9/04/10 The Worst Taste in all of Taiwan

I was exhausted and slightly drunk, the beer and wine had taken their toll yet again.  Space was proving to be a bad influence and a fantastic host.  Space's comment in the grocery store was “That’s a lot of alcohol.”  “Not for two alcoholics.” I replied.  We laughed hard and people around us stared while pretending not to…I had slowly gotten used to provoking this type of attention.  It reminded me of the conversations I have with my friends on public transit back home that cause people to stop what they’re doing and listen while pretending not to listen.

Big beer

Even bigger bowl of beef noodles

  

Appetizer of tea eggs, tofu and seaweed

Dinner had been Taiwan’s national dish of beef noodles at the place Space said made the best.  I remain unimpressed, but I must say that the hot peppers in oil at the restaurant packed a colossal punch.  Good thing I was halfway through my bowl when I put half a teaspoon in.  My lips were on fire in a way that made me remember my “flaming penis incident”.  Years ago my friend Steve and I had gone to a now closed restaurant in Toronto that had a wall of hot sauce.  We tried the second hottest one on the list because the most potent one required the signing of a waiver.  #2 was still hot… damn hot!  We were a couple of beers in and I needed to relieve myself.  I had a funny feeling when I returned to the table and Steve could see that something was up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Uhmmm, well…my dick is on fire.” I said in a hushed voice.

Some of the hot sauce must have made its way onto my fingers and then onto me.  Hot sauce or skin irritant?  You be the judge.  But I digress; what’s important is that in the Taiwanese noodle house my lips were on fire in a way that they had never been before and this hot sauce was powerful.  Not even my mother’s cousin Salvatore would be brave enough to try to sneak this into a wedding in his inside pocket wrapped in foil.  Oh the things Italians will do for their hot pepper fix.

Back at the house, the wine and beer flowed and the package of preserved olives became more and more tantalizing.  We ripped into the bag and prepared to be amazed.  And amazed we were by the sheer awfulness of it all.  It was singularly the worst taste in all of Taiwan.  For a brief moment I imagined combining the taste of these oval implements of torture with the vile stink of stinky tofu to create the most disgusting dish known to man; but the possibility was too brutal and I erased it from my memory before sickness set in.

The preserved olives will make their way back to Canada to be used as punishment for the losers of any contest.  Lose a bet with me and this will be your penalty; I don’t want your money, your reaction to the preserved eggs will be priceless.