Iw cawn't feewl my townge

I have survived my first exposure to Chongqing hotpot (huoguo in
Chinese, literally "fire pot"), perhaps the spiciest food in all of
China!

I don't think of myself as a slouch when it comes to spicy food, and
enjoy quite a bit of heat. I'm even known for my caliente popcorn. The
heat of today's lunch makes everything else I have ever had pale in
comparison: nothing in India, nothing in Mexico, nothing in the best
Szechuan or Latin American or Indian restaurants back home, not my
most scorching batch o' corn -- none of it comes close.

The big and happy surprise was how enjoyable this heat turned out to be.

I walked up and down Wuyi Lu, known locally as "hotpot lane" for all
of its establishments, until I found the spot I picked for my first
contact. I was ushered in by a friendly woman who, thanks to my
phrasebook and without a word of English, quickly understood that I
wanted to try vegetable and seafood options, and that I would follow
her recommendations. She put me down for some octopus and a head of
green leaf lettuce, and also suggested a beer, which I happily
accepted. (In addition to being tasty, it's great relief for a spice-
saturated mouth.) She also brought me a package of tissues that looked
like they would last a week. I smugly thought, "I'll be walking out of
here with most of those."

There are many ways the hotpot itself can be filled. She chose the
yuanyang option for me -- a popular choice for the uninitiated. It has
the hotpot divided in two, with a fiery hot side and a mellow, tasty
chicken or fish broth on the other side. (Other hotpot options can
give you multiple versions of fire, or simply one big pot of the
volcanic stuff.)

You place your food, which arrives on separate plates, into the hotpot
and leave it in there to cook and soak in the heat as long as you
wish, to taste. (Think: fondue, on the sun, without the silly forks.)

The fiery side is essentially a red pepper broth. A deeply, deeply
concentrated red pepper broth. There were so many peppers and
peppercorns in there that it was actually thick and substantial to
drag a chopstick through, and it sometimes took a while to find your
food in the pot, so teaming with peppers this thing was. The hotpot is
heated by a burner recessed in the table, and simmers for the duration
of your meal.

My food was served with a small bowl of crushed garlic (yummy and
strong enough to vie with the heat for the attention of your taste
buds) and a bowl of a slightly sweet, syrupy, brown translucent sauce.
(The latter, I discovered later, is great tongue-balm.)

So, into the pot goes my first piece of octopus. I pulled it out after
a little while, and my chopsticks, the octopus and anything they touch
are immediately stained red.

Into my mouth... And nothing!

Wait... Now there's someth-

BAM!

Not unbearable heat, by any means, but a no-messing-around, "you ain't
in Kansas anymore, Dorothy" sting. Quite a nice accent, actually, for
the taste and texture of octopus.

A little sip of pijuo (beer), and I'm ready for round two.

BAM! BAM! (You can see where this is going...)

By the third bite, my lips are numb. By the fifth, I can't feel my
tongue. By the tenth, I'm sweating.

I don't really have words to describe the experience, though, because
even though it was so intense that it was positively tingly, it was
not unpleasant at all. I enjoyed all of my octopus on the fiery side,
and half of my lettuce, before reaching the point that additional heat
was unnecessary -- my tongue felt maxed out, and I was, um, out of
tissues and low on beer.

Folks (and guidebooks) might naturally focus on the peppers when
talking about this cuisine, but for me the best part was the
combination of the heat, the garlic and the light, crisp Pilsner-esque
beer, plus the experience of cooking your own food right in front of
you (which, like fondue, reminds me of my brother Nathan and I
roasting pieces of steak over the dining room candles as kids whenever
we could get away with it or our parents weren't looking): it's just
plain fun! And it certainly makes you know you're alive (and
apparently, living in a blast furnace).

I ended the meal by trying the vegetables on the mellow side of the
pot. To my surprise, my taste buds recovered almost immediately. The
tomatoes, green onions and Chinese cucumber, in particular, were
flavorful, salty (always a big hit with me) and when dipped in the
brown sauce, also a little sweet. I finished the meal at a leisurely
pace and found that when I got up to leave, I had a rush of what I
think must have been endorphins not dissimilar to how I felt after
completing the endless stair climb. A little woozy, but content and
even a bit euphoric.

I can't wait to try it again. (Hmmm... You don't think this stuff is
addictive, do you?)

--

P.S. Happy birthday, Craig! I hope the day is memorable (but this
time, without explosives).