|From Food Photography|
I used to hate spicy food as a child.
I couldn’t understand how anyone could enjoy having their palate assaulted, or how they could stand eating as the outlines of their lips become embossed with pinpricks of pain.
I couldn’t tolerate heat, no matter the amount. It distracted from the flavor of the food, forcing me to focus instead on the burgeoning pain at the back of my throat.
My father, on the contrary, loved the heat. He kept a jar of home ground, bright red and brown flecked chili flakes over the kitchen cabinet, and sprinkled what may as well have been a whole teaspoonful over every meal. He seemed to be immune to the burn.
So unlike him, I could detect minuscule amounts of heat in my food.
I would often spend hours with burning lips and tearing eyes after eating something he promised could not possibly have any detectable traces of chili. Read the rest of this entry »