This rare and fascinating neurological trait causes individuals to experience distinct flavors whenever they hear, read, or even think about certain words. It’s not a metaphor or a poetic association; it is a literal, tangible sensation. For these synesthetes, language isn’t just a tool for communication—it’s a menu.
A Smorgasbord of Sensations
Lexical-gustatory synesthesia is a type of synesthesia, a broader phenomenon where the stimulation of one sensory pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory pathway. The most common form is grapheme-color synesthesia, where letters and numbers are perceived as having their own inherent colors (the letter ‘A’ might always be red, for instance).
Lexical-gustatory, however, is one of the rarer forms. The experiences are highly idiosyncratic, meaning the taste-word pairings are unique to each individual. Yet, for that individual, they are remarkably consistent over a lifetime. If the name ‘Sarah’ tastes like cranberry sauce, it will taste like cranberry sauce today, tomorrow, and twenty years from now.
One of the most well-documented cases is James Wannerton, a British man who has experienced lexical-gustatory synesthesia his entire life. His associations are incredibly specific:
- The name ‘Derek’ tastes like earwax.
- The word ‘speak’ tastes like bacon.
- The city of London evokes the taste of sliced carrots.
As you can imagine, this makes for a unique daily experience. A simple conversation can become a complex meal, sometimes delicious, sometimes jarringly unpleasant. Imagine having a serious discussion with someone whose name tastes like stale potato chips.
The Brain’s Quirky Crosstalk
So, what’s happening inside the brain to create this fusion of language and taste? The leading theory is one of “cross-activation” or “neural crosstalk.”
Think of the brain as a dense city with specialized districts. There’s a district for processing language (containing key areas like Broca’s and Wernicke’s area) and another for processing taste (the gustatory cortex, located in a region called the insula). In most people, these districts are separated by clear boundaries, with information flowing along designated highways.
In the brains of synesthetes, however, it’s believed these boundaries are more porous. The neural “highways” have extra connections, or “side roads,” that link these normally separate districts. As a result, when the language area is activated by hearing or reading a word like ‘Tuesday’, some of that neural signal spills over and stimulates the gustatory cortex. The brain interprets this secondary activation as a genuine taste.
Scientists hypothesize this may be due to incomplete “synaptic pruning” during early childhood. As infants, our brains have an overabundance of neural connections. Through development, the brain prunes away the unnecessary links to become more efficient. In synesthetes, it’s possible that some of the connections between sensory areas are not fully pruned, leaving these unique cross-modal pathways intact.
The Linguistics of Flavor: Is It Sound or Meaning?
For a linguistics enthusiast, the most tantalizing question is: what part of the word triggers the taste? Is it the word’s meaning (semantics) or its sound (phonology)?
Overwhelmingly, research points to sound. The taste is primarily determined by the phonemes—the smallest units of sound—that make up the word. This explains why a word with a pleasant meaning, like ‘love’, might have a disgusting taste, while a word like ‘jail’ could taste like delicious custard.
Dr. Julia Simner, a leading researcher in the field, found strong correlations between certain types of phonemes and certain textures or tastes. For example:
- Plosive sounds like /p/, /t/, and /k/ (often called “hard” consonants) are more likely to be associated with sharp, crisp, or brittle tastes and textures.
- Continuant sounds like /m/, /l/, and /s/ (which can be drawn out) are often linked to softer, creamier, or liquid sensations.
This phoneme-to-taste mapping explains why words that sound similar often have similar flavors for a synesthete. For example, if ‘tower’ tastes like bread, ‘power’ and ‘cower’ might also have bready notes. The taste isn’t attached to the abstract concept of a tower but to the specific sequence of sounds that form the word.
A Challenge to Abstract Language
The existence of lexical-gustatory synesthesia offers a fascinating counterpoint to one of the foundational principles of modern linguistics, championed by Ferdinand de Saussure: the arbitrary nature of the sign. Saussure argued that the link between a signifier (the word, e.g., “tree”) and the signified (the concept of a tree) is purely conventional and arbitrary. There’s nothing inherently “tree-like” about the sound of the word “tree.”
For a synesthete, this isn’t entirely true. The word “tree” doesn’t just signify a plant; it is a physical experience. The signifier has a tangible, gustatory quality. Words, for them, are not just abstract symbols but are embodied, possessing a physical presence that most of us can only imagine.
This deepens our understanding of how language is represented in the mind. It suggests that for some, words are not just processed intellectually but are experienced viscerally, blurring the line between the abstract and the physical.
This isn’t entirely alien to non-synesthetes. Consider the Bouba/Kiki effect. When shown a spiky shape and a rounded shape and asked to assign them the made-up words “bouba” and “kiki,” people across cultures overwhelmingly pair “kiki” with the spiky shape and “bouba” with the rounded one. This demonstrates a universal, subconscious link between sound shapes and visual shapes. Synesthesia can be seen as a conscious, more intense version of this cross-modal mapping that we all possess to some degree.
A World Painted in Taste
Lexical-gustatory synesthesia is more than a neurological curiosity; it’s a profound reminder of the brain’s incredible plasticity and the diverse ways humans perceive reality. It reveals that the abstract system of language can be inextricably woven into our most primal senses. It forces us to reconsider the nature of words themselves—not as inert labels, but as dynamic triggers capable of producing a rich, complex, and deeply personal sensory world.
So, the next time you hear the word ‘Tuesday’, take a moment. While you may not taste toasted bread or a hint of citrus, you can appreciate the remarkable possibility that for someone, somewhere, you just said something delicious.
