Seymour Cumming:

“Here, try this, mai pet”, says my girlfriend, “it no spicy”, she reassures me in English. Heck, just looking at the evil stuff brings beads of sweat to my forehead. It sends shivers down my spine and instills a deeply profound fear that rumbles out of the bottom depths of my tummy. I can already picture a flashing red siren up my poor stinging bum, like some sort of built-in sub conscious alarm system. Really, spicy food terrifies me.  

Slowly she pours a modest amount of naam prik (‘chilli water’) onto my plate and it sizzles ferociously. My god! A puff of smoke gives off (kind of like when you pour carbolic acid down a hairy shower drain), it leaves a gaping hole in the plate, the tablecloth is singed and the remaining food is charred. Hot damn! Now that’s spicy!

Man what is it about Thailand and chilli? It’s a national obsession, ranking alongside karaoke and mobile phones. Let’s face it; a restaurant without chilli sauce or dried spices on the table just doesn’t cut the mustard. In fact a household without a plentiful supply of dried chillis would lose face altogether. It would be like a McDonalds without ketchup, an Australian lunchbox without vegemite or a British kitchen without tea.

We torture our taste buds daily here on Thailand. There is scarcely a dish that doesn’t have at least half a pepper hidden innocuously in there somewhere. Nope.  Not a sausage, nor ladle of curry, bowl of ‘nooo dons’ or plate of snacks is free of the fiery little monsters.  Even the bloody dessert and ice cream comes in spicy flavour, just for good measure.

Thai people have been raised on chillis. No one seems quite sure when the scorching little buggers first arrived in the Kingdom but they have been ‘hot property’ ever since. I suspect that it’s genetically altered their digestive tract. For sure, that’s why they’re all so skinny, spicy food just goes straight through. Ask me, scarcely a week goes by without me running for the damn bog. Jeez man, talk about ‘Delhi belly’, not since I had that nasty vindaloo in Varanasi have I been so desperately on the skids. Forget weight watchers, Thailand’s culinary ‘delights’ are the ideal solution if you’re battling the bulge.

Seriously, I’m convinced that centuries of consumption have nuked their taste buds. Chances are you could pour battery acid in their noodle bowls and they wouldn’t spot the bloody difference. Try a mouthful of Isaan-styled papaya salad or a flaming red curry and even a sticky April afternoon in Bangkok would seem cooler.

Thailand may be famous for its food, but eating in the Kingdom is no spring breeze. The spiciness is amplified the further you retreat from the tourist areas. Thai restaurants abroad are simply a mild ‘warm’ up. Once you arrive here they really make you sweat.

‘You no like spicy food’, my girlfriend keeps asking me proudly. Graciously I smile nervously, anxious for no one to lose face. ‘Yes, aanhaan Thai aroy maak (Thai food very tasty)’ I always reply, and then reassuringly tap the portable fire extinguisher in my pocket and eye out the nearest toilet.

Investigative-journalist-at-large, Seymour Cumming sees things a little differently in life. He has previously been a used car salesman, fruit picker, ‘shock jock’ and newsroom war correspondent. He has written for Farmer’s Weekly, Nyet!, Porn Unlimited, Chessworld and  Cross-stitching Magazine.

He’s been to more than 50 countries, some for less than a day, and is currently working on a travel novel, but he’s written the author’s biog, and not progressed much beyond that.

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