Do you think it would be simply an annoyance if you lost your  ability to smell or taste your world? Would you simply get used to it and go about your daily life again? Think again: your sense of smell permeates each and every moment of your life, from smelling the grass on a lovely day or the rain on a miserable one, your doggies muddy fur, your husbands warm embrace, the sweet milky smell of your baby or the lovely life-long smell of your grown child.

And THATS not even addressing the sweet smells and tastes of food, and perfumes, and flavours. A world without the richness of smelling, the ripe wealth of tastes? Its almost impossible to imagine. At least it WAS something I couldn’t even think of.

And then, nearly two years ago I was crossing the street when suddenly i was flying in the sky, seared with pain. I was hit by Mercedes SUV at speed.  I flew up and up and up and up, and landed down very fast. And very hard. And when I hit the ground, it was my head that hit first.

The good news is that I didn’t die; nor was I paralyzed.  The bad news grabbed me when I tried to eat: nothing had any taste/smell. My world was empty.

AND i was being bombarded by smells that weren’t there. Smoke. Poison. Straw. plastic (as in Barbie gone evil). and a few others. They are phantoms of smells.

Its been two years but I still struggle; my life is nearly unbearable when the phantoms are frequent and strong. I wake up many/most nights by a sense of horrible smell: smoke. Gas. are they real? is there a gas leak? on airplanes I smell smoke, fumes: are they real? should i panic?Last week I put down a cup of coffee and left the room a moment; when i returned i smelled not coffee, but smoke; and it smelled familiar; “Bacon”!!!! was what i suddenly smelled.

During the last 2 years I’ve spent most of my time working hard–physical therapy, psychological counseling and cognitive behavioural therapy for the post traumatic stress and nightmares, and dealing with the shocking loss of the very essence of my life: my pleasure of tasting and smelling, and the resulting talent and skills for making a living: writing cookbooks, columns, and broadcasting. I’ve also worked steadily, every moment  at trying to rebuild my ability to taste; often i feel bereft, and wonder whose life i am in and where my own delicious life has gone? Some tastes are better, some are nearly there, but usually when i think they are nearly there i often get a shock and realize that i’m missing so much. And I must work very hard at putting together various elements of taste instead of just appreciating them, as most people do. Smells and tastes morph when i’m cooking into something that smells good to others but to me, smells horrific. Its confusing. In other words: its heartbreaking.  I just want my life back.

Taste and smells are THAT important.

Listen to BBC Radio 4 The Food Programme this Sunday, 17 March 12.30 and rebroadcast the next day, Monday at 3.30. As a guest, I tell my story and explore with the team taste/smell–cheese at Neals Yard, Coffee at Freestate Cafe with Jeremy Torz, and jelly beans (The Jelly Bean Test) with Professor Barry C. Smith at The University of London.

Recently I facebook-eavesdropped on Amy Sherman (http:cookingwithamy.com)  and Suvir Suran (author of Masala Farm, TV guest, general Indian cooking guru, find him on http:Suvir.com).  Anyhow, Suvir was instructing Amy on the finer points of making poha into a spicy salad-ish delicious thing.   I’d seen poha on the shelves of Indian grocers: flat flaked rice that looked like it would be fabulous and fascinating, like something i could fall in love with, if only i could figure out what to do with it. I decided I wanted some of the action, and joined Amy in a sort of sister-blog: each of us making the dish and posting at the same time.

Suvir was on the East Coast; Amy and I were in the Bay Area. We decided to head out to an Indian grocery–in this instance, the shop right next door to Vik’s Chaat House in Berkeley. Since we were there, and it was midday, we had to have lunch first. To be perfectly honest, we planned to arrive for just this reason: Vik’s is legendary in its spicy and refreshingly affordable lusciousness. Everything is wonderful, and the daily special is….well, special. On this particular day, full of vegetables, awash in a complex spicy sauce: taro, okra, something mysterious and chewy, eggplant/aubergine…. It came on a plate with a layered whole wheat flat cake (paratha), yogurt raita, sizzlingly picante pickle/chutney, a delicate rice pilaff, and somewhere there were curried chickpeas….we also got a plate of aloo papri, and stuffed tiny puffs of crisp fried lentil cakes with a spicy curried potato mix, date chutney, and dipped it into a tangy herby aromatic water. you have to eat it in one bite or all is lost, pretty much down your chin.

I don’t have a foto of Amy and I eating. We were too in-the-moment– by the time either of us even thought of snapping our plates they were pretty much empty. BUT i do have a pic of Amy and I shopping. I’m holding up a MASSIVE jar of chutney/pickle. (famous am I for my love of pickles:Indian, Asian, American or Eastern European–you pickle it and i’ll probably love it).

