20. Chilli

A pizza restaurant glimmers in another dark town. It is a rarity to see something open so late in Germany, as in my experience people seem to disappear completely at about 7, and I've hardly even seen a light on in a house past 8. I therefore know this restaurant may be my last opportunity to get something to eat, though I also know I have a lot more to cycle that evening so I don't want to stop. I just cycle past it, despite the raging hunger that is screaming at my brain. The hunger rages some more, a bit more loudly this time and it wins, drawing me back, but then my drive to continue smacks the hunger round the face and I go past it again. This happens maybe 4 times until I eventually find myself sitting at the restaurant table, with an XL pizza, a portion of chips, a kebab and a salad all on the way.

The kebab and chips arrive first. I bite into the kebab and have the first taste of chilli that I've had in two weeks. Something then gets triggered in my brain, some kind of latent addiction I'd been too busy to appease of recent. I ask the woman for all of her chilli sauces and a tub of chilli flakes. I chuck it in abundance over every bit of food that is covering the table. I eat undoubtedly the spiciest meal I have ever eaten, which to put in perspective, means 3 times more than the spiciest meal you have ever eaten. Tears are rolling down my face with every bite, and every bite is followed instantly by another bite in some vein effort to nullify the spice of the previous mouthful. The meal becomes a painful effort to get through, it is a constant struggle, it is breaking me down, but at the same time I just keep slapping some more chilli on, and I love every single sadomasochistic second of it.

A mountain of tissues lies where the food once was, and I wipe the last remnants of tear and pizza sauce mixture of my face. I feel completely gratified. I then think on this eating experience, realising it to be a concise and complete reflection of how I have felt during this whole adventure.