The Spice

There are very few things I brag about. Well, let's be honest, there are very few things I can brag about. One thing though is the sit-and-reach test. I usually get sixty-something centimeters. In other words, I can almost touch my toes with my elbows without bending my knees. Another "gift" is my tongue: I can touch my nose, my cheeks and well down my chin with my tongue. So yes, I may not have been born with fantastic brains or boobs, but I can touch my toes and lick my drool.

Yet another thing I can brag about and in fact do brag about is my ability to eat spicy food. Yeah yeah, they say every Asian has some gene that enables her/him to handle the spice; but I have yet to meet anyone who could surpass me. I intimated as much once to a co-worker.

"You are the queen of spice, you say?" he laughed, mockingly.

"Yep," I said brazenly, "I am."

He laughed at me more and I stood there, smiling demurely. When lunch time came around, I took from the office fridge a bottle of habanero sauce the Naysayer had purchased for me from Mexico. As I drenched my Au Bon Pain sandwich with the green sauce, that same co-worker asked me, "Hey Yellow Gal, can I have a dab of that?"

"Sure," I said, and handed the bottle to him. As he dripped a single droplet onto the edge of his plate, I mused over the tiny opening of the bottle. I surmised there was some reason the bottle only let out one drop at a time.

My co-worker took the edge of his turkey sandwich, tentatively dipped a sharp corner of the white bread into the eerily green sauce, and took a bite. And chewed.

I continued eating my sandwich without incident when I heard a gasp. I looked at my co-worker and his skin had changed from lily white to a brilliant shade of magenta. I watched him swallow painfully and take a gulp of his Diet Pepsi. "Oh my god," he gasped, "that sauce is SPICY."

"Oh really?" I said, chewing thoughtfully, "I guess it does have 'a kick.' "

"Come ON you have to admit it's more than just 'a kick' ..." he said between gulps of his soda.

"Yeah, I guess it does," I said amused.

That was the last time he ever mocked me.

So all my friends bow down to me in my spicy superiority and dominance over all who come before me. They grow accustomed to my expected request to the waiter to make my dishes "extra extra spicy, as spicy as you can possibly make it," my unscrewing the caps to bottles of red pepper flakes so that I could pour--not sprinkle--red pepper onto my dish, and my ability to eat habaneros and Thai peppers like they were carrots or peas.

So being the spice connoisseur, I have learned that there is a distinction between spicy foods and sauces, and foods and sauces that purport to be spicy.

My first gripe: I dislike it when a food/sauce proclaims itself to be spicy when in fact it happens to contain a little more black pepper than usual, a few specs of red pepper, and a lot of salt. The food/condiment industry seems to have mistaken saltiness for spiciness. This is simply wrong. Salt is salt. Black pepper is black pepper. Red pepper is red pepper. Simply adding Red No. 3, a fleck of red pepper, and a ton of salt does not transform a sauce into "hot sauce."

A corollary to this gripe involves the vinegar ingredient. I used to be a huge Tabasco sauce fan in high school and in college. After going through a bottle a month for several years, I frankly got sick of it. I later realized that while Tabasco sauce does contain a modicum of spiciness, its vinegar and salt overwhelms the red pepper ingredient, such that any food you happen to season with Tabasco sauce tastes like Tabasco sauce, not steak, not spaghetti, not soup. Just Tabasco sauce. I'd rather have beef that's spicy, not beef that tastes like solidified Tabasco sauce.

The better sauces have more habaneros or Thai chili peppers (as opposed to mere jalapenos or cayenne), less salt, and less vinegar. The lack of salt and vinegar allow the natural flavors of the underlying food to come through.

Okay so as you can tell, I love spicy food. I was reminded of this fact at 5 PM today. The day was waning, and I started getting the shakes. My palms began to sweat. What was going on?

Then I realized it: I hadn't consumed any spiciness all day. The absence was palpable, almost unbearable. I grabbed a cup of microwaveable soup from my stash, microwaved it, and once the microwave beeped, I seized the bowl and dribbled some of my green habanero sauce into it. The warmth on my tongue was most welcoming. It hurt so good.

So it looks like I am a walking contradiction. I am both the master of, and yet a slave to, the Spice.