Spiciness

I don't get it. 

Sure, some can be nice, but too much can make food inedible.

Recently, I had a jambalaya so spicy, it left my lips chapped. I hate when I order something that would be wonderful but someone, probably in the very last step, wrecked by adding too much spice.

Other people seem to love it, though.

It seems like a "prove your manhood" kind of thing. Take my husband. He will eat spicy food so hot, he will happily point out that his head is sweating. At a nearby Indian restaurant, where you order at a counter and are asked whether you want the spiciness level "mild" (garnished, to keep things straight, I noticed, with cilantro), "medium" (one slice of jalapeño) or "hot" (two jalapeño slices), my husband ordered "hot" the first couple times. I suspect it was because, at least in part, he had to make his choice publicly. (Since then, even he has quietly backed off to "medium.")

What else but misdirected competitiveness can explain this guy who ate the hottest pepper in the world (which clocks in, according to the Washington Post,  at 1.64 million Scoville heat units (SHUs) compared to the 8,000 SHUs of a jalapeno) in a hot-pepper eating contest. (What the hell?) He not only suffered dry heaves (to be expected, the New York Times article notes) but also the poetically named “thunderclap headache,” which is so intensely painful he had to be hospitalized. Or this guy, who, after eating ghost pepper, retched so violently, he tore a hole in his esophagus?

As I strongly suspected, liking spicy foods has everything to do with screwing around with the pain receptors in your mouth for the thrill of it.

No thanks.