Spicy Food (and a menu idea)

We ate at Nando’s last night, the South African owned fast-food chain that specializes in grilled chicken. Their peri-peri chicken is marinaded in a sauce made from olive oil, lime juice, garlic, paprika, oregano and chilli. And you get to choose exactly how much chilli your chicken has been soaked in. The highest option is Extra-Hot. Mindful of how sensitive my guts have become to strong spices, I chose the lowest level of chilli. Sitting next to us were a group of lads tucking into their chicken pieces and piling on more extra-hot sauce from a bottle. My mind flashed back to the time before my four cancer operations (during which my guts were hoiked around by an array of surgeons, and from which they’ve yet to properly recover). In those halcyon days I used to be a very adventurous eater. I really looked forward to all the new dishes I could try on my regular cycle trips to far-flung destinations. After riding all day through the backroads of Laos or China, the group would get together for an evening meal in a local restaurant. None of the restaurant staff spoke any English, so plates of strange food would just arrive from the kitchen and be placed before us. The oddest of these was a dish of chicken’s feet, on a trip through the foothills of the Chinese Himalayas. Yes, yellow chicken’s feet stir-fried in a spicy sauce. When the pile of yellow toes arrived, people shook their heads and turned away. I reached forward with my chopsticks and grasped one. “You must be mad,” said the Englishman sitting next to me. I put the chicken’s foot into my mouth and began to chew. All of the group were staring at me, horrified expressions on their faces.

The foot was rather rubbery and didn’t taste very pleasant. But with a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on me, I felt I had to swallow it. The foot went down with a bit of a gulp. Still they kept staring at me. Were they expecting me to keel over foaming at the mouth, or to start flapping and squawking? I put down my chopsticks and smiled. They responded with a round of applause.

I’m still willing to experiment with food, I just have to be careful with what I now try because of how reactive my guts have become. My four boneless chicken thighs soon arrived. They were tiny, barely a mouthful in each. I bit into one. It tasted good, flavoursome and lightly spiced. Then I began to wonder. Did the Chinese Nando’s serve chicken’s feet?

Back to Porridge and Heater Units

We returned home to piles of things to do. Not just the dirty washing in our suitcases, but the many tasks left undone because we departed in such a rush. Our first adjustment was to the cold and damp of Northern Ireland. Not easy after we’d been in the dry warmth of Mallorca. The first week had days of 25 and 27 degrees. The second week was the usual 21 or 22. But that is pretty good compared to the high of 8 degrees in balmy Co Down today. Our second week had one huge rainstorm. Not on the scale of the terrible events in Valencia, but still pretty dramatic. The street outside our apartment was turned into a rushing river almost a foot deep. In the afternoon, the rain stopped and the sun dried everything out. We were staying in Son Baulo, on the north coast. It’s towards the middle of the bay of Alcudia and marks the end of the developed part of the coast. Beyond is the protected coastline, the nature reserves and the mountains of the east. Ah, never mind, we can always return, like the birds, next Spring. In the meantime, we’ve plenty to be getting on with. First of all, my poor car immobilized by the Fire Brigade.

I took photos of the burned parts and sent them to the mechanic. “That’s the heater unit for the plugs, to start the engine in cold weather,” he said and talked me through disconnecting it. I drove my car to him and he checked it over. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” he said. I chose the good news first. “The heater unit isn’t expensive to replace,” he said. “Trouble is the wiring loom is damaged too.” That would take a day’s work to check thoroughly and could be very expensive to fix. “But some cars start alright without the heater unit,” he said helpfully. “Even in the winter?” I asked, mindful that it had been minus 10 last year. “Why not try it?” he suggested. So I am. The car is starting alright at the moment. Fingers crossed it won’t get as cold this winter.