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Emeril was right about kickin’ it up a notch

I like myself some spice.  When I eat the Vietnamese noodle soup, Pho, I could just enjoy the subtle flavors of the chicken broth.  But I don’t.  I load on the Sriracha, that magical and very spicy red condiment that comes in a squeeze bottle.  If it’s Taco Time* in my apartment, I get out the Cholula hot sauce, ’cause that chicken needs some kick.

Food critics like to be challenged by the food they eat.  Fusions between vastly different cuisines, exotic ingredients, unique preparations.  I also like to be challenged by food, but on my budget, I’ve settled on the challenge of eating a tablespoon of wasabi.  Or a chili pepper.  Eating to the point of pain, basically.  That’s how I walk on the wild side.  Well, it’s more like a walk through a partially gentrified neighborhood bordering The Wild Side, but it’s something.

New Orleans is known for its food, and it’s also known for its spice.  And that’s one of the many reasons I like the place.  Watery eyes, running nose–these are usually symptoms of a cold, but if they happen while you’re eating jambalaya, that’s a good thing.  Your body is telling you to stop, that you’re hurting yourself and you should just eat a slice of toast, and yet you continue, chowing down on that sweat-inducing stuff. This is when boys become men.

Some say people hallucinate when they eat incredibly spicy foods.  That hasn’t happened to me yet.  Then again, Thomas Jefferson did suggest I order more naan for my curry…

 

*Taco Time is a very special time of the day when I make myself tacos.

09
Sep 2011
POSTED BY travelbugrobert
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