Turning up the heat

A visiting Kiwi acquaintance with a reputation for gastronomic daredevilry joined us for a meal at a famous Hong Kong Thai restaurant known for its wickedly pungent fare. Loud and jolly, the man came with two giggly Filipino girls on his massive arms to take on the eatery's scorching hot selections.
Central to the cuisine was a tiny curly chilly known as 'prik kee noo suan'.The menu card gave the usual heat level warnings. When the waiter appeared, Mike told him, "Gimme your hottest raw chilly", and smiled broadly at the girls. The waiter returned with chilled lager and a side plate of three tiny curly chillies. "What? Just three?" he exclaimed, picking them up disdainfully and popping them into his mouth like they were cocktail peanuts.
In quick time, the Kiwi displayed a flurry of emotions. Eyes opened wide, face took on a wild, pole-axed look and shades of purple, and tears streamed down his cheeks. The girls let out banshee-like screeches, "Fire, fire! Help!" People slapped a gasping Mike's back. Someone else gave him water. Hearing the commotion, a short security guard came running with a small fire extinguisher, blabbering in Cantonese, "Where fire?"
Finally that night, when we managed to haul him to his room, we learned a lesson or two about 'prik kee noo suan'. Ice cream rather than aqua douses the fire. Meanwhile, Big Mike was parked on the pot all night, roaring in pain until the roar became so high-pitched that he could have well joined the Vienna Boys' choir!
Back home, a Nigerian air force friend once landed up for an Andhra meal. The wife cautioned the guest, saying two of the dishes on the table were hot and spicy, and that the others "won't rock your world". To our surprise, the pilot discarded the 'mild' and 'bland' dishes and descended on the hottest dishes. Then pulling out a little pouch from his jacket, he sprinkled red powder on the bed of curry and rice. "Ghost chilly", he explained, "Picked it up from Chabua base, Assam." While the rest of the table gasped, I thought of Big Mike and wondered what colours Africans take when they ingest hot dishes. To everyone's surprise, the man fell on the fiery fare with relish and no signs of discomfort! Looking around at the stunned gathering, he broke into laughter and said, "Please sir, I want some more."
I related these incidents to a business associate, a long-time London resident, Mr Naidu. He said, "Incidentally, I've booked a table at the Cinnamon Club for tonight's dinner. That should be interesting. They claim to serve the hottest lamb curry in the world." For some reason, that didn't surprise me. After all, the UK was having a passionate love affair with fiery vindaloo, chicken tikka masala and other such Indian dishes. Diners kept asking for even sharper fiery curries as an excuse to continue the beer guzzling. The surprise was that today 'hotness' could be measured. 'Bollywood Burner', the 'Andhra-style' lamb curry, had chillies with 8,55,000 Scoville heat units, more than one hundred times that of standard jalapeno!
After the recent fire-eating events, I gave the dish a miss. My host, clad in an old-fashioned dark suit and a white coronation, announced he'd give the full Monty a shy. In time, I tackled my plate of naan and chicken tikka masala. But I couldn't help throwing nervous glances at my host. He, however, was going about his dinner with elan. If 'mega-death' chillies turn a white Kiwi face purple what shade does a wheatish complexion turn, I wondered.
I needn't have worried. The old sport displaying native Guntur colours polished off the plate clean. No sweat, no fuss. As I wiped perspiration off my brow, he turned to me with a smile, and said, "Please sir, I want some more."