Everyone thinks I’m nuts
I don’t want to be this way. I wish I had a less sensitive palate, one that could support the predilection for indiscriminately spraying gobs of Sriracha on everything you consume. But instead of pity, fellow diners meet my preference with categorical disgust. “What do you mean, you don’t like it? It’s sort of an acquired taste. How many times have you tried it?” I’d wager Huy Fong himself has never tried harder at anything, good sir/madam. And yet, when I decline, they opine, and so peer pressure has periodically forced this corrosive condiment onto my sandwiches, into my soups, and -- at the behest of a particularly adamant dressing disciple -- even atop a perfectly good bowl of popcorn. Each time, lips ablaze, I bowed out in shame, as heartless Srirach-apostles indict my grip on reality. It’s like Shutter Island. Sriracha Island. Get me back to the mainland and off this hipster-infested rock.
So go ahead: Enjoy your Sriracha. But don’t foist it upon me, because I hate it. That said -- ketchup? Big fan. Slide that my way.
Dave Infante is a senior writer for Thrillist who has severe acid reflux and deep insecurities about his myopic palate. Follow his spice-free babbling on Twitter: @dinfontay.