Proust’s Paprika
I was offered a chilli plant for my
birthday and it reminded me of one my earliest memories. Well, after some
debate with myself, ‘we’ kind of agreed it was actually my oldest. It features
chillies and my dad. I must have been about three then and of course, I didn’t
eat one, but it was very close, as you will see.
Nothing unusual I suppose, for someone born
in a hot country to have memories featuring chillies (an old, discarded, Mauritian
Legend even says that Krampus – some kind of evil Santa- rubs hot chillies on
the lips and bums of naughty children). I did wonder then, whether Proust would
have written about a chilly instead of a ‘madeleine’ had he had the good
fortune of being born in a hotter country! He might have talked about pimiento
had he been Senor Proust, or simply paprika if he had been Herr Proust…
I remember: it was at an indian wedding. I
remember the banana leaves where the food was laid. I sat on dad’s lap. There
was a pile of little chillies on the side and he was crunching into them one by
one as he was eating his meal. I can’t remember the smell of the chillies by I
remember the crunching sound and him taking in like long sips of air to cool
the heat. Even to us, fire breathing humans of the tropics that was quite a feat
(or maybe not, but dad ate like that every day!).
Thirty-five years later my children moan
every time their curry is a bit spicy. The conclusion is clear: the love of
chillies (or addiction depending on your perspective) is not genetic! At the
extreme end of that spectrum, my mother-in-law is known to have nearly choked
upon placing a tiny drop of chilli oil, from the tip of a knife, on her
tongue.
Apparently chillies contain a compound
similar to chocolate that can trigger our endorphins receptors and give us a
kick. That would explain why some of us brave daily torture by fire to eat
chillies.
Biting directly into raw chillies seems a
bit kamikaze to most sensible people, so chilli pastes and sauces are more
popular than the raw stuff. We all have our favourite way of using the stuff;
my mum simply crushed small green chillies with salt. That reminds me of the
green mangoes we used to eat, with salt and crushed chillies! My personal
favourite chilli paste involves grinding long green chillies (scotch bonnet
makes an interesting alternative) with mint and lemon.
I also remember overdoing it when I was
about four. We had just moved to the new barracks in Vacoas and been invited by
our neighbours, across the landing. My parents warned me but I ignored them and
the next day I threw up at breakfast. I drank a lot of alka-seltzer that day!
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