Back to the poha; we wandered through the aisles at Viks in search. Poha is sold dry in cellophane or plastic bags; i might have seen large bags in burlap too. To prepare posa, simply moisten, then toss with spices and warmed gently, adding a little extra water or liquid as you toss in the pan.  It takes a short time to cook into a light, fluffy carby mound somewhat like snow, but neither cold nor melting. The flat rice flakes take on the flavours of the spices you toss it into the pan with: in this case, sizzled curry leaves, mustard seeds, and cumin; dressed in lime juice and fluffed with handfuls of chopped cilantro/coriander leaves, crunchy crisp peanuts and toasted coconut.  I served it as a lovely room temperature dish–almost salad-like–dish, to go alongside my annual eggplant parmesan bash for my friend Scott’s birthday. Also, I know it is a great to have a bowl in he fridge for several days running because we did, and its amazing how many times one of us was drawn to open the fridge, check out whats inside, and have a spoonful of the poha as long as we were there.

Poha–Indian Flat Rice Salad, studded with sweet potato, rice with a million textures and flavours: tart, herbal, spicy, rich, salty, everything all at the same time. And now that I know what to do with it, I don’t think i can live without it. Even now I am thining of dishes that poha would be wonderful in. Love: it was bound to happen.

Adapted from Suvir Suran, and made in cyber-conjunction with Amy Sherman

How many does it serve? it depends on how many other things you are serving. I made this amount and we ate from it for a few days; i liked it especially with a few dollops of yogurt on the side.

1/4 cup flaked unsweetened coconut

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

12 fresh curry leaves, roughtly torn

1/2 teaspoon black or yellow mustard seeds (Suvir calls for black; i’ve made it with both at different times; both are good!)

1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds

1 smallish dried red chile, left whole for a subtle head, broken up or crushed for full-blast hot

1/2 teaspoon asafoetida (a pungent resin used as a spice in Indian cooking)

1 big red onion, thinly sliced

1  1/2 teaspoons salt, divided into 2

1 medium sweet potato, peeled and diced into 1/2 inch pieces

1/3 cup roasted peanuts

1 green serrano chile, finely chopped (with or without seeds; as you like).

2 cups poha

2 extra tablespoons water, or enough to moisten the dish

Juice of 1 lime

1/2 cup chopped cilantro/fresh coriander

In a heavy ungreased frying pan toast the coconut until it is lightly browned, then remove from the pan.

Add the oil; let heat for a few moments, then add the curry leaves, mustard seeds, cumin seeds and red chile; add until the mustard seeds pop, then add the asafoetida, onions, and half the salt.

Cook until the onions are soft, then add the sweet potato and cook, stirring, until they sweet potatoes are tender and browned.

Add the toasted coconut, the peanuts and half the serrano chile. Rinse to moisten the poha, then drain of any excess water, and add to the mixture in the pan. Toss in a stir-fry kinda way until the poha plumps up and mixes with the other ingredients; drizzle in the 2 tablespoons of water, adding more as and if you need it. Cook for about 5 minutes.

Remove from heat, add the lime juice, half the cilantro/fresh coriander, and as much of the rest of the salt as needed.

assembling ingredients for the Poha:sweet potato,serrano chile, lime, spices......

Just before serving, sprinkle with or toss in rest of the cilantro and fresh

The finished poha: ready to eat!

serrano chile.

Amy and I shopping for Indian goodies at Vik's. i'm clutching my large jar of pickles.

Oscar in his furry lined all-weather coat, red leash.....

my little lambchop in her "sound of music" Austrian felt cape

Since I am loathe to end the delight of dinner, I don’t plan after-meal entertainment; you’ll never hear me say: “Eat up so we can have FUN”! On the other hand, I can’t say that unplanned post-meal entertainments chez moi NEVER happen– ABBA sing-alongs, re-enacting broadway musicals, or the occasional conga line that winds its way around my table, out the door, then through the neighborhood.

So today, when Nigel and Graham came to lunch, it wasn’t as if I had planned a doggy fashion show–what I planned was a delicious menu. Still, once the lightbulb went off in my mind, mid-meal, there was no stopping me.

We sipped Champagne and noshed crisp grissini wrapped with in thinly sliced salami, eggplant roasted with tomatoes and fresh basil was slicked with olive oil, reeking deliciously of garlic. Spears of red endive spears held tarragon chicken salad, cucumber slices were topped with goats cheese and a leaf of fresh mint, and because I can’t entertain without olives, ever, we had a bowl of oil cured black ones.

Taking a Mediterranean turn, i stirred up creamy soupy risotto, with lashings of gorgonzola and handfuls of aromatic Thai basil. So happily unexpected, captivating. Next I brought out a ceramic casserole of tandoori-ish lamb, on a bed of onions, surrounded by spicy meatballs–thats kofta to you and I, and a little a plate of east-west salad leaves lavished with lemon vinaigrette, to brighten up the richness.

