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How to Eat Spicy Food without Looking Like a Weenie:
It is human nature (or at least “man” nature) to want the respect and admiration of one’s peers. Depending on social circle, this may be earned by exhibiting an extensive knowledge of politics, or literature. Some laud a quick wit and sharp sense of humor. Still others count athleticism and physical fitness as marks of honor.

But the ability to eat insanely spicy food, without flinching, is a ubiquitous indicator of coolness that transcends all the sundry spheres, be they social, economic, cultural, or even religious. Walk into a chicken wings establishment with your friends, down a basket of the joint’s most extreme offering with a smile on your face, and you will be forever branded a tough guy.

So, what of the faint tongued? Are they condemned to eke out a meager existence, cowering in the shadows of those more stout of mouth? Not necessarily.

The truth is; nobody actually likes those atomic chicken wings, or that center-of-the-sun chili. Sure, there are those that prefer their meals with a little kick, but when it comes to foods that literally require a hazmat suit for transportation, EVERYONE is faking it… so you can too!

While it may not be easy, by following just a few simple steps and guidelines, anyone can learn the skills necessary to enter the upper echelons of awesomeness. As one who has been a long standing member of the highly exclusive clique of spicy food consumers – and because I am truly a humanitarian at heart – I have taken it upon myself to reveal my secrets to the world:

1-Understand the Stakes
I really can’t stress this enough. When it comes to eating spicy food, there are three classes of people. At the top, of course, are those that can successfully eat spicy food while maintaining an amused, or at least an indifferent, composure. This group comprises approximately 2% of the population. The middle, and largest, group is made up of those that willingly admit to their own inadequacy and decline to eat spicy food. There is no shame in being a member of this group, which encompasses roughly 94% of all humans. The bottom group (about 4% of the population) consists of those who attempt, and fail, to consume spicy food in an acceptable manner (Exhibit A).

Be warned: there is no redemption from the bottom group. No amount of daredevilry and no exhibition of strength can ever blot out the shame of a failed attempt at spicy food. Seriously. You could pull a shark out of the water with your bare hands and chew its head off. It wouldn’t matter. The thing your friends would bring up at your funeral would be the time you ran maniacally around in circles, clawing at your tongue and begging for water.

Once you choose to leave the ranks of the middle group and partake of spicy food, you will be forever classed with either the top or the bottom. Don’t gamble with this. If you’re not 100% ready, continue to practice and wait until next time.

2-Practice Alone
There is no substitute for practice. The real secret to eating very spicy food is learning how to endure massive amounts of pain without reflecting that pain in your expression.

Get a mirror and watch yourself closely as you eat something spicy. Don’t worry about the things you can’t control, such as watering eyes, running nose, and reddening face (these will be addressed later). Rather, pay attention to your general demeanor. Try smiling while eating, and work on talking naturally without choking. If your eyes tear up so much that you can’t see yourself in the mirror, a camcorder on a tripod may be required.

3-Preemptive Symptoming
There are some physiological signs of vulnerability that no amount of practice can hide. Occasionally, these symptoms can be masked. For instance, if your nose tends to run when you eat spicy food, you might excuse yourself to the restroom and stuff balls of toilet paper up your nose before your meal arrives. Unfortunately, other symptoms, such as watering eyes, face flushing, and coughing fits, are virtually impossible to conceal.

For these, I recommend preemptive symptoming. If you try to blame your tears on allergies immediately after you take a bite of something dipped in Dave’s Insanity Sauce, your friends will see right through the guise. If, however, prior to your arrival at the restaurant, you mention you have a cold and make a point of coughing, shaking, and wiping your nose incessantly, your friends will not suspect a thing when you continue the same behavior after eating.

4-Self Talk
While in the act of eating spicy food, the effective use of self talk can sometimes be the difference between success and failure. When using self talk, avoid watered down and cliché phrases such as, “You can do it!”, or “Atta boy!” Instead try, “This will not kill me.”, and “two more minutes to infinite glory!”

Also, remember that self talk should always be mental. Never actually say the above phrases out loud.

