A Little More Spice by Cithara Patra, yogurt drink

Pepper. I stir the pot with all the spices, meat, and vegetables for dinner. It’s my turn to cook the curry tonight. I could go the simple route and use my mother’s recipe. She made it every Christmas despite us not celebrating that holiday. It was a tradition she kept for ages. It’s what I grew up with. Now that I’m older, I like to experiment with food. I want more flavor. No, that’s not it.

I want some heat in my gravy. Staring down at it with the vegetables and meat poking out, something’s missing. It’s the perfect thick brown, covering every inch of the food and splashing against the pot. It looks just like mother’s curry. It smells like it. What did I do wrong?

Turmeric. Even though my curry has enough of it, I know I can put a little more. One pinch of that yellow turmeric causes the curry to bubble before settling. I grab my tasting spoon, dip it in the pot, and take another mouthful. No, it’s not right. It turned it a little lighter than expected, but I can eat it.

Maybe I need another pinch of salt and pepper. Grabbing them, I toss them into the pot and take another bite. It’s not that either. Paprika? I put a pinch of that in. It’s a little spicy, but tolerable. My tongue can handle this heat. I want something to strike a spark in it. I want a kick that’ll take me to another world. So far, I’m not getting that. My eyes scan the cupboard for something new. Something different.

Chili powder? I already used a little bit of it, but this box is new. It’s a red box that stands out among all the jars of spices. Grabbing that, I open it and get a good whiff. Immediately, it stings my nostrils to the point where I can’t inhale for a few seconds. Eyes burning, I pour enough into the gravy as it continues to bubble. Huh. This must be it. This must be the kick I’m looking for. Lowering the heat for the curry to thicken, my waters as I grab a new spoon and dip into the pot. As it simmers, I put the spoon in my mouth.

Heat. Sweat. Fear. It rolls around on my tongue as the flavors hit. The kitchen shifts around, colors and shapes blending. A voice hums in my ear as my stomach churns. All that spice in my curry took out every tastebud on my tongue. I can’t see. I can’t hear. I can’t move for a few minutes as the curry slowly makes its way down my throat. Hit after hit, my body shakes before going still. Too much. My nose aches as the burning fades out. In front of me, the pot continues to bubble. That’s it. I’m done. No one can eat this. No one should.

Blinking the tears away, I grab the red box and pour a little more. 

About the author

 Born in North Carolina, Cithara Patra has spent time in Puerto Rico, Ohio, Nebraska, and Texas before settling back in NC. Besides writing, Cithara loves things from the ocean, dachshunds, and cooking. In their spare time, they travel with their family around the city and check out brand new restaurants. 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)