Spicy Stuff

Believe it or not, I used to be whiter than I am today.

My brother (left) and myself, in the dopest Cub Scout swag

My complexion was a cross between skim milk and fresh fallen snow. Classic rock and country music were what I listened to exclusively (mostly because I was never really exposed to anything else). The town I was raised in was like if a Norman Rockwell painting and an Ansel Adams photograph built a village off their artwork. Basically, I was a living stereotype of middle-class whiteness as a young man.

I mean, I'm still a pretty generic white guy, but a few things have changed, like my skin being pinker and my ability to eat spicier foods actually existing.

Growing up, I didn't care for anything with a kick. If I ate Mexican food everything would have to be mild, and even then it was more than hot enough for me. Hell, I couldn't really even handle too much pepper on food because of the spice to it, which shows how big a pansy ass I was. For many, many years I lived my life in relative blandness. Sure, I ate sweet things, and sure I ate savory things, but peppers never played a part on my pallet.

I don't know when I grew out of my aversion to spicy stuff, but it probably started around the time I was in college and eating rice and Top Ramen almost exclusively. I experimented with ways to get rice to be less boring, and ways to get Top Ramen to taste less like Top Ramen, so I incorporated vegetables, canned meats, peanut butter (it was... interesting), and finally the realm of Tapatio and Tabasco. Sweating out the first few moments of Tuna-Tabasco-Top-Ramen Surprise, I realized hot sauce was pretty tasty; the kind-of sweet vinegary taste crossed with the heat of the stuff distracted me from the fact that I was eating a 60 cent on-sale food amalgamation abomination. From then on, I'd add a little hot sauce to other things I'd eat to add to the flavor instead of masking it, and things continued to turn out awesome.

Heaven in a bottle

Then the day came that I met Sriracha. I hadn't had the chance to try that beautiful red sauce praised and doted on by everyone when it first became popular, but when I finally did I learned what The Oatmeal was talking about. It's now found its way into almost every meal I eat in a day, in everything I cook, and with me wherever I go just in case I run into a food item that needs more flavor.

As far as flavor goes, though, I learned the joy of spiciness while in Santa Barbara. The Brewhouse has a habanero pilsner, but I think they were experimenting with another capsaicin-packed beer when I was there. The waitress warned me it was "screaming hot" but curiosity got the better of me, so I ordered it. It was a dark looking beast of a stout, in a 4-ounce glass without much of a head to it. I took a sip. Initially it wasn't too bad; slight chili sweetness, stout bitterness... then the burn came. It was like napalm coating my stomach. The cold feeling of beer crossed with the scorching sensation of whatever unholy pepper they made the stuff with was intense enough for me not to be able to finish it-- but it was pretty tasty regardless. Just... painful.

It's not to say I go out of my way for spicy foods, but I will say I've broadened my horizons with stuff I'm willing to eat (and drink, apparently). Some foods seem gross (see: pickled tongue, tripe) and some are potentially painful (see: whatever the hell I drank at The Brewhouse), but even if they are gross or painful they're food, and food is inherently awesome. It's worthwhile to try new things and acquire a taste for certain flavors, because there's a chance you could miss out on rad eats if you don't.

In short: Don't be bland. Try something tasty.