Spice

From the street, it looked quaint. A few people wearing jeans sat out in front of the restaurant on the sidewalk patio, sipping cups of water while perusing menus. On the wall behind them was an enchanting fountain. Thaiphoon was a quiet little nook tucked away, finding refuge from the buzzing, flashing, ever-changing world of University Avenue on an ill-lit side street. Why, I asked myself, would anyone choose to venture from the alluring, attractive line-up of dependable options that make up University Avenue? What would it take to pull someone away from such an array of flashy stores and restaurants? Driven by a curiosity and by hunger, I pulled on the door—it was heavy as though there was suction behind it. Then I stepped into an incredibly complete atmosphere, which was intended to set the stage for the rich cuisine we would soon be eating. The ambience was welcoming and friendly. Given the relatively quiet outward appearance of Thaiphoon, the unique and somewhat lurid atmosphere, replete with a wide array of stunning and authentic east-Asian décor, took me a bit by surprise. The decorations and the silverware were all imported from Thailand, and included green bamboo, a gold-framed mirror, a golden Buddha relief, and gold and green hand-made tablecloths, napkins and plates to compliment those embellishments. Every part of the décor matched subtly, creating a comfortable, controlled setting. Although there was a slightly more formal ambience, the way the restaurant was set up made me feel as though I was walking into someone’s home. The slightly utilitarian thick plastic covering on the tables gave me the feeling that I was at my Grandma’s house. In comparison to one of the flashy, upscale franchises on University like the Cheesecake Factory, the service in Thaiphoon was intimate and the atmosphere was relaxed.

All of this framed the penultimate portion of my experience at Thaiphoon: the sampling of fine cuisine. A waiter quickly presented us with menus and eagerly filled our glasses with ice water. As my eyes scanned the menu I felt lucky in a sense; had I not been a vegetarian I would have probably been too overwhelmed to pick an entrée. There were ninety-seven items. Looking at the menu, I also couldn’t help noticing the reasonable prices. Everything I was considering was within the range of seven to ten dollars. The short blurbs describing each of the dishes made them sound lavish, rich, and appetizing. Even the ones I couldn’t eat sounded so elaborate and exotic that I wished I could try them. Some of the most intriguing ingredients I saw listed were peanut curry sauce, Panang curry, pineapple, mango, sweet basil, and cashew nut. If I could try anything on the menu, without dietary restriction, it would be the “Roasted Duck Curry: Duck simmered in red curry, tomatoes, eggplant, pineapple, and sweet basil”. This is a combination of tastes I have never before seen married in a single dish.

The restaurant wished to make sure that Americans, who are not used to the amount of spice typically found in a Thai dish, would not be alarmed by the tear-wrenching, hiccup-causing doses of chili and curry powder they put in their plates. So, next to every description of an entrée, they made sure to rank each as either mild, medium or hot. I stupidly neglected to heed warning. I somehow, in fact, ordered the only thing on the vegetarian menu that was rated “hot”—judging by their ranking system, apparently what I ordered was spicier than “Eggplant in Spicy Sauce,” which they called “medium”. The entrée I ended up ordering was called, “Veggie and Tofu with Thai Basil: Mixed vegetables and Tofu sautéed with chili pepper, garlic and Thai basil”. Growing up in a household that ate Indian food on every special occasion instead of roasted turkey, spiral ham, or London broil, I have come to enjoy some of the spiciest foods in this world. Having said this, not even my background as a spicy food connoisseur was enough to prepare for the three-alarm fire that was about to go off in my mouth.

It all looked so welcoming. Our dishes were served family style in the true Thai fashion so that we could sample a bit of everything. I took a heaping spoonful of sticky rice from the communal bowl and slapped it onto my plate, then scooped a large portion of sautéed vegetables and tofu onto my plate. Somewhat ravenously, I took the first bite of my own dish. At first, my taste-buds were quite pleased with the sensation of warm, delicious basil and curry flavor mingled with the natural blandness of the tofu and the rice, but within a matter of seconds it had all turned to an aching, stinging pain that I could not alleviate. I gave it a minute, shoveling more and more food into my mouth, thinking that somehow the numbing, aching sensation would subside, or that I’d get used to it enough to be able to taste the food—the way one’s body might adjust to frigid cold ocean temperatures after a few minutes. I began to think of it as somewhat of a challenge that I could handle, having been through the ringer many times with spicy foods. There was also the issue of embarrassment. Sooner or later, people would start to notice the sparing nature with which I was eating my dish. An additional worry that struck me was that, in that moment was that I was quite blind. My eyes had welled up with tears I groped for a full glass of water that was on the table, but somehow it seemed that the more I drank the worse the pain got. After the fourth bite I was coughing and hiccupping—it was painful to continue on. For the rest of the meal, I made sure to balance out every serving of the dish with ten times more rice to make it palatable. By this time though, I had already marred the culinary experience; I could barely taste the food.

So, was it the intention of the cook to make me experience the biting pain of highly spiced food? No. My experience of this Thai dish would certainly have been much different if I, indeed, had been a Thai native. My unfortunate disregard for the word “hot” next to that item on the menu led me into an uncomfortable experience which is what the restaurant owners were trying to avoid when they wrote “hot”. All of the build-up, and the anticipation created by the ambience, ended in an intolerably spicy dish.