Tolerance

I’m never afraid of a bad food order.
I look at the menu, choose the meat I like and just order any version of it. I don’t Google to check what a Chung Fung is or reject the Soba noodles. I just go for it.
Actually, I’ve never had a bad food order. Just orders full of surprises.
Sometimes the gravy is so spicy that little fires ignite under my skin. Jaggery makes my blood race and erupt as fountains all over my body. The zesty lemon defaces my mouth, gets my tongue clicking loudly and shuts my eyes. I can feel the bitterness of the gourd near my ears, and pass through the edge of my tongue. The dry bread breaks the walls of my food pipe as it almost kills me while going down but with a little bit of saliva, lands gently in my stomach. The juices of the peaches go straight to my brain - boom boom boom, and my face invariably breaks into a stupid smile. Eyes shut here too. Asafoetida in dal or kachori pass like a strong gust of wind through my nose, inducing a sneeze attack. Tough meat sends out a strong message to the feeble teeth. Slimy broths might make me want to puke but I can shut my nose and gulp it down like an insult. Sometimes, along with the soft, warm rice, I’ve grinded the tiny stones in them too. The pungent, intrusive garlic makes me squirm but I’ve gone through with many cloves of it.

Being able to be surprised by flavours, rather than being pissed keeps me tolerant. It tells my mind that anything is possible, with food, people and life.

Just like I invariably like all food, I like all people. This habit of tolerating ridiculous flavours has made me more tolerant towards people. Even the *bad ones* draw me in, make me curious.

It might sound far-fetched to you, but it works wonders for me. Try it?