“What is the lowest spice you can do?” She asks, puppy eyes locking with the waiters own.
“I can do a one, it will be the minimum spice but still keep the flavour,” he responds. She sighs, agreeing yet knowing the outcome already. Later, the food arrives. She takes a large spoon from the collection of cutlery at the centre of the table. Mastering the tilt and slide, she piles a heap of the soft, white rice, then dunks it into the dark sauce. Lifting it to her mouth she gobbles the whole pile, tongue rolling around the texture as the colourful spices seep into her pores. Her face turns red, she gulps furiously and takes large sips from her glass of water.
“Everything alright -” the waiter begins, before being covered by half chewed rice. She coughs the rest of the spice away, tongue stinging with pain.
“Too spicy,” she manages to whisper, skin now dusted with a thin layer of sweat.