Burning Your Mouth to Spite Your Heart
I need something that is going to tingle, tell me the food is alive. Because I want to be alive, too.
This is,a column by Noah Cho about how food and cooking can inform our identities.
It’s not hot enough. I need to suffer.
In these moments, my pores push out sweat, my heart races, and I do not think about the other things weighing on my heart. I concentrate only on the next bite—not wanting to stop, addicted to the flames scorching the roof of my mouth. Sometimes I can even feel it in my teeth as I grit down, closing my eyes and letting myself simply feel.
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I used to imagine having a Korean mother, someone rich in stories and jokes about Korean food and culture. My Korean mom would, ideally, be Maangchi.
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