Spicy Food and Tiiiiiiny Little Glasses

Yesterday I had the pleasure of eating lunch in town with a local villager. I had been warned that the villagers really load up on the hot stuff in their food. This man was no exception as he ordered the spiciest item on the menu.

The old saying fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me came into play yesterday during our meal. This was the third time I have eaten at this restaurant, and it is almost impossible discern who ordered what as the waiters do not understand much of what I say and I certainly do not understand what they say. Add to that the fact that I have no idea what my order should look like and I am now 1 for 3 in getting what I order. As this was the second time I got the wrong order, I blame myself for not being more aware of the danger. Shame on me.

My order was mixed up with my new village friend who ordered extra spicy beef and peppers with double the peppers and really hot peppers on the side sprinkled with dried chili peppers of death. The first bite was not so bad, but the fire in my mouth that started as a mere spark rapidly began to rage into an inferno by bite number 3.

There is a cultural phenomenon here that baffles me. A great deal of the food here is very spicy but the cups for your beverage of choice are tiny. The biggest cups you get are smaller than the water glasses you get in sit down restaurants in the U.S. At this particular restaurant you also receive a tea cup about the size that comes in pretend tea sets for little girls. All in all, I had about 2 oz. of liquid at a time to extinguish the fire that was raging in my mouth.

The local villager got his order corrected and began to dine on the same selection as I had taken by mistake. About 3 bites in, I noticed that he was struggling with the heat as well. I managed to finish all of mine along with 736 cups of orange fruit tea. My new friend only ate about half of his. I do not know if the heat got to him or if he was just full, but he complimented me on my ability to handle the heat.

As I write one day later, I am still recovering. I have made a mental note of what that dish looked like and will refrain from consumption of it ever again. Though it was good, it was not worth it. On the bright side, this adventure will force me to practice some new phrases. Do you sell Alka Seltzer? May I have more water please? No, I am not sad. I am crying because I am in pain. May I have more tissue. My nose is running profusely and my forehead is covered in sweat.