Trust Me, Order Medium

Let's say you're in Auckland and you fancy a bit of Thai food. You stroll in to Khao, on the corner of Chancery and O'Connell Streets, purveyors of Auckland's finest Thai cuisine. The menu is extensive. A convivial atmosphere abounds as happy gourmands tuck into plates redolent of flavors of the East. Your waitress approaches, and you order. She nods in appreciation of your selection of dishes. She then asks if you'd like your food Mild, Medium, Kiwi Hot, Thai Hot or something called "Burn Hot Spicy." As a relatively informed traveler, you don't hesitate, and select what the locals would choose. Afterall, this is New Zealand, home of nuked meat and thoroughly overcooked veggies. Surely, "Kiwi Hot" is simply "Medium with an Edge."

You'd be wrong. Trust me, if asked what heat level you want at a Thai restaurant in New Zealand, get Medium. But only if you have a death wish.

I had Chicken Green Curry, Kiwi Hot, and my esophagus is still burning. And I ate it 12 hours ago. It was flavorful, alright. One bite and I immediately broke out in a full-on sweat. My eye were watering. It was more painful than when I was accidentally maced by a well-meaning, but entirely too enthusiastic mall security guard. I was gasping for air. Neither water nor beer quenched the fire or slaked my thirst. It was fantastic.

My dinner companion--another fellow on the same ticket as me--couldn't even finish his dish. I have no idea how anyone could possibly eat "Thai Hot," let alone the Geneva Convention-violating "Burn Hot Spicy."

To add insult to injury--with our mouths aflame, we were informed by our waitress that we'd be unable to soothe our seared palates with fire-retarding vanilla ice cream because the kitchen had closed in the time it took for us to brave our way through dinner. We left, tongues aflame and bellies afire, and headed out into the warm New Zealand summer night.