a pen and busied herself with jotting down facts from his story.

‘So, a fall wedding, at a winery, vivid fall colors, and a maple cotton candy machine as a nod to all things New England, with dozens of people celebrating. And a beautiful bride. Did I get it right?’ Maya looked up. The blue of his eyes flooded her entire field of view. 

‘I think so, yes. Is that enough?’ he asked.

‘Maybe. Let me see what I can do with this. If you don’t mind, can you come back tomorrow? I’ll play a little with the flavors.’ James nodded, saying he’d be back before closing.

Maya stayed in the kitchen beyond closing, trying to capture what James had told her; autumn, comfort, sweetness. She packed her first box with pieces made with apple, cinnamon and maple. It’s not quite right yet, she thought, but it was all she had at the moment.

James returned, carrying his daughter on his shoulders. A wave of heaviness moved through Maya’s limbs, thinking of this little girl without a mother.

‘Welcome back,’ Maya greeted them. ‘And who is this?’ She looked up and smiled at the little girl, her curly hair in pigtails.

‘This is Sophie, Sophie, this is Maya.’

‘Hi, Maya. I’m fwree,’ and the little girl let go of her father’s hair and held up three chubby little fingers.

‘Are you ready to try the first sample?’ Maya asked. James took Sophie down from his shoulders and approached the counter.

‘Yes! Chocolate!’ Sophie announced.

Maya gave James the box. He opened it, put a piece in his mouth, then broke another piece in half and gave it to Sophie. Maya watched them, looking for the moment of recognition. She doubted she would see it, but stranger things had happened. Sophie’s eyes widened, as she tugged on her dad’s sleeve. ‘This is good!’

‘It is,’ James replied. ‘Does it remind you of Mommy?’

‘Not really,’ Sophie said.

He looked at Maya, ‘This is delicious, for sure. But it doesn’t taste exactly right.  It isn’t her.’ James’s eyes squinted a little and his brow creased, trying to grasp what was wrong.

‘I had only facts to go on from yesterday. What I need for this to work are the feelings. Maybe, let’s not look at something as significant as your wedding day. Can you share a simple day? Or something you did together often?’

James thought a moment, then quietly shared, ‘Our morning coffee.’  He looked up at Maya, told her about their small ritual; every morning they would sit on their porch and have coffee, listen to the birds, and begin their day. The story was ordinary, simple, and the weight behind his eyes tasted to Maya like burnt caramel and sea salt. It wasn’t ash today. It was grief. But not just that. Toasted vanilla was there too. Warmth.

‘This is what I need. Can you come back tomorrow?  Let me work with this story and see if I can get closer to what you are looking for?’

She packaged the box with blue tissue and a ribbon; certain this would be more what James had in mind. He came back just before closing, without Sophie this time.

‘We may still need to tweak things a bit, but I hope this is closer to what you were looking for,’ Maya said.

James untied the ribbon gently, and hesitated a bit as he opened the tissue. They are just pieces of chocolate, why is this so unsettling, he thought.

He closed his eyes as he tried the first piece. He didn’t chew it, but let it sit, melting in his mouth. He put his hand on the counter for support, as one tear formed at the corner of his eye.

He opened his eyes and looked at Maya. ‘How did you do that?’ he asked. ‘This is her. This is what I was hoping for.’

‘Practice?’ Maya offered with a gentle smile. ‘I taste feelings. The first time, your story was all facts, and the feelings were out of reach so all I could do was guess. I think Sophie helped you get to some of the emotion I needed to get the recipe right.’

‘You tasted this while we were here?’ James asked, his eyes held fast to hers.

‘Mmhm,’ Maya responded.

‘That is just…’ James hesitated, trying to understand what he was experiencing, ‘Incredible. I don’t have any other words for it.’

‘I’m glad you found what you needed.’

James broke another piece in half and ate it, savoring it as again he let it melt in his mouth. His eyes found hers as he suddenly realized something.

‘Will you be able to do this again, like, when this box is finished? Can we come back for more?’

‘Yes, of course. But as you saw even between your two visits here, things change. I do keep the recipes, but I’ve learned that as time passes, emotions change. The next time you come by, this recipe may not be what you need. But we can figure it out.’

James looked at her for a long moment before reaching for the box.

‘Ok, thank you.’ James folded the tissue over the remaining pieces, and tied the ribbon on the box, honoring the contents for the gifts they were. He looked up at Maya, ‘I’d like to do that…come back.’

Maya smiled as she held his gaze, ‘I’ll be here.’

About the Author

Samantha Jensen is a teacher at an all-boys boarding school in Connecticut where she teaches modern literature and AP Psychology. She has been writing short stories most of her career. She is currently at work on a historical fiction novel drawn from her own family’s frontier history.  Samantha lives with her husband, dog, and two cats.