
EVEN with a blue foam nose-clip cutting off my sense of smell, I know I’m eating something remarkable. I’ve come to an ordinary-looking office at the University of London’s School of Advanced Study, where only a scattering of plates and cutlery hint at what I’m here for. When my host Jozef Youssef, of food science collaboration Kitchen Theory, places two dishes of risotto in front of me, he has actually forgotten which contains the mysterious ingredient I’m here to try. But to me the difference is unmistakable. One is zingy, salty, creamy. The other pales in comparison.
The secret behind the more delectable of the two dishes is the kokumi ingredients Youssef has spiked it with. Kokumi is a flavour concept originating in Japan that some foodies think could rank alongside the four familiar fundamental tastes, salt, sweet, bitter and sour. With many food flavours actually due to smell rather than taste, the fact that I experience kokumi’s potency with my nose disabled certainly suggests something special is going on.
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The discovery of kokumi is just one of many taste phenomena that have recently taken scientists by surprise. Our efforts to understand what constitutes taste have led us to realise how strange this sense really is. For one thing, it isn’t just confined to our mouths – it crops up in all sorts of unexpected corners of our bodies. It’s becoming clear that taste is about more than just pleasure. It is hardwired into our basic biology and we are just learning how to harness it.
When we eat something, what we experience is its flavour, a combination of taste, smell and other sensory inputs. But while the scent of food is derived from a palette of 10,000 volatile chemicals, taste is much simpler. Millennia of experience and centuries of data have identified those four fundamental tastes. These are the best known primary tastes, analogous to primary colours in that they can be combined to beautiful effect but not broken down further.
An early hint that the gamut of tastes might go further came in 1908 when a Japanese scientist extracted a compound called monosodium glutamate (MSG) from a tasty type of seaweed. Kikunae Ikeda of Tokyo’s Imperial University identified the molecule in his search for a new primary taste. He considered MSG the embodiment of what he called umami, which can be translated as “delicious taste”. People often describe it as the savoury quality of meats and cheese.
The following year, a company called Ajinomoto started selling MSG as a flavour enhancer. With Ajinomoto using umami as a central part of MSG’s branding, the idea that it is a primary taste has spread. Today, most of us consume MSG every day in our food (see “MSG in me“).
Foodies across the world may now be familiar with umami, but whether it really is a primary taste has been debated for decades. That’s partly because there is no firm definition of what constitutes a primary taste. Instead, settling arguments like this involves painstakingly providing convincing evidence. One critical exercise is identifying receptors in our taste buds that recognise the specific taste molecules involved. Other important tests include conducting tastings with groups of people who don’t have the genetic instructions to make the receptor in question. If they can’t discern a taste, it’s probably a member of the primary club.
Attempts to find receptors for the assumed primary tastes were boosted in 2000 with the publication of the first draft of the human genome. By 2011, scientists – principally Charles Zuker’s team at Columbia University in New York – had used it to hunt down receptors for salt, sweet, sour, bitter and umami. That, combined with an abundance of tasting data, has convinced most people that there are five primary tastes.
While Ajinomoto must have been pleased to see umami make the grade, the firm isn’t resting on its laurels. Rather, its researchers are now working out how to use kokumi, an entirely different concept to umami.
The term kokumi, which roughly translates as “dense, full-bodied flavour”, was originally used to refer to a property of cooked garlic. In 1990, Ajinomoto researchers identified several compounds containing sulphur that they thought were responsible. But their taste tests showed up something strange. Although Ajinomoto has found a receptor for kokumi in taste buds, reported that they had no taste of their own. Instead, they gave food what the firm calls “continuity, mouthfulness and thickness”.
Ajinomoto hopes that kokumi could be a way of returning the thick, luxurious texture that foods can lose when fat is stripped out. In January, the firm showed in a taste test that adding a kokumi compound to a low-fat peanut butter made it seem thicker to people eating it (, vol 4, p 16).
Turn up the bass
Having tasted risottos and tomato sauces Youssef prepared with and without the rare and expensive kokumi ingredients, I can see how that might be possible. After the tasting, he reveals that the kokumi dishes have less salt than their blander counterparts. He highlights the potential health benefits of improving taste while reducing fat, salt and sugar levels. Yet he is also cautious, as we don’t yet know if there’s a limit to how much you can eat. “It’s all well and good to say we can use less salt and add X, but we have to look into X as well,” he says.

Love at first bite: kokumi could simulate a thick, fatty feel (Image: Bruce Davidson/Magnum Photos)
The receptor Ajinomto has found bodes well for kokumi’s primary status. Oddly though, this receptor was already known to exist in our bodies. Its main job is sensing calcium; detecting kokumi seems to be an evolutionary afterthought. Still, Sarah Brennan at Cardiff University in the UK, who studies the receptor, agrees that it seems to be involved in how the kokumi taste works. She points to a 2009 study that showed compounds known to strongly stimulate the receptor also increase the kokumi intensities people experience, while molecules that block the receptor suppress kokumi’s flavour enhancement .
