I'd been warned on more than one occasion to proceed with caution, that despite my ability to handle the heat, I'd meet my match if I dared to go head-to-head with what the owner of this restaurant calls the "hottest curry in the country." I scoffed, insistent that I'd have no problem with the burn. Oh, was I wrong. Very, very, very wrong. I can pop an habanero pepper in my mouth and shrug, and I have a stash of ghost chiles at home that I use liberally, but the chile-intensive curry that I had last night nearly sent me to my grave. I couldn't manage more than a bite or two, and for a good twenty minutes, I wasn't even sure if my tongue was still in tact. But there are people, says the owner, who lick the bowl clean...and never break a sweat. I, on the other hand, am now lettered as a bona fide wimp.
Can you guess where I'm eating?
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