I love spicy food. That's a semi-new thing. As a kid, I shunned all things peppery, for which I blame my dad. One evening, he was gnawing on a banana pepper while driving me home from After School Clubs. He offered me a bite and promised that it was sweet and not spicy. Either he lied or I got the only spicy bite on the pepper. I was in tears and had to open the gallon jug of water that happened to be in the car. I not only suffered the burn but also the pain that comes with a having an overfull bladder on a bumpy road.
Tolerance to spicy food is either something that comes with age or with experience. My guess is the later because my Indian friends tell me that they don't tone down their cooking for their children (we're talking 3-5 year-olds) and the kids do just fine.
Luckily, my tolerance increased before I studied abroad in Mexico. After that, I don't think I enjoyed many meals that weren't spicy. There was at least one month in college where the only two foods I ate were chipotle chili and black bean tacos topped with serrano pepper pico de gallo. I can't cook for my mom anymore because what I think she should be able to tolerate is not what she can tolerate. (We recently had a little trouble with a bowl of pho. In my defense, I only added a tiny little squirt of Sriracha and a few slices of jalapeño.) I've recently discovered Tabasco's chipotle pepper sauce and it's really revolutionized the way I make quesadillas and breakfast tacos.
Eventually I learned that Mexican food isn't the only spicy food that exists. When I lived in St. Louis, I went to a barbecue hosted by one of my Chinese American professors, Dr. Yu. In true American style, he grilled hamburgers, but alongside the buns and condiments was a full spread of Chinese takeout. I tried a bite of everything but kept gravitating back to one dish. It was a chicken dish prepared with intact dried red peppers. It was spicy and I couldn't get enough.
In my search to discover what I ate at that barbecue, I came across this beautiful photo of a dish called la zi ji or chicken with chiles. I found a recipe for it here and I convinced C to make it for me. The dish calls for two teaspoons of szechuan pepper. Lo and behold, it's really hard to find Szechuan pepper in Houston. Thankfully our Chinese American roommate recently took C on a tour of Chinatown, so C knew just where to go. We went to one of the Asian grocery stores and found the Szechuan peppers after a thorough investigation of the new-to-us fruits and vegetables we passed on the way to the dried foods section.
The Szechuan (pronounced "sih-tron" kind of like in citronella) pepper isn't actually a peppercorn. It's a berry from a plant in the citrus family. It has a floral taste, makes your tongue numb (especially if you bite into one), and leaves a sort-of-pleasant lingering heat. Add a little for flavor, for if you add too much, you won't be able to taste or feel anything until the numbing effect wears off. Be warned.
As C was preparing the la zi ji for dinner, I heard him yell. A few minutes later, he popped his head into the bedroom and reported that chiles japoneses are extremely hot and shouldn't be eaten whole. Shortly thereafter, he served the la zi ji over rice. After just a few bites, he put it down and reported that it was too spicy to enjoy. I was doing ok. The flavor was good but it was numbingly hot (as our roommate had warned us). Eventually I added sour cream to mine to make it more palatable. The sour cream did not complement the dish in the least, but it did make it more comfortable.
After biting into my third Szechuan (I was picking around them fairly well), my mouth was thoroughly numb and I was salivating at an alarming rate. That's when I called it quits. I asked C if he followed the recipe. He got this sheepish look. "Sort of. I tasted it as I was going and it wasn't very hot so I added a little more Szechuan pepper." By "a little more Szechuan pepper" I'm pretty sure he meant a few tablespoons more than the two teaspoons the recipe called for. There was about 1/2 cup of leftovers and I counted 12 Szechuan peppers in my bowl after I picked out all of the ones I could easily find (at least a tablespoon worth).
Now, heed my warnings. If you decide you want to buy Szechuan peppers, head to your local Asian market. Do not pay the exorbitant prices online (we paid around $3 for 4 ounces). We found them between the bulk spices and the dried peppers. There were three nearly identical packages that had either green, orange, or red plastic packaging. C chose orange, hoping that it was the "medium" heat variety. Apparently he thought we were buying salsa. I know that the green signified "green szechuan pepper" but the only difference between orange and red was the volume (yet not the price). Suspicious. Do note that it's also called "Prickly Ash" and might not be labeled as Szechuan pepper. Through the packaging, you should see clusters of three little, red, split-open balls about the size of peppercorns. Once you have them, be sure to use them with a light hand.
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