This past Saturday, I went to my favorite Chinese eatery and decided to mix things up a little.
“Give me the mini hot pot” I said. “Extra spicy”
“Ok, how spicy from one to ten?” our waitress asked.
“How bout nine?” I suggested.
Her jaw dropped “Nine??”
“Yeah, I can take it.”
Her brows furrowed in concern. I assume she’s concerned for me and my white taste buds. I reject her concern. How dare she assume I’m not man enough to handle whatever witch’s brew she’s about to serve up? But she persists.
“Nine is really hot. Almost as hot as ten!” she said.
“Ok, how about eight.”
Satisfied that she’s bargained me down to a level of spiciness that is more appropriate for my skin tone, she takes the rest of our orders and leaves.
The food, when it arrives, is excellent. I agree when the waitress asks that yes, in fact nine would have been too spicy for me. She nods happily and refills my water (I’m drinking more of it than usual).
As I leave with my leftovers, I think to myself. That was so good, but maybe next time I’ll get level seven. Eight was a little spicy even for us, Jeeves.
Ever eat something so spicy it creates a ring of fire in your … er … bathroom area? I love really spicy food so I normally don’t have this issue. You might say I’ve built up a tolerance, and my body can handle most of the heat I slide down my gullet. But every once in a while, I push my body too far and my “downstairs mouth” pays the price.
Who’s ready for leftovers?