A La Jiao-less Life - Life Without Spice is Torture

This has been a summer of nasty health-related problems for me. Wedding stress, traveling, incredible heat and illness have combined to make this a trying (yet humorous) time.

Due a stomach problem, that despite medication has failed to heal, my doctor has issued strict orders: No alcohol, no deep-fried food and nothing spicy.

I was aghast at his commands. No alcohol can be dealt with, but no spicy food? This left me wondering exactly what I was to ingest during this 14 day 'diet' period.

I never enjoyed spicy food before arriving in China. I made attempts from time to time, but there was something engrained deep within my psyche that said spicy food was bad. Perhaps my upbringing. Other than salt and pepper there was nothing used that could be equated to spice during my formative years. I think I was 13 years old before I discovered the roast beef could be cooked pink and tender, not the color and texture of leather.

As a college student I worked as a waiter in an Italian eatery. During one memorable shift a customer asked for chilies for his spaghetti. I served the small bottle of red pepper and returned a few minutes later to check his progress. He was bright red and sweating like the proverbial pig.

"Is everything ok?" I asked.

"Yes, it's great," he replied.

"Are you sure?" I thought I might have to call an ambulance; the man was obviously on the verge of a heart attack.

"Yes, the food is wonderful," he said.

I wondered why he would torture himself. It wasn't natural. On top of that, he left an extremely small tip. Hot food and its devotees had again been sullied in my opinion.

Skip ahead a decade. I tentatively started to try hot sauce and other spicy treats. Machismo probably explained it. I tried to have an open mind. On a limited scale my experiment worked, I was no longer frightened of the spicy morsels.

A few years later I found myself in China. I knew a little about Chinese food before arriving. Most folks believe the food from their local Chinese restaurant to be representative of Asian cuisine. Not so. I worked as a waiter in a Chinese restaurant and the staff never ate a single item from the menu. The cook prepared their meals separately and those dishes held no resemblance to what the customers dined on.

During my first restaurant meal in China I ate something called Ma Po Dou Fu (translation - spicy tofu). I decided to be open to new things. I almost spit out the first mouthful of the spicy concoction. No amount of Tsing Tao beer seemed to extinguish the flames that had engulfed my mouth and rattled my senses.

Over the next few months I ate more spicy food. My favorite restaurant became a Sichuan place (Szechwan and Szechuan as it is spelled in North America). Sichuan food is heavily laced with a wee red pepper called La Jiao. Its size is deceiving. It packs a wallop of fire. The seeds are not removed. Eating it is a full frontal assault on your senses. You experience an adrenaline rush ever time you dine. Depending on the cook you have no idea how much will be used. It's extreme cuisine. In time I came to fear, respect, and dare I say, love the little fruit of the Capsicum plant.

I used it when I cooked home. When I ate out I ordered dishes containing la jiao. I kept la jiao under my pillow. Ok, I didn't, but you understand what I mean. I was a student of spicy food. I knelt at the altar of fiery cuisine. I sacrificed my being to tastes that would make many North Americans cringe and weep like newborns.

And now I can't eat it.

For two weeks.

I am heart-broken. I tried to eat my childhood favorite, boiled potatoes, last night. It was as bland as Wonder bread sans peanut butter. Scrambled eggs aren't the same without la jiao's little kick.