What does flavour really mean?

Is it a taste on the tongue?
A snap in the hand?
A colour in the mind?

Over the last few posts, we’ve explored chocolate not just as a food, but as a feeling. A multisensory conversation between the maker and the eater. We’ve asked:

🎨 What does colour smell like?
✋ What does flavour feel like?
👂 What does chocolate sound like?

And in doing so, we’ve dipped our toes into the world of synaesthesia — where senses blend, and chocolate begins to speak a secret language.

But before we wrap up, let me share a little story that captures the heart of it all.

The Boy Who Saw Music

A friend once told me about her young son — a bright, curious lad with an extraordinary gift. He could “see” music.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

When he listened to orchestras, he didn’t just hear the violins, the trumpets, the timpani — he saw them. Rainbows of colour would burst from each instrument, painting the air around him in arcs and swirls of light.

For him, music was a firework show of hues, cascading with every note.

He was experiencing chromesthesia — a type of synaesthesia where sound triggers vivid colour.

To him, a cello might be deep indigo, a clarinet pale green, a trumpet golden orange. He didn’t need a light show — the music was the light show.

That story has stayed with me ever since.

Because what if more of us could listen, taste, and feel like that?

What if chocolate — or spice, or a freshly cut mango — wasn’t just “sweet” or “bitter”, but velvet blue with a shimmer of brass, like a horn section drifting over a ganache?

Chocolate: The Language of the Senses

For me, chocolate has always been a storyteller. It speaks in:

The crisp snap of a well-tempered bar

The velvet hush of cocoa powder on a truffle

The amber glow of Cridling honey melting into ganache

The gentle give of a bonbon between finger and thumb

The colour memories of your first ever chocolate treat

It’s a language beyond words — a symphony composed for skin, nose, eyes, ears and heart.

And the more we tune in, the more we realise: flavour isn’t passive. It’s a living, breathing, full-body experience.

Rémy’s Fireworks

There’s a moment in Ratatouille, the Pixar film that chefs and dreamers alike treasure, where Rémy — the passionate little rat — takes a bite of cheese, then strawberry.

He closes his eyes.
And suddenly — fireworks.

 

Swirls of colour. Bursts of sound. Lights. Movement.
The flavour becomes a performance — one he sees, hears, feels.

That, dear reader, is synaesthesia.

That’s what happens when we truly pay attention.

A Final Taste – or Just the Beginning?

This may be the last blog in this series — but truly, it’s just a beginning.

If there’s one thing I hope you take away, it’s this:

Don’t just taste. Savour.
Listen for the snap. Notice the shimmer. Smell the shade. Feel the melt.
Let chocolate speak in whatever language it chooses.

And if, like my friend’s son or that small animated chef in a Paris kitchen, you ever find yourself tasting in chords or seeing your food sing?

You’re not imagining it.

You’re simply listening properly.

Chef’s Note:
Thank you for following this flavour journey with me. Whether you’re a chef, a student, or simply someone who loves a good square of dark with your cuppa, I hope this series helped you feel chocolate in a whole new way.

Let’s keep tasting with joy.
Cooking with curiosity.
And dreaming — always — with all five senses turned on.