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Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").


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   foul notes in food
Tuesday, February 12 2008
It's not easy to sleep when you find yourself waking up hourly from the indismissable soreness of your throat, gagging on your own phlegm, or because Marie (aka the Baby) has decided to stand on your chest and adams apple so as to warm her little mittens. Several times tonight when I awoke I found myself drenched in sweat, and one of those times it was so bad that I got up and changed my clothes.

By this afternoon, though, I was able to do a little work again. Gretchen had bought me orange juice, ginger ale, and plain saltine crackers. I could eat those, peanut butter sandwiches, and plain basmati rice (lightly salted). But I couldn't eat anything with the slightest hint of a savory spice. Things that I definitely didn't want to put in my mouth included nutritional yeast, cooking oil, black pepper, and (most especially) olives. Olives had seemed like foul notes in food for at least a week before I even knew I was ill.

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