While I enjoy a wide variety of cuisines, I must continually remind myself that I am getting older and the things my iron clad stomach once handled easily, now can be dangerous extravagances. The man who would face habaneras with but a single bead of sweat on his forehead, who would munch jalapeΓ±os with glee, and happily consume the thai peppers his friends picked out of their food found himself asking the question, "Just how spicy is it?" more and more. I couldn't help but wonder when I'd be settling for cream of wheat and warm milk.
Ah, but that time has not yet arrived and with just a touch of common sense I had been able to maintain my eclectic taste with very few sleepless nights. It all came down to moderation, in quantity but also in the spice. This was easy to do when visiting my regular haunts but, when I venture out down the dark alleyways, on dirt roads and or into deep forests in search of that perfect "authentic" taste I have to be careful.
Like so many things in life, spice is a relative thing and hot and spicy for one person is mild and boring for another, so I found myself consistently searching for some scale of gradation for spices. You've seen them in some menus, the one, two or three spices drawn next to a menu item. Unfortunately a two in one restaurant is the equivalent to a one in another and a three, or four in a third restaurant, like I said, it's all relative.
I was apprehensive as I went out in search of a restaurant recommended by a friend of mine, who, in spite of the fact he walks on a prosthetic leg and is missing an arm from the elbow down, I've found his restaurant suggestions to be quite astute. Although I do believe I would think twice before trying any Cajun place he might suggest, especially one anywhere near a swamp or bayou. This particular restaurant was a Thai restaurant located close to the center of the city.
It took some searching but I finally found the narrow alley he described in his directions and I turned in. With my mirrors inches from scraping the buildings on both sides, I crept down until I saw a door with a single light bulb hanging from above. The name of the place was written in what I assumed was the Thai language in magic marker on the door. Holding up the sketch of the letters my friend had given me, I confirmed this was the place, so I pulled forward to where the alley opened up just wide enough for about three parking places.
I parked in the only open space and stepped out of my car, pressing the lock button three different times before I was fully satisfied that the doors were locked. Heading to the door I took my keys and tapped lightly three times. The door immediately opened and I whispered, "Mr. Quaylong sent me."
The reception person, a tall oriental man looking to weigh about 350 pounds of pure muscle said politely, "Please follow me Mr...."
"Jannett, John Jannet," I replied.
"Please follow me Mr. John-Jannet," he said.
I followed him as he lumbered down the long corridor and came to an ornately carved red door. The handle to open the door was actually a carved dragon head. Once the door opened a lady in a silk gown welcomed me and I followed her into the restaurant. She was so graceful that instead of walking, she simply seemed to glide in front of me.
Once I was seated, a waiter seemed to appear out of the woodwork and said, "Good evening Mr. John-Jannet..."