Dessert was a frolic of flavor, an array of tiny sweet things: pureed chestnut mousse in espresso cups, mini “Marlena-messes”:broken meringues with whipped cream, frozen blackberries (which i had foraged in the summer and stashed in the deep freeze),with a dusting of lavender sugar. There were teeny baby-scoops sundaes topped with candied ginger and its syrup, and deliciously bitter chocolates to go with the coffee.

But wait: I haven’t yet introduced you to my dogs:Jake, Oscar and Lambchop–three Jack Russells. Jake is my chunky little man of a dog; small but solid–pick him up and he feels like a sack of potatoes. He’d like to get under the right weight for riding in the passenger part of the airplane, but he loves his grub too much. Lambchop, his daughter, is small and wiry: somewhere on her family tree is a Yorkie or chihuahua. A little child admired her recently, saying: “She has girly eyes”: rimmed with black as if eyeliner, dark lashes that frame big brown eyes to melt your heart. Sadly, our Lambchop is resolutely a member of “the bad girls’ club”, taking on the biggest ferocious dogs, growling like a possessed gremlin if anyone tries to take her bone, or refusing to move regardless of coaxing. At puppy class graduation it was recommended that “she could benefit from further training”. Then there is Oscar, a good ol’ boy, at least 16 years old, who we rehomed/rescued last year and are so happy he’s part of our home.

Nigel and Graham were smitten. Somewhere inbetween dessert and the coffee, I thought: “Wow, I wonder……” Then I asked a question that  I never dreamt I’d ask another adult: “Would you like to see Lambchop’s little pink polkadot Barbie bikini, Oscar’s winter cape, and Jakes tiny bomber jacket?” There are those of you who might frown; I worry that I’ll tumble in your esteem. And I can’t imagine that Cesar Millan will approve. But here it is: we had a doggy fashion show.

lambchop all in pink

houndstooth is always so elegrant on a hound!

From the cupboard I shlepped my carrier bag of doggy sweaters, frocks, jackets. Their wardrobe collection began innocently enough when I noticed them shivering. Jakes first sweater I stitched myself, piecing together bits of my husbands cast-offs. It took more time and attention than I cared to lavish, and the fittings weren’t pleasant, involving as they did growling and nipping. The final result may have been warm, but I’m not sure my fellow dog owners (and their dogs!) weren’t laughing at little Jake behind his back.

Searching better-fitting dog gear opened up a Pandora’s box of doggy fashion possibilities. I found fabulous designer doggy duds, at prices that could clear my sinuses; then I discovered that, as with myself, discount shops sell last-seasons styles for a pittance. Even the dollar stores had occasional offerings,and second hand shops proved to be a gold mine.

Like so many things in life, the slippery slope sneaks up–it wasn’t until I found myself carrying a tutu home in a chic little shopping bag– a small pink tutu with a hole for a tail–that I was aware of anything that might be considered….problematic. Soon I was toting home matching faux fur coats, little yellow slickers and rain booties, and tee-shirts emblazed with sports teams. I’ve discovered the worldwide web of canine clothing for outfits such as member of the wedding, santa hats and little black and yellow-striped bee costume for halloween; I decided that owning a red tartan skirt to match your doggies jackets is nothing to be ashamed of.

We sat back, had coffee, and watched our pups redefine the term “catwalk”. In their matching black and white houndstooth vests, parading around the room, changing into the little pink number, the wooley jumper, and the tiny SF Giants tee-shirts.

It all ended in tears, of course. The puppies got overtired and started fighting over frocks, growling, nipping just for the hell of it; I packed up leftovers for Nigel and Graham and sent them on their way. I firmly sent the pups to bed.

Then I put my feet up, and–basking in the post-meal glow–started thinking about my next party: both the menu, and what the dogs were going to wear.

and because the doggies really did, mostly, behave themselves, that is, no lasting damage, i whipped them up a pan of their favourite chicken liver treats. If you add seasoning: salt and pepper, as well as fresh rosemary, they are tasty enough for people to enjoy as well.

Doggy Livercake (with these treats you can get your dog to do ANYTHING, even wear embarassing, cute little outfits).

Yields: several weeks worth of treats

12 oz  chicken livers

1 egg

1/4 -1/2 garlic clove, chopped (i ran it past a veterinarian and dog trainer who approved of this small amount of garlic)

Whole grain flour–I like rye, or buckwheat, or whatever good grain I have on hand–as needed

1-2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

In a blender or food processor puree the liver until its gooshy, along with the egg and garlic. Slowly add the flour and whirl until it forms a batter-like consistency.

Pour the oil into a baking pan, then add the batter and smooth it evenly. Bake at 350 for about 20 minutes–or until the liver is no longer soft and liquidy, ie, it firms up.

Remove from oven; cut into bite size morsels and leave to cool.

Parcel up into freezer bags and stash for treats and training. Once defrosted, a bag will stay good for up to a week according to the dog trainer, but i like to serve them as fresh as i can.

we all have matching tartan coats for walkies,including marlena!