Phaal Curry
There are some things that should just not be allowed in life. What I subjected myself to Monday night, will probably fall under the unexplainable in the common sense category. Let me back up a little bit.
I meet up with this group of NYC advertising hacks once a month. We’ve all been toiling in this industry for a decade or so, I’ll avoid using the words grizzled veterans. Anyway, we’ve been meeting at this place called Brick Lane Curry House - known in NYC as one of the most authentic curries in Manhattan. Ok, so now that you are caught up, last night, the Travel Channel comes in to film an episode of Man vs. Food. They have this very energetic host Adam Richman, who’s traveling around the US undertaking various food challenges, including, as he told me, eating the Big Tex, a 72 oz. steak. His challenge is to eat the Phaal Curry (which is the Hottest of the HOT!). It has been said to be NYC’s spiciest dish, owing its thanks to the world’s hottest pepper, the Naga Jolokia. They invited our group to hang out during the filming. Cool fun, right?
Back to it… Brick Lane has this Phaal “hall” of fame. Finish your bowl, get a free beer. You should get more than a free beer. How about some cotton candy? Or maybe a couple gallons of ice cream to sooth the scorching highway of hell fire that your digestive system will soon become. You can smell it in the air, and it slowly becomes this anticipation of pain and death. Anyway, I of course, am up for the challenge. Crazy, right? I’m enjoying my Kingfisher beer, chatting with the owners, hearing about this Phaal, and about 10% of the people that order it actually finish it. Then those fatal words come out of my mouth. “You ready for the Phaal?” “Sure, why not.”
Sati, one of the owners, just has this Cheshire cat smile and laugh while my order gets delivered. I’m surprised they don’t deliver it with some chemical gloves and a gas mask. I’m sure the words that were tumbling through his head, “Get ready to taste the pain dumb ass”. Or maybe that’s what was going through mine. I started playing with the food, waiting to see the end of my fork melt away or for Anjeet (one of the other owners) to bring me a big glass of milk. I think I am sweating already. I have a couple bites, thinking speed might be the strategy, but this is not a Kobayashi style event (but wouldn’t that be interesting?). I’m thinking casual pace, mind over matter style. First couple bites, not so bad, but I’m trying to be strong on the inside. I feel my eyes well up. And they don’t want to release the tears. My tongue feels like its been marinating for weeks in crushed white pepper seeds and then re-attached in my mouth. Beer me.
Adam cruises by and my 15 minutes of fame clock starts ticking. Camera rolling and the host at my side, I am the space monkey in this hot food experiment. I’m normally a little conscious while I’m eating - but secretly I’m praying my mouth will start to numb up and go into hibernation while I torture it a little more, the last thing I want to do is be on national television with curry drooling out of my mouth. My words for Adam - Its not an instant heat, its a residual heat. And it builds. And builds. And there is no stopping this train any longer. You might at well jump into the deep end of the pool, and just get it over. Adam steps away and begins the mental prep to begin his meal.
I’m taking a breather. I’m about half way through. I’m sitting, trying to relax - mind and body strong, right? I then feel a sweat bead emerge from the back of my neck. Not a gradual “I’m hot” sweat bead, but I felt like I sprung a leak. And it sizzled as it moved down my skin. Sati offers up some very mild curry and some yogurt, just to balance the heat. I puff up my chest and use every ounce of strength in my vocal chords to say - “yes please”. In the background, they are shooting the episode, and by the sounds of it, Adam is having a tussle with the Phaal. Eyes welling up, tongue on fire, heaving exhaling. I then decide, I have to finish. I can’t bail on this expedition and must do my people proud. I vow to not touch the mild curry and the yogurt. I suck in some air, and polish off the rest of the curry. Holy SCHITE! I could start a nuclear reactor with my breath! Sati comes by, smiles, and shakes my hand. At this rate, I’m not helping myself by drinking more Kingfisher. But I need to wash this down.
I hear the cheers and laughs in the other room as Adam polishes off his Phaal. Words are crackling out of his mouth and I can relate. I’m not feeling it as much anymore. Maybe its because my central nervous system has shut down, or maybe its like a 3rd degree burn - you really don’t feel it until its too late. At this point, I’m enjoying my beer, looking at Sati and his criminal grin, and wondering, how is my body going to “feel” later on. The owners of Brick Lane come by with a certificate. Ha, funny. Its a certificate of honour. The show wraps and Adam strolls by to see the damage I’ve inflicted upon myself. He looks like he just got out of a bare-knuckle prize fight. We both look like two idiots that just took an aerobics class in our street clothes. Survival. It is done. And I’m going to swear off Indian food for the time being.
And something tells me the hard work has yet to begin.
