January 13th, 2006
Categories: Uncategorized

He’s Hot. He’s Spicy. He Tastes Great……

 

What’s your spicy food level?

Me? I love spicy food. Back home, we occassionally participate in “Phaal Challenges”, where we eat the hottest curry we can in our local curry house – the chicken phaal being the holy grail, which is so hot they don’t put it on the menu (only regular commentor Sibz can stomach more than a mouthful, my nose and eyes run if I have some, so I stick to my safe balti).

Outside of that, I am very disappointed with a lot of “spicy food” on the market being, well, not that spicy. Chief offenders are Asda curries, my work’s canteen (who have now just given me a two month contract extension, bonus!) and the main offender: Mr. JD Weatherspoons, who’s curry on Curry Thursdays – whilst tasty – do not replicate the atomic bomb through the sphincter feeling that good curries provide.

Another principle offender is the stodge that pizza takeouts serve up, as well as those by some major
supermarkets. A lot of the “hot and spicy” pizza’s are not actually, hot and spicy. Usual toppings are red peppers, pepperoni and “spicy” beef. None of which make my mouth water. And they should be stopped under the trade description act.

Except for one, little backlit pizza place in city centre Liverpool.

Me, Guy, Tom, Mike (my housemates), Paul (an ex-housmate) and a bloke who knew Mike went out for a few drinks. Mike, Tom and Mike’s mate wanted to stay out, with myself, Guy and Paul wanting an early night. Instead we headed for some food, and decided to share a pizza between us. One hot and spicy pizza, with ham instead of green chilli’s.

The good news was that we got the ham for free. The bad news was we also got the chillis – seeds and all. I wish somebody told me this before I took a bite out of it.

It was hot, very, very, hot. Not a good type of hot that radiates throughout your body after a satisfying curry, oh no. This was like concentrated hotness localised in the mouth. It didn’t make me cry, instead it made my mouth sweat. No good came of it.

Instead of a usual stroll up the hill, I had to jump in a taxi to get back home for some milk (note to new curry eaters: lager and milk are the way forward, water makes your mouth even hotter. I managed to get some kip in the end, but not until 1.

The fact that it’s still burning, is probably not a good thing.

In other news, today is Trogday. Three years to the day that Trogdor first graced our monitors in a cartoon that was funny, innoffensive and timeless. I was singing “Trogdor was a man, infact he was a dragon-man. Actually he was just a dragon.” all the way to work, and am wearing my Homestar Runner T-shirt which Sarah bought me to work today (Friday is dress down day, though the fact it’s got homestarrunner.com written across my back, thus making it technically illegal as you’re not allowed advertising on your t-shirts). Hence the picture, where I’m in need of a haircut and more sleep.

If that makes me a tired, geeky, hairy little panda, then so be it.

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