I must have uttered this at least two dozen times the other night.

I made Indian chicken for dinner, and our version of Indian food is typically very tame compared to the authentic stuff.  Well, this time I decided to try the spices that our Indian neighbors gave us to try out.  And rather than start with a little bit and add more as necessary, I put the whole doggone packet in without thinking.

Just before plating everyone’s meals, I tasted it for the first time.  My mouth felt like it was on fire.  Oh oh.  This was not going to go over very well with these sensitive mouths, so I profusely apologized even before the family sat down at the table.  Jim assured me everyone would survive the meal.

“Get your water ready, pour the milk, because this stuff is going to set your mouth on fire.”  The kids were prepared with plenty of drinks and a little bit of fear.  The meal went as expected:  kids downing water and milk after each painful bite of food, and me apologizing every couple minutes.  They were very gracious and surprisingly ate nearly everything on their plates.   (There was dessert to be had, after all)

Derek had a late practice that day, so he was absent from our family spice-fest.  I brought his meal in the car when I picked him up from school, so he could eat before heading to youth group.  I decided not to utter a word about the spicy food. No apologies, no disclaimers.  I handed him his meal and a water bottle.  How long would it take him to comment on the heat?

He downed the entire plate, all while having a pleasant conversation and never even taking a sip of water.  Finally, I asked him if the food was a little spicy.  He replied, “Nah, it’s just the way I like it.”