Food should not be painful
Jun. 15th, 2011 08:55 amThe other day I restocked my fresh fruit and veggies (and eggs, I'm eating an awful lot of eggs lately, seems to be my primary protein source right now). I noticed some pale coloured beetroots and asked the guy in the shop if they were the ones with the stripes inside. He nodded and indicated the price tag so I bought a bunch. I had a feeling that they probably were not going to be the stripey ones (it seems to be a language barrier thing – she asked me a question, instead of confirming what she's asking I'll just nod because 'yes' is always positive right?) I figured either way, they'd be edible.
They turned out to be golden beets, not the candy-striped Chioggia Beets I had hoped for. But seeing as I had never tried golden beets before either it was hardly a setback. I peeled and steamed a couple and was quite impressed.
Golden beets have the sweetish, beetroot taste of regular beetroot, but they lack that strong earthy flavour (honestly, fresh red beetroot is liking eating a mouthful of dirt). And being golden, they don't make a big reddish purple mess everywhere! Tonight I had one roasted with a bit of truffle oil and salt – delicious. I might have to buy some more of these.
But now I want to talk about something else – chilli. Those small relations of the capsicum (peppers to those in the U.S.) that are full of capsacin, a chemical that causes the tongue and mouth to feel a sensation of heat (and subsequent pain).
Chilli is very popular among a lot of people but not me. I can handle pepper to an extent, and wasabi, and mustard. All of those things have heat that goes away. Chilli however lingers and I just don't enjoy being in pain while I eat. The burning sensation takes over my whole mouth and I can taste nothing else apart from an unpleasant bitterness. My tolerance has increased a little in the past years, but I'm not that motivated to improve it, because I simply do not find chilli the slightest bit enjoyable.
There are two main issues with being a self confessed “chilli wuss” when you eat anything somebody else has prepared. The fact that my perception of hot varies wildly from other's perception of hot, and the use of the word “spicy” to mean “chilli” or “heat”.
On Friday I went to an Indian restaurant buffet. I really love these, because, despite my dislike of chilli, I adore every other spice and therefore love Indian food. A buffet allows me to try small amounts of all the dishes, if they are within my heat range, I'll eat more. On Friday a mild dahl on offer turned out to be way too hot for my liking, even after adding a few spoonfuls of yoghurt raita. But two of the curries labelled medium (a goat curry and the Goan fish curry) were fine for me to eat.
I like to make curries at home, because I can enjoy the melding of all the lovely spices and making something from scratch, but I can omit the chillies completely if I like, or at least severely limit the amount. I have made Rogan Josh and even Vindaloo with no chilli at all. It was great to actually be able to see what these curries taste like without everything being overtaken by burning pain.
Which leads me to the second issue. It would seem “spicy” is often used to describe hot food and that bugs me. Spicy should mean what it sounds like – “full of spice”. But when I ask people if something has chilli in it, I often get asked, “Oh, don't you like spicy food?” I LOVE spicy food! I just don't like chilli. It's not that tough a concept. It completely weirded me out to learn that cumin is sometimes considered a hot or warm spice – it has no heat whatsoever on my tongue, and I love to add it to many things (the latest is roasted pumpkin tossed in cumin and sea-salt). So maybe separating the meanings of “spicy” and “hot” or “chilli” would make communicating a lot easier.
There is only one person I trust these days to tell me truthfully whether a food is hot or not. Unlike me, he adores chilli and tests himself on “Volcano sauce” and “Hot sauce from Hell” just for kicks. But at least he knows my tolerance levels and will let me know honestly if something is probably going to be too hot for me. A good ballpark is that if he can taste the chilli, it will be too hot for me. I still ask others if a dish is hot or if it has chilli (because not all hot flavoured things contain chilli, I appreciate a sinus-cleansing whack of wasabi on my sushi as much as the next person), but I take their response with a grain of salt. Once I expressed my wariness over a green curry a friend made and was assured that there was no chilli at all. Upon trying it it was way too hot for me to eat. I later looked at the sauce packet and discovered the main ingredient in it was green chillies.
They turned out to be golden beets, not the candy-striped Chioggia Beets I had hoped for. But seeing as I had never tried golden beets before either it was hardly a setback. I peeled and steamed a couple and was quite impressed.
Golden beets have the sweetish, beetroot taste of regular beetroot, but they lack that strong earthy flavour (honestly, fresh red beetroot is liking eating a mouthful of dirt). And being golden, they don't make a big reddish purple mess everywhere! Tonight I had one roasted with a bit of truffle oil and salt – delicious. I might have to buy some more of these.
But now I want to talk about something else – chilli. Those small relations of the capsicum (peppers to those in the U.S.) that are full of capsacin, a chemical that causes the tongue and mouth to feel a sensation of heat (and subsequent pain).
Chilli is very popular among a lot of people but not me. I can handle pepper to an extent, and wasabi, and mustard. All of those things have heat that goes away. Chilli however lingers and I just don't enjoy being in pain while I eat. The burning sensation takes over my whole mouth and I can taste nothing else apart from an unpleasant bitterness. My tolerance has increased a little in the past years, but I'm not that motivated to improve it, because I simply do not find chilli the slightest bit enjoyable.
There are two main issues with being a self confessed “chilli wuss” when you eat anything somebody else has prepared. The fact that my perception of hot varies wildly from other's perception of hot, and the use of the word “spicy” to mean “chilli” or “heat”.
On Friday I went to an Indian restaurant buffet. I really love these, because, despite my dislike of chilli, I adore every other spice and therefore love Indian food. A buffet allows me to try small amounts of all the dishes, if they are within my heat range, I'll eat more. On Friday a mild dahl on offer turned out to be way too hot for my liking, even after adding a few spoonfuls of yoghurt raita. But two of the curries labelled medium (a goat curry and the Goan fish curry) were fine for me to eat.
I like to make curries at home, because I can enjoy the melding of all the lovely spices and making something from scratch, but I can omit the chillies completely if I like, or at least severely limit the amount. I have made Rogan Josh and even Vindaloo with no chilli at all. It was great to actually be able to see what these curries taste like without everything being overtaken by burning pain.
Which leads me to the second issue. It would seem “spicy” is often used to describe hot food and that bugs me. Spicy should mean what it sounds like – “full of spice”. But when I ask people if something has chilli in it, I often get asked, “Oh, don't you like spicy food?” I LOVE spicy food! I just don't like chilli. It's not that tough a concept. It completely weirded me out to learn that cumin is sometimes considered a hot or warm spice – it has no heat whatsoever on my tongue, and I love to add it to many things (the latest is roasted pumpkin tossed in cumin and sea-salt). So maybe separating the meanings of “spicy” and “hot” or “chilli” would make communicating a lot easier.
There is only one person I trust these days to tell me truthfully whether a food is hot or not. Unlike me, he adores chilli and tests himself on “Volcano sauce” and “Hot sauce from Hell” just for kicks. But at least he knows my tolerance levels and will let me know honestly if something is probably going to be too hot for me. A good ballpark is that if he can taste the chilli, it will be too hot for me. I still ask others if a dish is hot or if it has chilli (because not all hot flavoured things contain chilli, I appreciate a sinus-cleansing whack of wasabi on my sushi as much as the next person), but I take their response with a grain of salt. Once I expressed my wariness over a green curry a friend made and was assured that there was no chilli at all. Upon trying it it was way too hot for me to eat. I later looked at the sauce packet and discovered the main ingredient in it was green chillies.