What am I Tasting Here?

Hi friends!

I’ve always been drawn to Eastern dishes—especially Chinese food. And yes, as an American, I’m fully aware that what I love may be an Americanized version of something much older and more refined. Still, I love it. Deeply.

I also love to cook.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve believed that some of these dishes held a kind of secret code—an alchemy known only to Zen-like masters in kitchens far away. Something subtle. Something precise. Something I could taste, but never quite recreate.

Not long ago, while traveling, I had a dish called drunken noodles (Pad Kee Mao). What a name, right? And this past week, determined to start the year strong (and hit my stir-fry macros—carbs, fats, proteins… New Year’s and all), I decided I was finally going to try my own version.

So I did what many of us do now.

I asked ChatGPT.

As I scanned the ingredients, one word stopped me: Mirin.

I’d never heard of it.

A little research later, I learned it was readily available locally—a kind of Asian cooking wine. Naturally, I bought it. Clear. Slightly sweet. A soft aroma with hints of soy sauce. Curious, but unassuming.

I followed the instructions.

And then—Eureka! I had made the dish I’d eaten hundreds of times. The one I never thought was possible for an amateur like me. And it wasn’t technique. It wasn’t mastery.

It was one ingredient.

That moment led me to a question….

When was the last time we slowed down long enough to ask—of the people, places, and moments we love most—what am I tasting here?

It sounds strange, I know. Especially when we’re talking about people. Or moments. Or seasons of transformation.

But those people, moments, and seasons, metaphorically, do have a taste worth double-clicking.

Something subtle. Something defining. Something that makes them what they are.

They have a secret sauce.

A Mirin, if you will.

And here’s the thing I’m learning: we don’t notice those flavors when we rush. We notice them when we pause. When we linger. When we pay attention. When we get curious about nuance.

Because noticing creates an opportunity to take notes. And those notes eventually become wisdom. And wisdom, over time, trains the palate of the soul, heart, and mind to lock into its memory bank what it truly longs to taste and see.

Sometimes we have to taste before we can see. Sometimes we need to be introduced to the name, characteristics, and texture of an ingredient before we know what we’re actually tasting.

But either way, life seems to be inviting us into the same practice—learning to develop hearts, eyes, and palates that long for what is good, true, and beautiful… instead of what is quick, trending, and easy to forget.

So here’s a simple practice for this week:

If something moves you… If something shifts you… If a moment changes how you see—

Pause.

Ask: What am I tasting here?

Because as we slowly build our own cookbook of life, you may discover that one new ingredient—once noticed and named—can change everything.

Namaste,

Ashton