Spicy

The first time I went to Thailand I was 25 and traveling alone. I spent a week in Bangkok, and then took a 12 hour bus eastward (they showed a two-bit Bruce Willis flop, “Hostage,” on repeat for the entirety of the drive, and I bought wild, raw honey at one of our roadside stops). Eventually I hopped a ferry to Koh Chang, where I spent another week, reading “Crime and Punishment,” sunbathing and kayaking. And, of course, solo dining.

I don’t really have a problem dining alone, especially when traveling. And, even if not, I’ve never said no to a solo meal up at the bar at @gramercytavern or @balthazarny. And I actually love traveling by myself. I find it freeing, satisfying and even indulgent. But there are those moments when you wish you weren’t alone.

I sat, beachside, one of those nights in Koh Chang, and ordered what I recall was a cold beef salad. Now, I’m not one to shy from spice, but this dish killed me. Dead. Unforgettably so. Years in China had raised my spice tolerance, as well as my disdain for, if not intolerance of, fellow foreigners who couldn’t handle the Scoville levels I could, and, heck, I came to Thailand after a month in Sichuan. But, all alone, feet in the sand, my mouth was on FIRE and I was laughing at myself.

I looked around. I wanted to tell someone. I wanted someone else to try it. I wanted to share that insane pain. But I was all alone. I felt like I wanted to shovel the sand into my mouth to make it stop. I just drank some more beer instead. Spiciest meal of my life, and no one to share it with.

I also didn’t share these with anyone (well, I saved a SINGLE chip for @seriouslyseeger). I found them at an Asian store near Warren Street two weeks ago, and they are the most delicious and spiciest chips ever.

Today @thegfw is #SPICY