Thing 205 Eat a Vindaloo

I used to think that I liked spicy food. Well, I still like spicy food, or at least what I think is spicy food, but is in fact, natural yogurt compared to what is considered actually spicy food. Alright that sentence appears to make no sense. What I mean to say is: I enjoy eating what I consider spicy, which I thought everyone else considered spicy. I moved in with Pony Boy, Token Northy and The Frenchman. These people apparently think dinner is an opportunity to test your manhood and all of them deeply enjoy masochism. This is when I learned that spicy is actually mild, and what they call spicy should come with a health warning and a fire extinguisher.

So when I saw Pony Boy order a Vindaloo, that staple of British diet, that artificially enhanced spice plate of pure hotness and the stuff of British stand-up comedian legends, and then promptly sweat to death, I decided to strike it from my list. There's no way, if it makes the Pony Boy sweat like a stuck pig, that I'm ever going to be able to handle it. It will not make the list. Because I don't want it to kill me. Because I'm too young to die (just to clarify, that was hyperbole, Pony Boy didn't die from Thai Food).
It was the unofficial anthem of the English football team in 1998. That'll tell you how popular it is. Mind you, things can change fast. If a vindaloo got sent off for kicking an Argentinian it's popularity probably would have plummeted, but that's a different kettle of fish.

In western countries it's often served with potatoes, but that's not a traditional vindaloo. The real deal was never served with potatoes, so I didn't get mine with them. Like many other things on this list, it's one of those that required a "dive in" approach.

This is the tactic of not thinking about it, just doing it. Spend no time at all considering the consequences, just order, dig in and worry about it the next day.
That's how much of it I manged to eat. That's not bad is it? That's pretty much most of it. Couple of scraps of rice managed to dodge the fork, but the vast majority of it was eaten.

The results: My face leaked buckets of sweat. My mouth tingled like someone had just lit one of those sparklers in it. Tears formed and then were scrubbed out. The Thief looked like she was going to burst herself from laughing at my near tears. This isn't eating. This isn't dinner, and it's not a meal. It's a hazing rite of passage for an American fraternity. It's penance for sins that the church hasn't got names for. It's the mandatory sentence for repeat juvenile offenders and flashers.

Why? I have to ask: Why would anyone do this to themselves? Who enjoys this? Are there people out there, who, when hungry, say to themselves; Man, you know what would hit the spot now? Some roasting hot fire inside my mouth. I'd really go for an inferno in my stomach, and I thoroughly look forward to the aftereffects when I need to use a bathroom tomorrow...

I didn't die. But it's going to be a long, long time before I order Thai food again...