Endurance at Xu's Public House

Meal: MaPo Tofu w. Golden Egg Fried Rice
Mocktail: Ice Bite (Grapefruit, Cranberry, Lime)
Prevailing Flavors: Spicy hits with a sweet tingly floral finish.

"Why the hell am I pondering on my shortcomings in the blistering cold?" I thought to myself. The distant musicians near Union Square were playing a convoluted jingle bells for overly excited tourists, and even that couldn’t drown out the ferocious growl coming from my stomach.

Throughout 2023 I struggled with the concept of strength. That year I lost all of my savings trying to sustain myself during an industry wide strike. I did everything in my power to maintain myself, and still came up scraping. From applying for jobs outside the television industry to extreme budgeting, it wasn’t until I had one month of rent left in my account did a job finally accept me. $15,000 I worked years to save, gone; due to something I couldn’t control. What was it? Did the deck of dominoes that began their descent far beyond my years finally reached my tile? Why must suffering be a prerequisite for growth?

An offensively sharp breeze slashed my cheeks, and I might as well have placed a megaphone near my intestine and implored it to “talk yo’ shit.” My body begged, and plead until there I was, layered up and lusting after something spicy standing in front of Xu’s Public House.

The sharpness of the cold was interrupted by the sweet savory scent of soy sauce and star anise bouncing off their wooden panels. A waitress led me to the bar where royal blue pincushions met gold accents, and wine glasses hung like chandeliers. I used to enjoy eating out alone. The power an unexplored menu brings; I would daydream about menu combinations that would make my heart sing. But that night I immediately gravitated to my favorite: Mapo tofu and a hefty plate of golden egg fried rice.

When a plate stacked with bright yellow grains is served to you with a bodacious bowl of tofu and ground meat saturated in chili oil, what else can you do but shimmy a little in your chair?

The culprit responsible for the tingly sensation in your mouth when you eat Mapo tofu is a molecule called Hydroxy-alpha-sanshool. The fatty amide can be found in Szechuan peppercorns and it tricks your brain into thinking your tongue is vibrating. It excites neurons by inhibiting pH- and anesthetic-sensitive two-pore potassium channels. Mapo tofu is a controlled pain experiment. So, when I tilted the spoon and invited heap of tofu steeped in a numbing sauce into my mouth, I went along with the deception. At Xu’s Public House my woes are numbed and my tongue vibrates them out, a spiritual exchange where I trade the sting of a 146-day labor battle for a sweet, sweet pang of ginger.

When you going through it, you going through it.

If God wants to teach you a lesson, he would do so without your permission.

When the ginger bites me back, I am reminded of every job application. Rejections waved in, and my emotions failed to surface troubled water. I was drowning and I didn’t have the energy to feel the suffocation. Hydroxy-alpha-sanshool’s numbing properties are often utilized as a local anesthesia. I asked God for abundance; I sought a flower that dims my senses. Prayer felt like a reminder that I was owed nothing, because what of Rebekah, God? Rebekah of Genesis, who prayed for over twenty years before she bore Jacob and Esau. She who sought mandrakes for fertility, only to see the benefit in Leah’s womb. Mandrakes, also known for its anesthetic properties. The numbing comes before the blessing. Cloves, lavender, turmeric and all that has the power to dim the pain, I offer my tongue as a playground.

Some days I feel like I’m healing, other days I feel nothing, but that’s how scabs grow. When people told me how tenacious I was for holding on, the strength sentiment tasted dull. When the sediment from the Szechuan peppercorns rolled across my tongue and lifted the embrace of the soy sauce and garlic, the numbness offered space for my grief to roost. When the tingling dissipated, I pressed my teeth into different parts of my tongue to see which nerves went faint.

I almost lost my home, I lost my savings, I lost family.
My nerves were overstimulated, but now that it’s quiet, the aftershock is all I feel.

A Taste of Relief

I took a long sip of my mocktail, Ice Bite. It’s a grapefruit surge with a sweet wave of cranberry. As the liquid swished through my mouth, a refreshing pulse of acid reverberated through my shoulders. What a wonderful way to wash down some Mapo tofu—if you ever ate something spicy and immediately guzzled a carbonated beverage you would understand the dire mistake I just made. I was too busy fixating on the citrus cranberry combo and failed to account for the subtle fizz in my glass. Acid normally reduces capsaicin on the tongue; but carbon dioxide is hydrophobic, so the vibration on my tongue transformed from a little pop and lock to a full-blown house party. And as that revelation was occurring, in my periphery I caught a glimpse of the server making her way to my table.

Of course, like the little masochist that I am, I decided to play a game called “Holding your composure while internally fall apart.” I couldn't let this server think I can’t handle spicy food. I live my life on scotch bonnet peppers and prayers. Mapo tofu is light work. When they approached: Bright smile! High pitch voice! And I'm "Wonderful! Thank you!" Szechuan peppercorns, broke my endurance. Spicy food doesn't offer grace, because they too are acting out of survival. Heat isn’t my source of pain, it’s the vibration’s turf spreading along my tongue. Endurance is no longer defined by outlasting what hurts, it’s marked by how willing I am to ask for help before it gets there.

“The Stabilizer”

The golden egg fried rice serves as a stabilizer. A reminder that I can cut this tingly torture with an ingredient forbidden to me by religion, sweet morsels of scallops. These cream-colored treasures I was unaware of, peaked through the golden granules. Where does my disobedience towards a higher power fit in a story about growth?

My relationship to God now called into question with every mouthful. In-between bites of Mapo Tofu and golden egg fried rice I play the role of a deity. When the buzz bites me, a savory saccharine follows. Spread the textures across my receptors, grab anything else but what I refuse to recognize as pain. The fried rice is a resting place. A pause. A stop, breathe, find your ground and return. When I started my seasonal job, I was sure that the positions I wanted in my industry would pour in and I wouldn’t have to be there for a long time.

Even after the discomfort of my commute every morning, there is a joy walking in to see people who are also happy to see you. People who don’t think of you as a competition to weed out for upward mobility, but as a comrade in protecting what is sacred to everyone.

Hydroxy-alpha-sanshool works like my God who tells me to stand still. The buzzing, a reminder to be patient. Endurance is a badge to everyone who sees you, but manifests as a scar to you in the mirror. At the end of my meal, I am handed my check, and a paper bag permeating with the scent of chili oil. I thank the server. I thank the bartender. I tip and vow to return when my God or the Szechuan peppercorns desires to teach me another lesson.