2: Curry

Many times we would ask for sushi asparagus rolls, and as we knew, they never had them. Several times they complimented my buddy Brian’s soft porcelain hands (and they weren’t wrong). Every time, without fail, they would serve up the spiciest (and best) green curry my tastebuds knew. This was Thai Monkey Club in Denver. It became my favorite neighborhood establishment, whipping up unassuming Thai dishes in a small spot on Colfax (near the Capitol and by one of Denver’s larger homeless populations.) Over a span of two years, the Club taught me the inevitability of delight.

*

On any given day, serenity (just feeling at peace, feeling okay) for anyone can be elusive. For my body, it can be particularly tricky. Finding an optimal level of stimulation--physical, mental, emotional--sometimes feels like guiding an enormous, aggressive manta ray into hula hoops of fire, into an undersized kitty pool, through Niagara Falls, and finally settling to a quiet, turquoise, coral-reefed beach. While my nervous system craves constant adventure and peak experiences, it also needs a heavy dose of silence, darkness, and solitude (geesh!).

You could label me an old ass man inside a (typically) spritely, restless body.

In perhaps more objective terms, I consider myself both a Highly Sensitive Person and a High Sensation Seeker. (Imagine the indefatigable skydiver who goes home to her seventeen cats and knits. Or, the rockstar who rakes beige sand grains in his backyard zen garden on Sundays.) This creates a constant push-pull, yin-yang conundrum. Among other effects, these traits mean traveling is especially attractive--and draining.

*

No matter what happens in any given day, there is always the possibility of reprieve. As dogs chase and gnarl at your vulnerable achilles tendons, as children scream and cry at you, and as the sky throws hurricanes and tornadoes at your home, there is a moment of comfort somewhere somehow. (Just...don’t watch the news before going to sleep.) I’m perpetually trying to remind myself that when trouble brews, that is the moment hope is most available. Amidst chaos, a resurging harmony lurks. And, when my own body is wrecked from overwork, undersleep, deficiency of love, seasonal allergies, too much X, not enough Y...it just needs some good-ol care.

Someone (debatably Rita Mae Brown or Alexander Chalmers, not sure) said, “happiness is pretty simple: [you need] someone to love, something to do, something to look forward to.” If the something to look forward to is seeing family this weekend, enjoying a fancy cocktail tomorrow night, buying something special for yourself later, sex tonight, listening to a new album from your favorite artist when it drops, shooting guns at oversized rodents this summer, or...indulging in spicy food for dinner, it’s a third of your happiness, so you’d better do it right, right?

You’d better have something to gleefully anticipate pretty often, right?

*

For two years, my tastebuds followed (worshipped?) the treacherous, uphill path of the pepper. Starting at a “two” (where many people happily plateau), they trekked up the mountain with steadiness. A few times a month (easily twice a week during the winter), they would engage in the fight. The green curry would bubble in the Club, steam my eyebrows into dust (or at least clean them?), and finally wash over my ten thousand or so taste receptors. Gradually, I would increase the spiciness number. My tongue wouldn’t bleed, but it would cry, just a little.

By now, I am at a “six” or a “seven” (“Thai Hot”). (Recently, I’ve begun eating raw jalapeños like carrots with hummus...) The thrill-seeker in me requires the blazing spice, while the rest of me needs the creamy sweetness of the coconut milk (and yes, the rush of endorphins). Thai Monkey Club’s green curry is a dazzling blend of flavors and vegetables and rice that always settles me after a rough day. It’s become my unparalleled comfort food of choice.

But curry is just my gateway drug. Beyond food, I’ve learned to nourish myself by making art, by meditating, by sitting in the grass, by taking a bath, by massaging my head, by reminiscing about memories with friends. Instead of running away when shit hits the fan, I’ve distracted myself with (non-destructive) delights. (And that’s one of my greatest achievements as of late.)

Spicy curry now symbolizes self-love, self-care, and self-respect. If struggle is unavoidable (and it is), then so will be curry.

*

As I embark on a mission to embrace another, strange home, with a vastly different culture, and a new book of friends and acquaintances (hopefully very few frenemies), I’ll no doubt be searching for some kind of “curry” every day. (I promise not to become a raging alcoholic.)

Whether Korea boils up some excellent green both, or some mouth-melting kimchi stew, I’m convinced the memories will be curry enough.

June 20, 2016