TheBanyanTree: Fire Eater

[Tobie Shapiro]

March 8, 20000000000006


Dear Hot Stuffs,

	Yesterday, on impulse, I grabbed a jar of hot, spicy kim chee 
from the shelf in the local Safeway, and rushed it home.  I took out 
a pair of chopsticks and ravaged that poor jar.  Now I am suffering 
for my gluttony, though eating three quarters of a jar of rotten 
cabbage can hardly be called gluttony.  I just love the stuff. 
Spicy.  Spice.  Hot.  Hotter.

	Many years ago, I was innocently dining in a Chinese 
restaurant, all by myself, with my journal spread out on the table 
next to me.  I'd take a bite, then write a bit, take a bite, then 
write a bit.  What I had ordered was a garlic smothered squid dish 
served cold.  It was maybe a whole bulb of garlic chopped up, 
combined with schezwan pepper corn powder.  Then boiling sesame oil 
is poured over it, and it sizzles.  Then it's cooled.  The squid is 
cut up, raw, and laid out on a platter, and the sauce is blanketed 
over it.  The squid gets cooked by the garlic marinade, like ceviche 
gets cooked by lime juice.  The garlic squid is a simple dish. 
Firey.  Scrumptious.  I had taken half the little bucket of spiced 
black bean hot oil that sat on each table, and I'd distributed it 
over the garlic sauce.  So it was a doubly hot meal.  I was enjoying 
it immensely, when the owner of the restaurant came up to me, and 
told me I used too much hot sauce.

	"No.  I don't," I insisted, with an apology in my voice. 
"It's delicious.  I love hot.  It's good for you."  The owner didn't 
continue a lecture, or tell me that there was, for instance, too much 
yang in the garlic and black bean hot oil, or that it would get in 
the middle of my chi and kick it around.  He just repeated his 
caveat, "Too much hot sauce," and walked away, shaking his head.

	What is it about spicy?  Some people love it, and some people 
absolutely cannot abide it.  Do we ever see puppies or horses, 
alligators or parakeets craving spicy foods?  And human babies have 
to be trained to like it.  I once was told that in India, mothers 
start training their children when they are infants by giving them a 
pepper a day.  It's probably an urban legend, so I don't believe it. 
Afterall, my mother never stuffed me with peppers, and I grew up to 
be a fire eater.  There is something tingling and life affirming 
about the heat in my mouth after eating hot food.  It isn't painful. 
It has the elements of pain; I can see that.  But it isn't painful in 
the least.

	There is a friendly agreement between the hot folks and the 
bland folks.  It's very civilized, unlike religious or political 
disagreements.  We don't spike your food, and you don't tell us to 
stick our heads in a bucket of cold water.  We get along, but we look 
sideways at each other wondering, wondering.  What do they see in it?

	Years ago, my doctor prescribed a painkiller called Stadol 
for my chronic neck pain.  I'd ruptured a disc in my cervical spine 
and the pain just never went away.  Stadol is a nasal spray, and it's 
quite potent, at first, of course.  It was advertised as being less 
habitualizing than other pain meds, and the effect comes on more 
immediately, since the drug is absorbed by the mucous membranes and 
goes directly into the bloodstream.  The Stadol was quite effective, 
at first, of course.  It also knocked me out.  But I got used to it. 
(Always watch out for that!)

	There was a strange side effect.  Suddenly, for the first 
time in memory, I could not tolerate spicy food.  The effect was 
profound.  I couldn't even handle tooth paste.  It burned my mouth. 
And that burning sensation was no longer pleasant.  It was just pain, 
and I couldn't bear it.  I took this drug for about six years before 
it presented its own problems and I had to wean myself off of it. 
Now I deal with the chronic pain by just dealing with it.  Look, ma! 
No pharmaceuticals!  And my tolerance, naye, craving for hot food 
returned as soon as I was off the Stadol.  Of course there will be no 
entry in the PDR about that strange side effect.  I chalk it up to 
one of the bizarre end-of-the-bell-curve behaviours that my body is 
so fond of.

	I still have to ask myself about that kim chee, though.  And 
why I couldn't have eaten just a quarter of the jar, instead of three 
quarters.   It just called to me, and continued to call to me as I 
poked at it with my chopsticks and singed the inner surface of my 
mouth.  Evenly all around.  That happy sensation.

	Warmly,

	Tobie
-- 




Tobie Helene Shapiro
Berkeley, California   USA

tobie at shpilchas.net