When Was the Last Time You Actually Tasted Your Food

When was the last time you actually tasted your food?

Not ate it.

Not inhaled it between meetings.

Not scrolled through your phone while chewing.

Tasted it.

The sauce.

The salt.

The time it took.

If you’ve ever made a meal from scratch, especially a sauce, you know this kind of tasting isn’t casual. It’s intentional. Tomatoes simmered slowly. Garlic softened just enough. Herbs added with care. If you grew those tomatoes yourself, the experience deepens. You’re not just consuming food. You’re witnessing effort, patience, and presence.

And yet, most days, we don’t do that anymore.

We eat transactionally.

We drink coffee transactionally.

We order transactionally.

Eyes down. Words rushed. Gratitude skipped.

We don’t look at the person taking our order. We don’t pause long enough to see them as a human being doing something for us. Food becomes fuel. People become functions. Moments become items on a checklist.

Our tongues were never meant only for volume.

Yes, our voices help us speak and be heard. The voice box creates sound. But the tongue plays a quiet, essential role in shaping words, forming sounds, and allowing language to be understood. It helps us articulate, soften, and clarify what we’re trying to say.

And it does something even more intimate.

It translates the world for us.

Sweet.

Salty.

Bitter.

Sour.

Umami, which is the savory, rich taste found in things like tomatoes, mushrooms, cheese, and slow cooked sauces.

Taste buds send signals to the brain that help release pleasure chemicals and activate memory. Taste is one of the fastest pathways we have to remembering where we’ve been and how we felt when we were there.

For many of us, that memory is simple and tender. Standing on a chair as a child, waiting to lick the spoon while someone baked. The anticipation. The sweetness. The feeling of being included in something loving and homemade. One taste can bring back decades in an instant.

And when food is bad, truly bad, it can do the opposite. It can sour a mood. Disrupt a day. Leave a residue that lingers longer than it should.

That’s how powerful tasting is.

Which makes it striking how casually we’ve treated it.

We rarely think about how we taste, or that we can taste at all. Until it’s gone.

During COVID, many people lost their sense of smell and taste, some temporarily, some for much longer. Imagine biting into a slice of pizza and knowing it should be delicious, but feeling nothing. Imagine a warm pound cake, fragrant with vanilla, moist and tender, and being unable to taste the love baked into it.

That loss reminds us that tasting is a gift.

And when we rush past it, we don’t just miss flavor.

We miss connection.

We miss gratitude.

We miss ourselves.

This habit doesn’t stay at the table.

It quietly spills into the workplace.

When we bark orders instead of making requests.

When “please” and “thank you” disappear.

When we forget to acknowledge the person behind the task.

Yes, the work still gets done.

But it rarely gets done with care.

People don’t give their best work to environments where they feel unseen. Just like a meal eaten without tasting, something essential is lost.

There’s a quote often attributed to Maya Angelou that fits here: people may not remember exactly what you said or did, but they will always remember how you made them feel.

That’s true at the table.

And it’s true in leadership.

So here’s the invitation.

Before your next meal, pause. Taste it. Really taste it.

If someone prepared it for you, thank them out loud.

Look up. Make eye contact. Slow down just enough to notice.

And then ask yourself:

Where else in my life have I stopped tasting?

Where have I turned people into transactions?

Because presence isn’t about long prayers or perfect mindfulness practices.

Sometimes, it starts with pasta.

#LeadershipPresence #HumanCenteredLeadership #MindfulLiving #Gratitude #EmotionalIntelligence