Spicy!

Living in the neighborhood means we eat a lot of South Asian food. Thalis, rice drenched in oil and chilies, samosas, pakoras, wadoos. All delicious and all dangerously spicy. My son loves these spicy dishes. He jumps with excitement when the neighbor brings a plate of rice just for him. "Aunty brings rice! Aunty brings rice!" he cries. Sometimes, impatient, he bangs on her door and demands chapatis. When she gives him just chapatis, he looks confused and asks, "Where's the sauce?" And by sauce, we all know I mean some firey concoction of a million spices and chilis.

Because he learned so early the joys and pain of curry, he has made a strange association with the word spicy. "Careful", I warn him as he is about to dive into a plate of steaming pakoras, "it's spicy." Forewarned, he proceeds with caution, taking small bites and keeping a glass of water on hand. "Spicy," he says, gulping down milk to dampen the curry fire on his tongue. "Spicy," he says, showing me the red scrape on his hands from a fall in the snow. "Spicy," he says, when told it's time for bed when he'd rather play with his puzzles. "Spicy," he says, when the path is icy and he knows he must be careful.

Spicy, indeed.