My Spice Journey

There are 2 types of people in the world:

1. Those who need to add sauce to whatever they’re eating
2. Those who don’t

I’m in the latter category — I don’t even add ketchup to fries, because I like the original flavor of the fries. If I’m in Belgium having the real thing then fine, I’ll use the sauces they provide, because that’s how you’re supposed to eat it. But otherwise I rarely add sauce to anything I’m eating, unless it’s specifically intended for that dish. For example, I dip my eggrolls in that sweet red sauce it comes with, because it doesn’t taste as good without the sauce.

On the other hand Claire, my friend from Belgium, loves sauce in her food. She grew up eating “food with sauce” so she’s accustomed to it, and finds it odd when food doesn’t have sauce in it. Which is fascinating to me because I never noticed or cared if my food has sauce in it…as long as there’s good flavor it doesn’t matter to me.

Then there’s my friend Divya, who asks for hot sauce no matter what he’s eating and where he’s eating it. He isn’t satisfied if he’s offered Sriracha, either. He’ll scoff and be like, “Come on, Sriracha is so basic, what other special hot sauces do you have?” It was a tad cringey the first time I took him to Gochi, the fusion Japanese tapas place that’s one of my lunch go-to restaurants. The waitress just looked confused, and I looked away and pretended it was a normal request. I told him afterwards that it “wasn’t the type of place where you ask for hot sauce,” mainly because it implies the food doesn’t taste good as-is.

As for me, I never had much affinity for spicy food growing up. I would eat it, but I never craved it. At Thai places I’d maybe try medium, and thought it was either good enough or a tad spicy. I also didn’t want to sweat when I ate.

I don’t know when this happened for me, but several years ago I started to develop a taste for mala spice. In Chinese mala means numbing spice, and it’s prevalent in Sichuan food since it’s made with Sichuan peppercorn and chili. I remember a holiday gathering a while ago where my uncle brought a party tray of mala chicken or shrimp, and I just kept on eating it (peppers and all) since I found it so addicting (ironically, the Sichuan peppers aren’t actually that spicy). After that my interest was piqued, and I began looking out for local mala restaurants and checking them out with friends who like spicy food.

What I discovered is that the only thing better than eating mala food is introducing mala food to friends who also end up loving it. Normally we stick with medium spicy, and I’ll typically need extra napkins to wipe the sweat from my face while eating. My favorite place is Bel Cool Tasty Pot, which you know is an authentic Chinese restaurant because a) you have no idea what the name means, and b) it’s 3.5 stars on Yelp.

The restaurant itself can be intimidating, because there’s a wall of ingredients when you enter with basically no labels. If you’re not Asian you probably don’t know what 90% of the ingredients are, but essentially you grab what you want and tell them how spicy you want it. There’s also a menu but I’ve never ordered off of it. Somehow though, the food turns out amazing and I have yet to find a place with a better mala flavor than Bel Cool.

I asked Divya earlier this week whether he grew up eating hot sauce with his meals, and it turns out that he only got into it 4-5 years ago, much like me with mala. As I reflect on how our palates have evolved over time, I’m amazed by the significant role food plays in fostering connections between friends. There’s a story that can be told for every meal, and our food preferences can catalyze a conversation about how we grew up. Not only that, but expanding what you eat has the potential of creating new bonds with people in your life. So the next time you have a meal with a friend, try asking them about their food journey and the stories behind their favorite meals. Who knows, it just might make your meals and friendships richer.