Thai one on

Fumiyo said "let's go out tonight" in the Thai direction. Our favourite south east asian eateries were in a distant part of Vancouver, so to avoid driving, we went to newish Thai place nearby. Thai traditinaly means spicy to me so I stresed my aversion to tongue burn to the server. Fumiyo went hot coconut curry and our food loving friend went hot house special. Memories of flying Air Siam in the 70s and the last volume of Mishima's reincarnation trilogy, after a splendid evocation of the kind of thinking that led to Japanese imperialism, a mystical fantasy where the great warrior ethic thai's one on. Maybe his bitterness at not winning the Nobel Prize. Supposed to be why he killed himself. I suppose there are worse reasons.
I was asked if I wanted rice, but declined. Fumiyo benefitted from her rice to soak up her curry goodness. It was billed as hot, but the bite I tried exploded more of subtly nuclear flavour than heat. I was enthralled. But dare not risk a 2nd. Our guest also savoured his coconut dish, filled with heat in all of its intricacies. While savouring the slivers of red and greeen pepper, onions ands mushrooms, the signature Prawn appeared like a chief among millenia of our chiefless ancestry. Maybe a Good Idea at this time. There are no finite ways of making good things happen to your tongue, and mind is no less mindfull. My cold apple cidre merged perfectly with the gingered vegs. Cold and perfect are often in the same sentence. Pefection does not arise out of nowhere. That it arises at all in our experience is a tribute to our taste buds.
Hats off, etc.