While kokumi seemingly fulfils this critical prerequisite for being a primary taste, Brennan is not so sure. “Can you call something that has no taste a basic taste? I’ve always equated it to the bassline in a piece of music. The lead instrument is already there, however the bassline gives a bigger, fuller sound.” Ajinomoto researcher Motonaka Kuroda agrees that kokumi’s lack of taste means it can’t be a taste, and flavour isn’t the right term either. So what has been going on in my mouth?
Barry Smith at the University of London’s Centre for the Study of the Senses thinks the answer lies in a more subtle contributor to flavour: touch. We already know that touch is involved in flavour perception. For example, pain and temperature-sensing receptors connected to the trigeminal nerve, which is responsible for sensation in the face, can be irritated to give peppermint’s coolness and chilli or mustard’s heat. But because kokumi doesn’t result in a taste perception in itself, Smith thinks it must be acting in a different way, perhaps on the kind of touch receptors that respond as food flows around in the mouth. Even though this is the normal way we determine texture, it plays a complex role in flavour, for example, making creamier food seem sweeter than it really is.
A touch effect would explain why kokumi still works when my nose is pegged, and the unusual words like “mouthfulness” used to describe it. It would also widen the potential uses for kokumi ingredients. A quarter of people over the age of 70 have no sense of smell, Smith says. Because of that “a lot lose interest in eating and become malnourished”, he says. “Others reach for the salt, increasing their risk of stroke and heart disease. Maybe if we’ve got this other way of enhancing flavour, that’s going to help them.” Kokumi might also improve aeroplane food. One of the principal reasons it seems lousy is that our sense of smell is less effective at the lower air pressure found in cabins.
With kokumi out of the running, you might think we are back to just five primary tastes. Not so: Smith considers a sixth and seventh to have already been found. He says a metallic taste, like we get when sucking the blood from a cut, is the sixth, and . He points to strong evolutionary reasons, both for nutrition and self-preservation, for these seven. A bitter taste receptor would help us spot toxins in poisonous plants, for instance. A much longer list of primary tastes is unlikely, he says, because there are only a limited number of evolutionary drivers.
“Taste receptors have been found in the lungs and – weirdly – the testicles”
His comments allude to kokumi and several other primary taste candidates that have emerged (see: “Frontiers of taste”, below). Yet Robert Margolskee, director and president of the Monell Chemical Senses Center in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, is doubtful about going beyond five primary tastes. He doesn’t feel that data from tasting studies show whether fat is a primary taste or merely a modifier of others. He is confident, though, that there is a plausible candidate for a fat taste receptor – and that it is important in our gut as well as our mouth.
Margolskee knows this because he specialises in looking at similarities between cells in the gut and the taste cells in our mouths. That interest stems from the search for the sensor that triggers a rise in blood insulin when we eat glucose. In 2007, Margolskee and Josephine Egan at the US National Institutes of Health found taste receptors in cells in the first section of our small intestine that are involved in .
This discovery showed that taste receptors aren’t just for consciously testing food, they can send messages through our bodies without involving our brains. And they aren’t just in guts. Before the salt taste receptor was identified in taste buds in 2010, it had previously been found in cells from a cow’s neck. żěè¶ĚĘÓƵs have also found taste receptors in organs such as the lungs and – weirdly – the testicles. What are they doing there? Margolskee speculates that they might be detecting nutritional status to avoid the body wasting valuable energy making sperm when food is scarce. But no one knows for sure.
Companies are already trying to exploit these discoveries. For example, San Diego based firm Ambra Biosciences is developing a dietary supplement called Lovidia that targets the sweet, umami and bitter receptors in the gut. The idea is to hit these receptors and get them to dispatch more fullness signals than normal, helping people feel satisfied for longer and so lose weight. Ambra’s chief executive Martin Brown says unpublished studies have shown significant differences in weight loss when people take the supplement compared with placebo. The exact ingredients in Lovidia are secret, but it should appear on US shelves in late 2015.
More opportunities like this look certain to emerge, given how rapidly our knowledge of taste is evolving. For instance, recent research has shown that . Some taste cells on the tongue release hormones into the bloodstream when they detect sugar, Margolskee says, instructing gut cells to prime for action. So the tongue isn’t only a sensory organ for our brain, it’s also the very beginning of the digestive tract. Just when I thought taste biology couldn’t weird me out any more, as well as tasting with my gut, I’ve effectively got gut in my mouth – as do we all.
MSG in me

Little squirt: kokumi may follow umami into taste tubes (Image: Deb Lindsey/Washington Post/Getty)
Monosodium glutamate (MSG) is an amino acid ion coupled with a single sodium atom. It produces a savoury umami taste, which is now accepted as a primary taste alongside salt, sweet, bitter and sour. It’s found at some level in most foods, so we’re all eating it. The last time we checked in the 1990s, people in the UK were consuming about half a gram of the stuff each day on average.
Should that worry us? MSG’s amino acid component exists naturally in our bodies, where it acts as a neurotransmitter, so there is speculation that too much MSG could have impacts on the brain. Some claim it produces headaches and tingling sensations. Others pin the blame for snoring and obesity at MSG’s door. Yet these claims don’t stand up to scrutiny: studies show that the MSG we eat is almost entirely metabolised in the gut before it can do any damage.
This article appeared in print under the headline “Refined taste”