Hot, But Not Bothered

I had lunch at Swing Thai today. Drunken Noodles with chicken, medium spice. I'd been told never to order food "hot" at a Thai restaurant, and even though I like spicy food I haven't had the guts to ignore that advice yet.

My dad didn't care for ethnic foods like Mexican, Indian or Chinese -- he said he'd worked in the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant once and that was enough to make him never want to eat at one again. But he still ate some hot stuff. Specifically, cherry peppers straight from the jar. What was funny was how he'd insist they weren't hot, despite his face turning crimson and dripping sweat.

I've been doing some informal training for Buffalo Wild Wings Blazin' Challenge -- 12 wings in their hottest sauce in less than six minutes. Zak and I go sometimes after his Friday soccer practices. I'm up to eating six wings in their second-hottest sauce with no problem, so I feel like in another couple of visits I'll be ready to give it a shot. I'm sure my mother will be proud.

Zak's showing an impressive tolerance for spicy food at a young age. I double-dog-dared him to try some Green Pepper Tabasco Sauce at Qdoba once and he agreed. But when I grabbed a chip to put some on he shook his head and stuck out his tongue. So I poured a few drops right on it and he was pretty unfazed.

I offered him a dollar once to eat a chili pepper from an order of P.F. Chang's Kung Pao Scallops and he did that without blinking an eye, too. Then he promptly asked for his dollar. We're apparently raising quite a little capitalist.

Zak and my dad will unfortunately only meet in my head until we're all together in Heaven, but the thought of them sitting together on the couch sharing a jar of cherry peppers does make me chuckle.