Spicy Food

                I’ve been plagued by my share of self-inflicted vices over the years. Whether it be sugar, alcohol, nicotine – I always have backup indulgence to get some of those happy brain chemicals in motion. Should the situation call for a serotonin hit where none can be reasonably ingested – in comes the spicy food.

                It all comes back to me not liking pizza as a child. I fuckin hate tomatoes. I liked pizza until I was something like 6 years old, then found it disgusting (if it had red sauce) until I was in high school. By 14 or so liking pizza just made a lot more sense – how the hell else could teenagers without cars get food delivered? Ordering pizza meant freedom. ALSO, my friends never ordered extra sauce, which my parents had a habit of doing when they placed their orders at Pizza Hut. Throw in stuffed crust and all of the sudden pizza was again palatable for me.

                So we have this 8 or so year gap between 1^st grade and freshman year of high school where I just straight up didn’t eat pizza. In elementary school I strove to be part of the group of students who hit X reading goal or Y math points to get to have a “pizza party.” It’s probably pretty obvious at this point but I didn’t give a shit about the pizza, I wanted to have the special time with my friends who always also hit the party criteria. It became something I enjoyed: bringing my pb+j, the teacher (if they weren’t my direct educator) being slightly confused, and me saying “oh no, I don’t like pizza, Alden and Jeremy can have my slices.”

                Just because I didn’t like pizza didn’t mean the world around me stopped liking pizza. My family ordered some pies on a regular basis (especially before my parents did a low-carb diet for the first time). Finally sometime in the very early 2000s, Pizza Hut began to offer wings in addition to pizzas. My mother grudgingly offered to add an 8-piece serving of wings the next time they were about to ring up the Hut. I jumped at the opportunity.

                Pain. Pain was the result. Guys, like, yea, it was probably because I was 10 or 11, but those wings were HOT and I maintain to this day that if the wings they served at the time were their “regular” nowadays, they would be Tik Tok challenge level. Keep in mind I wasn’t ordering mild or spicy or whatever, I was ordering “wings,” period, aka the only option at the time.

**It’s necessary to add at this point that I acknowledge it’s sound a bit like I’m whining about how I didn’t like pizza as a kid and had to suffer through eating spicy food. I can understand if that’s your interpretation at this point, but at its core this is a story about how being a picky eater as a child turned me into a rad adult who is beyond thankful for his accommodating parents.  

                Still, I preferred the pain as opposed to eating something boring like toast, instead of pizza. It did not take long before I desired that buzz (not that I knew what a buzz even was at the time) that came along with eating food that made me sweat mildly. One clear memory from this time was playing Star Wars: Jedi Power Battles (why does no one talk about that game?) on my PS1. My mom yelled down the stairs saying they were ordering pizza, and I simply screamed back “WINGGGGGGGGGGGS!”

                Then finally in high school, I met the love of my life – Sriracha. Suddenly I had the power to make anything as spicy as I wanted it (at the time). It was perfection in sauce form. From then on, whenever I was at a restaurant or getting takeout, I always made sure to choose a spicy option and to add some sriracha to whatever it was for that extra kick.

                Suddenly college arrives. Pizza Hut wings have now expanded into a selection of something like 12 sauces. Wing Wednesday became a weekly source of excitement for my roommates and I. I understand it’s a pizza chain – that being said, their Buffalo Burnin’ Hot is still a respectably spicy hot sauce. Even nowadays it’s not something I can just toss down the mouth chute, it takes a bit of finesse. In 2012 it was an absolute struggle to make it through the 14-piece order of wings ($7.57 out the door at the time) but goddamn, did I love every bite. It hit a weird point when I started adding other sauces to it (yknow, sriracha and the like) and realized I needed to step up my game.

                Enter Thai Ginger: the small Thai restaurant only a ~10 minute walk from our college houses. The first time I went was especially disappointing as I ordered “spicy chicken.” It was a generic mixture of vegetables I didn’t really like with miniature bits of chicken. The next time I went, a friend of mine strongly recommended I order the pad Thai and holy shit what a revelation that lunch was. Sriracha is perfection as a sauce as pad Thai is perfection to a complete meal.

                A few visits later it hits me – I can order these noodles at spice levels 1-4. I started ordering the 3 star option on a regular basis and y’all I am just having the fondest memories right now. Needing to pause to order more water continue eating, entering into a coughing fit in which I had to exit the building to catch my breath, most of the classically embarrassing moments you experience as you journey through your spicy food adventures.

                As I got older and moving around quite a bit I kept on the hunt for restaurants that would serve adequately spicy food. Once I had moved back to Richland from Seattle, I began slowly taking inventory of Thai restaurants until I found one that stuck (it took several). I gave up on ordering anything under the spiciest option because while my tolerance had indeed shot through the roof in recent years, most restaurants don’t take you seriously when you order over the phone and say you want the hottest thing on the menu.

                Finally, I get the details on the best Thai food I’ve had in Tri-Cities. I go with some friends who were regulars. Like many places it offers a scale of 1-5 for spice. When it came to my turn to order, using the insider advice I had been given, I asked for the beef pad Thai with 10 stars. The server looked over at one of the regulars who nodded, and said “give it to him like Hailey always gets it.” She looked back at me, still with an inquisitive expression and I said “I would like to embarrass myself.” The server appeared unconvinced but clearly wrote down my order as I had intended. When she came to drop off the food I distinctly recall her saying “smelling this plate just gave me a stomachache.”

                Admittedly I was pretty silent for most of the meal. A lot of my energy was focused on “keep it cool, you wanted this.” I had the foresight to order a Thai Iced Tea as well, which is nothing less than magic (or chemistry or whatever the fuck) for helping with spice. I did not clear the plate (because I literally never do, restaurant portions are almost always two meals) but managed to hit that “full” feeling without too much trouble.

                Christmas 2020 hit a while later. Being 27 I basically had all the shit I really needed and could afford to purchase most recreational items I desired. When the family asked me for Christmas ideas, I (without entirely realizing it) suggested the same thing to everyone who asked – hot sauce.

                Come January 2021 I had over 20 new bottles of hot sauce in my apartment. Some of them are gone now, some still unopened (as I got some duplicates), and one which looks like it hasn’t been touched. This is where an interesting divide happens with spice people – there is a line between spice being there for “fun” while still adding to the dining experience, and it being a novelty which exists solely for pain inducing antics. Mad Dog 357 hot sauce absolutely falls into the latter, I would never actually put this on food to enhance it. It’s something that I take out of the cabinet, put the slightest of slight amounts on a piece of bread or something similar, and serve to myself and whoever the hell is dumb enough to embark on this adventure with me. While I do drink alone, I do not consume MD 357 solo.

This all culminates into what I've observed to be my "perfect spice" level to be. Buldak ramen, the black label. Prepare it just as the label requests. Add some Sriracha and some Hot Ones Last Dab sauce, throw in a bit of rotisserie chicken, and the result is the closest thing to a euphoric drug experience achieved via food that I have discovered in these last 30 years.

                While I’m confident enough to say I’m a good bit above average in terms of spice tolerance, I’d like to make it clear that I’m nothing special. I’d never enter a competition for who can eat the spiciest food it the greatest portion. If I do go to a restaurant that claims they have some mind bending sauce, I’ll usually order a side of it to dip my stuff in, just to see what the fuss is about.