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Touch: Max’s Bar

Any consideration for personal space is gone come 2 AM during a big night at Max’s bar. From the front door to the back patio, the place is packed to the brim with drunken college students looking for a good time. The second I walked through the doors past the bouncers I’m greeted by a sea of wriggling bodies all trying to slowly inch by one another. Before I embark on the journey to the other side of the bar, I step up to the wooden counter and order a Coors Light. As I grip the pint glass, my hands slip a little on the cool condensation lining the outside of the glass. If walking through the crowded bar originally seemed like an impossible task, imagine my excitement in doing it with a full pint of beer. I take a short sip of the Coors and a cool sensation run down my throat. Deep breath. Here we go. Raising my glass high I wedge myself between two strangers. My eyes are focused on the destination ahead and I try to remain ambivalent to the pushy hands behind me. Instead of a constant back and forth flow of the crowd, the process is erratic as people seize every opportunity to squeeze through the little gaps that occasionally open up. As I approach the halfway mark, Mr. Plaid Shirt in front of me raises his left arm and simultaneously knocks into my Coors, sending the drink splashing onto my shirt. It leaves a wet and sticky feeling, but I have bigger concerns at the moment. Finally, I reach the narrow corridor at the back of the bar and enthusiastically shoot out of the crowd toward the back patio. The cool air of the cold winter night blasts me in the face for a moment before I walk over to the warmth of the fire heaters. The harsh cigarette smoke surrounding me slightly burns my eyes.

Taste: Sweet Basil

As I walk through the doors of the Thai restaurant Sweet Basil, a wafting aroma of fatty oils drifts into my nostrils and my stomach grumbles at the thought of food. I haven’t eaten all day, so the delicious idea of a heaping pile of Chicken Pad Thai leaves me salivating as I wait in line to order. After placing my order, I grab a cup and head for the soda fountain machine to get some Mountain Dew. I take a long sip of the syrupy citrus soda. The crisp and bubbly carbonation tingles my mouth and nose. Still, I came for food, so the refreshing taste of my Mountain Dew is only a momentary distraction as I wait for my Pad Thai. After about ten minutes, the server calls my number and sets down a steaming plate of noodles. The stinging spiciness of chili peppers radiates towards me, beckoning me eat despite the heat. I wait a few minutes for the noodles to cool, then grab my chopsticks and start digging in. The spiciness gradually grows in my mouth with every bite and soon I find myself needing a break from the burning sensation I once craved so passionately. The thick noodles are slathered in a nutty peanut sauce but I can hardly taste it under the spiciness of the chili. The pieces of chicken are dry and bland without the kick of the chili sauce, so I snatch up a bottle of Sriracha and douse the plate in bright red chili paste. I carefully chew the mix of volcanic spices and my mouth throbs with pain. And yet I love to eat spicy food. I enjoy that stimulating pain that happens when every single receptor in my mouth is firing off left and right.