by Stephanie Cline

The phrase "Kill Me Hot" gave me pause while at Wild Ginger Thai Restaurant in Colorado Springs. I went in with a friend and we made our selections quickly. I wanted the Shrimp Pad Thai, but requested that they make it as spicy as possible. "What is the hottest you have?" I asked our waitress. "Kill Me Hot," her eyes accused me of being a show-off. Let me have it, I said. I'm no amateur.

I wanted my senses to be assaulted. I wanted my eyes to tear up so badly that my friends morphed into figures from a Picasso creation. And a small, egotistical part of me wanted restaurant employees to marvel at how hardcore I was.

I love spicy food, but had an epiphany of sorts when a friend commented that the food in Colorado is very bland. As a Colorado native I was determined to find some spice in this high mountain oasis. I then set out to find five spicy dishes.

When our meals arrived at Wild Ginger I noticed that the shrimp in my Pad Thai were plump and tantalizing, but the dish itself was an intimidating shade of red. Though I was anticipating instant death, I had to face my fear. Our waitress asked "You like it hot?" as she set my plate in front of me. I laughed and said yes.
As I savored my first bite I realized the dish was not immediately "kill me hot." I took a second bite, and a third, and a few others followed. I chugged my glass of water as I felt my mouth ignite. My taste buds had turned into individual flames. My eyes did not just water; actual tears had started to pool. "Dude, are you okay?" asked my friend. I just nodded and lunged for my second glass of water.

Kill Me Hot truly lived up to its name. I could not stop eating though. Ignoring the pain in my ears, I savored the lightly crunchy texture of the peanuts in the Pad Thai.

I swear I could hear my lips humming, fading into the background noise. The waitress came by to refill our glasses and inquired, "How is it?" I could not lie to her. "It's getting bad," I could only whisper. I found myself fantasizing about bread, or something equally bland. By the end of the meal I could only laugh at myself as our waitress boxed up the rest of my Kill Me Hot experience.

While on my own personal quest for fire, I decided to also check out Henri's, the oldest Mexican restaurant in Colorado Springs. My friends and I battled our way through a freak snowstorm to be in the comfort of the funky and eclectic Henri's. The restaurant is decorated with strings of red chili pepper lights, random sombreros, and cheerful piñatas.

We went through three bowls of fresh tortilla chips and four saucers of salsa while we waited for our meals. Something about being in the snow plays tricks with your appetite. Following our waiter's advice I ordered the spicy shrimp tacos.

I was delighted when our food finally arrived. My tacos were stuffed full of lettuce, chopped tomatoes, and peppery-looking shrimp. I could hardly wait to start eating.

My spicy shrimp tacos did not disappoint. My nose started to run a little and I had to excuse myself a few times to remedy the situation. The tacos were spicy, the sort of spicy that tickles your nose within milliseconds. I managed to consume all of my sour cream while trying to neutralize the heat in my mouth. I thought about dashing outside to catch a few snowflakes on my tongue. Water was surprisingly slow in coming even though there were very few customers in the restaurant. The hot sting on the roof of my mouth was relentless and I dabbed at my nose every now and then.

The shrimp tacos at Henri's were superb, but the service certainly left something to be desired. When eating something that spicy a patron should not have to wait eons for a refill on his or her water.

I had been hearing good things about the "super hot" dishes at Taste of India and decided to truly test my palate. My friend and I perused the extensive menu and my friend pointed to one page and said, "You have to get one of these - Vindaloo." Vindaloo sounded like a pretty serious name.

Our waiter returned shortly and I told him I wanted the super hot chicken Vindaloo. "Have you ever tried the super hot? It is very hot, really, it will burn your mouth," he said rather fervently. The look on his face made me reconsider my choice. Sheepishly I said, "I'll have the hot chicken Vindaloo." My friend then ordered the super hot chicken Vindaloo. "Have you ever tried the super hot?" Our waiter repeated his question. "No, but I'd like to," said my friend.

A little while later our hot and super hot Vindaloos were placed before us. I stared at the identical plates of yellow rice and the plates of cubed chicken breast smothered in a dangerous red sauce. What do I have to lose? I thought. My sense of balance, perhaps.

We dished rice and Vindaloo onto our larger plates and hesitantly started to eat. I repeatedly remarked on how spectacular the food was, but I could see my friend's face turning various shades of crimson with each passing second.

It did not take very long for my hot Vindaloo to take its toll. My throat burned, my lips pursed involuntarily, and I could once again hear that humming. I was thankful for the occasional bit of cilantro. I made a bold move and sampled the super hot variety. I had to go into the restroom to blow my nose and blot at the tears in my eyes after a few timid bites.

I was able to finish my meal, but my friend left a small amount on his plate. Another employee came over to give us our bill and I asked him "Do a lot of people order the super hot?"

"You ordered the super hot?!" he was genuinely shocked.

"No, but he did," I motioned to my friend. "Some do, but not many," he smiled at us and walked away.

"Thank you for proving my studliness," said my friend. We laughed and agreed that the chicken Vindaloo made us feel somewhat disoriented, but supremely satisfied. It was then that I understood the concerned facial expression of our waiter.