I was with friends, and we all joked about how I didn’t deserve to have any spice. That I was a spice peasant. That pain is weakness leaving the body, and they saw no weakness to excise. That the kitchen knew better than to let white peoples know that there were spices in the back. Just a whole lot of goofiness.

If the food had been bad, then I would have made a stink. It was still tasty despite the kitchen’s forgetfulness, or the wait staff’s mixup. And the company was good