Spicy Food Mood

Don’t ask me why the word “mood” is in the title. I don’t have an answer for you. This is my 705th post, alright. By this point, the fingers type what they type and I have no control over them. So, just go with it and we’ll get through this together.

If I’ve learned anything about people, it’s that those who like – and can handle – spicy food, make sure everyone else knows of their super power. It’s fascinating, really.

I guess it’s a badge of honour. It’s like they want you to know that they can host a fire fest in their mouth and manage the flames just fine.

Good for them. The really cocky ones will call out the people who can’t handle spicy foods and make them seem like muggles.

I’ve always been on the side of the fence that can’t handle spicy food. However, in the past, I’ve tricked myself into thinking that I can. Big mistake. I’ve learned my lesson.

Growing up, I preferred spicy sausage over mild because they seemed to have more flavour. Then I’d eat them and realize the taste isn’t worth the pain.

I’ll explain that pain via this story.

Over five years ago, I went to a restaurant with friends after a Blue Jays game. The restaurant was called, East Side Mario’s. Hey budda boom budda bing!

A handful of you understand what I just said. The rest of you want me admitted to the nearest hospital.

Anyway, for you non-Canadians, East Side Mario’s is an Italian restaurant, complete with pasta, pizza, sandwiches, and endless salad and bread. It’s like the minor league version of Olive Garden.

Since I like pasta, I ordered Sausage and Peppers Penne. Being Italian, I like mixing sausage with pasta. By choosing this option, I completely ran the red light staring right at me, which was the red “S” on the menu to signify that it was spicy.

I thought I would be fine. The pasta wouldn’t be spicy, right? Just the sausage and peppers. I could avoid the peppers if they became too much, and I can manage the sausage.

Wrong. It came with arrabbiata sauce which means, “What the matter with you?” in Italian. Or something like that.

There was a pitcher of water on the table and a refreshing caesar salad, what could go wrong?

I started eating the pasta and it was delicious. And then about halfway through, the alarm bells started ringing. My mouth was on fire.

To quote the Rocky song:

In the burning heart mouth
Just about to burst
There’s a quest for answers
An unquenchable thirst

Note: I’ve never watched any of the Rocky movies, but I have the soundtrack on CD because of course I do. 

There was not enough cold fluids in the world to make my mouth stop burning.

And then I started sweating. And then my nose started to run. And then I had tears coming out of my eyes. I was in rough shape and was quickly running out of serviettes.

Yeah, I call them serviettes instead of napkins. This should surprise none of you.

It was bad. My friends started to notice I was in rough shape. I kept poking at the food, wanting to eat more, but I couldn’t finish it. I had been defeated.

The waiter asked if I wanted to take the rest home. I declined.

When you’re on fire, you stop, drop, and roll.

YOU DON’T TAKE THE FIRE HOME WITH YOU.

Since then, I’ve avoided spicy foods and spicy pastas. However, if I’m at an Italian buffet, I’ll put about five penne arrabbiata on my plate to send a message to the Pasta Gods that they will never defeat me. 

Shoutout to seafood linguine and penne a la vodka for being delicious, by the way.

Lately, I’ve been getting into spicy chicken.

This includes: the junior chicken from McDonald’s, spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy’s, and as of last weekend, the spicy chicken tenders from Popeyes.

I realize I just gave a free advertisement for unhealthy takeout food, but I’ve been the same weight for four years, so if there’s anyone who can deliver this message, it’s still probably someone else, but I’ll fill that role for now.

Spicy chicken sandwiches have a little kick to them, which I enjoy. It’s not the kind of kick a bull gives when someone tries to ride them at a rodeo but rather, the kind of kick a five-year-old would give a soccer ball.

As for the spicy chicken tenders from Popeyes – oh man, they had me sweating for bit, but they were good. That was my first time eating Popeyes.

What I’m getting at is, spicy food can turn me into a one man sprinkler within minutes. However, there are some milder levels that I can handle and do enjoy, without needing a serviette to mop myself up.

The End.

How about you? Can you handle spicy food? Ever find yourself sweating at a restaurant because you’ve had something spicy?