5-Avoidance
Whether you succeed or fail in your attempt, you should do all you can to avoid future situations that could afford another opportunity for spicy food eating. If you failed in your first attempt, there is no point in trying again, and being around spicy food will only remind your peers of your defeat. If you succeeded, it is likely that your associates will demand a repeat performance whenever an appropriate menu item is accessible. It is mandated by the CSFE (Coalition of Spicy Food Eaters) that such repeat performances be delivered upon request. Failure to repeat a performance for any reason is grounds for expulsion from the coalition.

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Remember, the glory of being a spicy food eater carries a heavy price tag, but it is one that is well worth paying. If you persevere, you can be counted amongst the elite, and the skills you learn along the way will benefit you throughout your life - especially if you’re ever taken prisoner and tortured for state secrets.

Cereal on My Mind

After reading this, you may think I’m a little obsessive. My last post was about Cheerios, and here I am writing about breakfast cereal again. Well, in truth I am obsessive, but I do have an excuse – or at least an explanation.

I recently started a new job. It’s across town so, to beat rush hour traffic, I decided to start work at 7AM. To get there on time, I have to leave my house by 6:20AM, which in turn requires me to roll out of bed by about 5:45AM. Following this schedule, I usually land at my breakfast table with a bowl of cereal in front of me in the neighborhood of 6:05 each morning.

I’ve been me long enough to know that I will never be a morning person. At 6:05AM, my thoughts haven’t quite yet made the leap from dream logic to reality. I’m still convinced that there is a little green man inside my alarm clock whom I should be able to convince to stop changing the numbers while I sleep indefinitely. It is in this mental state that I find myself staring at cereal boxes. So, as I spew my pre-dawn thoughts about my breakfast at you, please be aware that I do have other Interests.

With that disclaimer firmly in place, I will now proceed with my Post®.

To start, why must the front of every cereal box include some form of the disclosure, “Enlarged to show texture”? It’s a picture for crying out loud! Do they really think we expect everything in photographs to be exactly life size? If so, why doesn’t the image on the back of the box of children playing soccer have a footnote that says, “Shrunken to fit on the box”? Who knows, maybe the absence of said footnote means the children really are that small. Maybe food companies are covering up the existence of a race of teeny people being exploited for advertising.

The fact that the, “Enlarged to show texture” tagline is so ubiquitous makes me wonder if there is an FDA regulation that requires it. If that is the case, then cold cereal is just way too regulated. If the government is going to force food manufactures to make disclosures on cereal boxes, they should at least be somewhat helpful. Maybe something like; “dextrose, galactose, fructose, sucrose, maltodextrin, and corn syrup ARE ALL JUST SUGAR!”

Another common note I see on cereal boxes is, “Serving suggestion”. This, I assume, is to make it clear that we won’t find fresh blueberries, eggs, toast, and a glass of orange juice inside the box. Now, I’m sure that cereal manufacturers are under no delusion that anyone actually heeds these serving suggestions. Still, I think the one pictured on my current box of Cheerios is pushing it (yes, I actually pulled this out of my pantry and scanned it):
I have nothing against strawberries in my cereal, or even eating from a heart shaped bowl. I will not, however, eat my Cheerios with diapers on top of them. Frankly I’m offended that they would suggest it.

Interestingly, the “Serving suggestion” footnote is absent on my box of Raisin Bran: I imagine they didn’t want to be culpable if someone decided to actually try this. It may look great in a photograph, but you should never sprinkle diamond shards on your cereal and eat it from a molten hot spoon.

I Love Cheerios

I’m getting older. I’m fine with that; it’s an acceptable side effect of being alive. I don’t, however, like thinking of myself as ‘old’. The fact than I’m older than I was a year ago is indisputable. Whether or not that makes me ‘old’ is highly subjective – or at least it should be.

See, lately I’ve been getting phone calls from people who, for some inexplicable reason, seem compelled to inform me that I’m now a withered old raisin.

“Hello”, I answer the phone unsuspectingly.
“Hello, my name is Blah Blah, calling on behalf of Blah. Am I speaking with Mr. Hill?”

“Yes, this is Mr. Hill, how may I help you?”

“Mr. Hill, I’m just calling to inform you that you are a withered old raisin.”

“What a hurtful, hurtful thing to say.”

