Pandemic Revelations
One of the many ways the pandemic has changed things for all of us is we've been forced to examine who we are outside of our usual social influences. For this long-time coffee professional and neurodivergent, this meant addressing a legitimately professional but technically informal autism spectrum diagnosis that I had previously been somewhat dismissive of. Suddenly we found ourselves in lockdown and it took a few months of quarantine isolation to realize I was truly autistic and not "just a little on the spectrum" as I had fallaciously gleaned from my telemedicine mental health assessments.
Turns out, contrary to what I thought in my early adulthood, I am FAR from extroverted and neurotypical, have been masking neurodivergent symptoms for over 20 years, and was very burnt out on the performative aspects of social interaction. Fortunately it also came with the realization that I had unwittingly and inadvertently chosen the perfect career path for my personal array of neurological traits...over 10 years before being identified as autistic.
The Drawbacks
When I was a kid, I was called a "picky eater," but it was (and is) so much more than that. I have what is known in the psychology community as ARFID: Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder. A wide range of sensory sensitivities make a bona fide horror movie out of countless textures and flavors, and I am so repulsed by so many foods that getting me to eat outside of my comfort zone is tantamount to asking me to eat bugs and worms.
As a child, this drove my parents absolutely crazy; they tried to "Trojan Horse" foods I had deemed undesirable by finely chopping or hiding ingredients into things I was willing to eat. This was almost invariably foiled by me being so sensitive that I could easily detect the proverbial needle in the haystack. I can still taste if even a shred of lettuce has made its way into my food on accident or if a single cucumber has been used to garnish a pitcher of water. I can taste the residual flavors of a mistaken takeout order that's simply had the undesirable ingredients removed and repackaged instead of remade.
Believe you me, this is not a humble brag. It can be, and often is, downright disruptive. It has strained relationships in my life, made a veritable minefield of eating socially, and comes with a whole cavalcade of shame; both self-imposed and from people who do not understand that it is not a choice.
The Perks
Little did I know how useful and valuable this quirk would become when it became an occupational imperative to detect hints of subtle aromas, flavors, and textures in coffee. The concept of cross-contamination also came easily to me; I was all too familiar with the sensory nightmare of having foods touch each other on my plate, or what happens when lingering flavors sully an otherwise satisfactory experience. I never thought my relationship with texture and flavor would ever be anything other than a curse or a cross to bear, but then I grew up and got into specialty coffee.
Now I find myself confidently making knee-jerk assessments on the cupping table. I can tell right away if a coffee has a chalky mouthfeel or prominent over-fermentation. I can easily identify the difference between citric and malic acid. Perceiving taints or faults in roast or green comes with ease. All in all, the anxiety of my sensitive specifications being potentially judged or unaccommodated during social functions is a small price to pay for three decades' worth of accidental intensive palate training.
But Wait, There's More
The mutual benefits shared by my career and my neurodivergence don't end there. Coffee and autism are both a very sensory experience, and pandemic isolation has given me ample time to compare and contrast. I hope you'll stay tuned for Part 2, coming soon!
