HOT!

A penchant for spice is no longer just a personal preference; it's a badge of honour, the mark of a wild, sexy, untameable spirit. It's why any Indian establishment worth its salt now takes pride in its proprietary condiments-big, bold, blazing ones that could only come from its kitchen.

- ROSHNI BAJAJ SANGHVI

In culinary school in New York City, chef Henri Viain, my Basque instructor, would watch me sneak extra pinches of cayenne into my choux batter while prepping gougères and say, "Roshni, you are going to kill me." Anytime there was a blind spice tasting in class, I was made to go last because as the Indian kid in the room, I would recognise each one right away and ruin the fun.

That was 2010. In the 15 years since, as Indian food has garnered more acceptance and delight around the globe, with desi chefs like Chintan Pandya, Sameer Taneja and Saurabh Udinia opening award-winning restaurants in major cities across the planet, diners everywhere are embracing the Scoville Heat Units (SHU) we bring to the table. A tolerance for spice has become a celebrated achievement, a test of bravado. One that Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman remarkably failed when they teared up while eating chicken wings doused in sauces on the YouTube show Hot Ones. The actors appeared on the show to promote Deadpool & Wolverine (2024), the highest-grossing R-rated movie of all time based on two unkillable superheroesinvincible to everything, but eventually slayed by the Da' Bomb Beyond Insanity Hot Sauce.

Go to a restaurant that takes its food seriously and you'll likely be plied with intense dabs of complimentary dips to showcase major kitchen skills. In recent months, I have discovered a Byadgi chilli jam at Mumbai's newly opened Kerala Quarters, a gongura relish at Burma Burma, a Mathania chilli crisp at Chard in Delhi and a long-pepper butter at Hosa in Goa. If I'm crying, these are only happy tears.