The Lair

It’s pretty much a feature of life that people are driven to compete… sometimes in the most obscure pursuits imaginable. The stereotypes in this vein are many, but at least they are predictable. We have the “I drive a Ferrari, what do you drive” type competition and so many other comparisons of that nature, even between casual acquaintances, it’s not even funny.

Actually, it is funny if you can step outside yourself and laugh … especially at yourself. Not quite so funny when you get sucked into competing, no matter how arcane the competition might be. And if you’re ultra competitive, it’s quite hard not to get sucked in.

But in a seeming non-sequitor, I’m actually not going to talk about competing at all. I finally plucked up the courage (and perhaps the blind confidence that comes from not having pressing appointments for the next month or so) to try a vindaloo from the local takeout. In itself, not much of a deal, takeout food is the staple of student life. The difference here is that this particular takeaway has the reputation of serving the hottest vindaloo around and I was keen to match my chillie eating abilities against the fiery curry.

Now, the deal here is that I don’t usually eat takeout food. There are many reasons for this, only one of them being the expense… Takeout places around here are quite well optimized towards a large chunk of student orders during term time and there are a number of discounts and special offers and free stuff enticements to keep people who can’t be bothered cooking well fed. It’s possible to get a reasonable deal, so even starving students can afford to eat takeout.

What drives me away from takeout food is the grease.

It’s an odd thing to some of you to hear me say this, I’m sure. It’s never been part of my dietary habits to skimp on fatty foods and excess calories. I still haven’t modified my eating habits, not since my teens.. I was a skinny tyke then, making a great case for someone who wasn’t fed much. Even if any genetic predisposition to not gaining weight has long since vanished, I still haven’t modified my eating habits to change things and thus, I still eat whatever I feel like eating, with perhaps reckless abandon.

But the Indian food around here is in a league of its own when it comes to oil. Consider that the cardboard covering the top of the aluminium tub and the paper bag enclosing the entire order is transparent with oil after 15 minutes in the delivery vehicle. That should give you an idea of how much oil there is. Dip something into the curry and it’s viscous, dripping slowly away from the fragment of naan. Rub a drop between your fingers and it’s of the same consistency as machine oil.

If all of this doesn’t paint the most appetizing of pictures, well, that’s far from the truth… the curry tastes quite nice. There are disturbing reports about the origin of the funny colours, but surely fiery orangish red is natural, right ? Right ?

Placing the order is also amusing, and this is where my lead-in about competition kicked in. People who order the vindaloo variant as opposed to the slightly less hot madras get more respect. And if you believe that, then you’re also the subtype who believes that all those telephone numbers advertised on late night TV have hot chicks waiting at the other end of the line till you (yes, you) call them. Or not. You can almost detect the concern on the part of the person taking the order (are you sure you said vindaloo, sir ? That’s our hottest dish… with the unsaid subtext being “We wouldn’t want a lawsuit because you burnt your stupid piehole with our classic asbestos-mouth rated liquid fire“). Yes, I was very sure I wanted the vindaloo. Side orders ? A glance at the Chilean (who opted for sanity and a normally spiced curry) and a moment of mad machismo seized me. Chilli naan ? Hmm, that sounds interesting. Why not ?

As you doubtless realized by now, I wasn’t sent to the hospital to get my stomach pumped. Yes, there was a metric shitload of what smelt like roasted chilli powder in that curry … and it was hot, extremely so… but not enough to cause a thermo-nuclear alert from my digestive system.

The clock speed of your gaming rig, the amount of memory on your VGA card, the amount of alcohol you can drink in one sitting. Have you heard of stranger things that form a basis for competition ? I’ve heard of all of those. Perhaps I now need to get myself a tshirt that says “I survived the vindaloo from Zafs“. Top that, chillie eaters.