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I grew up with spicy food. Not eating it — but surrounded by it. My dad couldn't eat a meal without dousing it in hot sauce first. It was never anything I was interested in trying. I think even at an early age, I knew my flavor limitations.
No one questioned my food choices as a kid. It was only as I became older that people would ask why I didn't eat spicy foods. I felt like I had to justify my food choices as well as my heritage. And it's almost always been met by some kind of disbelief or judgement — just like when I say I don't want my son eating rice.
Every once in awhile, I'll try something new — at a restaurant or a friend's house — without asking whether or not it's spicy. Even too much pepper will be too much for my sensitive palate. Sometimes that first bite is deceiving.
I'm getting older and more adventurous with my food. So I'll try something even if I think it may be a little too hot for me to handle. I'll take my first bite. Then go back for my second. I'll feel my lips tingle ever so slightly. I'll feel my tongue burn from the heat. I'll reach for my glass of water (I know that's the worst thing). And then I'll go back for my third. It's good and totally worth the little bit of discomfort because I like it.