What your level of spice says about you‏ | The Gourmand & Gourmet

What your level of spice says about you‏

Mild, medium, or hot? You choice in spice level says as much about you as your coffee choice or favourite breakfast. Chilli? No thanks! Not even pepper: Your idea of an exciting Saturday is a careful stretch followed by a gentle walk through the park. A quick budget survey sees you stopping at McDonalds on the way home to order a skinny latte, (not too hot) with one slice of raisin toast. You politely forgo the butter and take up residence in a freshly wiped booth. Here you study your recorded levels of ingested salt and sugar each day throughout the past week, carefully planning and plotting your course for the encroaching one. Satisfaction of a job well done sees you home in exactly forty minutes, where you spend the rest of your well-earned day off carefully pruning your competition winning topiary trees. Saturday night sees you at your Mother’s for perfectly poached salmon, new potatoes, asparagus, beurre blanc and a white wine spritzer. No dessert. You partner up with your hot water bottle, and hit the flannel sheets at 9:15pm. Precisely. Shazizzle in the middle: Indecision is your weakest link. Incessantly changing your mind, you find yourself unable to leave the house for fear of the “What ifs”that seem to continually crop up seemingly out of nowhere. You haven’t yet learned the art of going with the flow and run the gamut of emotions on an hourly rotation. This means that when ordering everything is on the side. Your handbag contains five shades of red lipstick and detachable shoulder straps. In fact, all your handbags have detachable shoulder straps. Hang on, most of the items in your wardrobe can be reconfigured. Like that hoody with the detachable fur collar. Just as well too. Those demonstrators were a perfect aim with that chilli red paint. Some like it hot (and you could ingest burning coals): Holy Toledo Batman, if there’s a risk to be taken or dare to be won, then, Shazzam! you’re in. Your glovebox is full of unpaid speeding fines, and last weekends overnight bag is still in the boot. This could actually work to your advantage. You overheard the petrol station attendant at 3 this morning, talking about a possible fly in ski jump in Queenstown. If it checks out you could be on a plane in 90 minutes. Homework for the spontaneous is carried out at your local Italian, accompanied by a double macchiato, Mama’s sugared donuts and a sneaky grappino. She did offer after all! nims xx