“Mr. Hill, this will only take a few minutes. May I continue?”

Of course I’m paraphrasing, but only slightly. The actual conversation goes something a little more like this:

“Mr. Hill, I am conducting a short survey. Before I begin, I need to ask you a few qualifying demographical questions, starting with your age. Are you a)Under 18, b)18-24, c)25-34, or d)35 and over?”

“Umm… I’m 35.”

“So, d) 35 and over?”

“No, not 35 'and over'. Just 35.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Hill, that’s not an option. I need to enter d) 35 and over.”

“Do you realize that you’ve just grouped me with George Burns?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Hill, I don’t understand that reference.”

“That’s because you’re b)18-24.”

To be fair, a year ago I was more than happy to be classified as '25-34', and I hardly ever belittled telephone surveyors about the unfairness of the generalization. Now, though, these meddling callers make me angry and embittered, and I have an irrepressible urge to rant about them to anyone who will listen. Plus my hip hurts.

Conversely, Cheerios make me feel spry, youthful, and giggly.

Why? Coincidentally, it's for exactly the same reason. They too have decided to segregate the population into age groups. They have recently divided the nutritional information listed on the side of their boxes into age appropriate columns.

This makes perfect sense to me. Obviously the recommended daily calorie intake for an adult is going to be different than it is for a child. Everyone should be doing this. And the best part? There are only two age groups: Under 4… and everyone else.

Brilliant! In a single, master stroke, Cheerios has made 4-year-olds feel all grown up, and 90-year-olds feel young.

Frankly, this new Cheerios age paradigm has changed my life. I’ve been marching around like the king of the world asking everyone I see to guess my age. Before they have a chance to awkwardly mumble something about not being very good with ages, I blurt out, “4 AND OVER! HA!”

Totally worth the three hours of musty Cheerio burps I have to endure after breakfast.

I Don't Care if You Don't Like Fish

I like fish. Actually, I like to eat fish; my feelings toward the animals themselves are fairly neutral.

As a liker of fish, I have to say that I am often ashamed of the lack of tolerance expressed by some of my fellow fish-likers. Why must fish-likers insist that fish-haters keep trying fish? “You’ll like this fish”, they say, “It doesn’t have that ‘fishy’ taste.” Well, if one of the criteria for a food to taste good is for it not to taste like itself, then there is an implication that that food is inherently not good.

If I was to tell a friend that I don’t like chocolate cake, he might think I was a little wrong in the head, but he wouldn’t try to convince me to eat it by telling me it didn’t have that ‘chocolaty’ taste.

Truthfully, I don’t believe that fish-likers really want others to like fish at all. I think they’re convinced that liking fish puts them in an elite class of fine food connoisseurs. (This is especially true of sushi-likers.) Their constant insistence that fish-haters keep trying fish is merely an excuse for them to raise an eyebrow in mock surprise and say, “Really? You don’t like it? To me, the moist flakes of buttery light meat are reminiscent of a Tuscan sunset. . . " Then, with the tone of a mother talking to a toddler, they ask, "And how do you like your hamburger?”

Since when did having an affinity for a particular type of food make anybody sophisticated? Whenever I see fish-likers exhibiting this kind of behavior, I inwardly question whether their fish fetish is even genuine. I think often times people develop a tolerance for fish just so they can lord their pseudo passion over everyone they encounter. In fact, the more outwardly exuberant someone is about fish, the less likely it is that they truly like it. Anyone who says, “Man, I could just kill for some cod right now!” or, “I’d chew my own legs off and drag myself through a pit of asps to get to some halibut!” should not be trusted.

There is even a hierarchy within the fish-liking community. As a fish-liker, your rank is determined by the outlandishness of the food you’re able to ingest. Those who are only willing to eat cooked salmon are no better than peasants. Eat a live blowfish, however, and you’re immediately hobnobbing with the upper-crust. I have no doubt that if I were to open a restaurant in Beverly Hills that sold nothing but aged raw sea urchin spleens, my patrons would be considered royalty.

It’s ridiculous, and I’m sick of it. To all you fish-haters and only-cooked-salmon-likers: On behalf of my insensitive, elitist and bigoted fish-liking peers, I apologize. Eat whatever the hell you want.