DENIM DAN -
Michael Safdiah - November 2003

It all began with an email I got years ago, before the internet was used for meeting new friends. All we had then was dial up BBS type operations with ACSII text no graphics. There was one gay BBS called Malestop, run by a despotic curmudgeonly old queer, Jason, I think. The writer was Denim Dan and he sounded just like a 'me', not only that but he included his phone number was articulate, well mannered and direct. I called him and that day we met. No need for juicy details, he was affectionate and intelligent and hot! Gorgeous, tall too. Also we both had HIV. How cool was that. We were comfortable with pot. We started the dating thing, and the main problem was he was on a tight budget and I was stuck in a river of cash flowing from my restaurant. Dan insisted that we always split the check down the middle; he was proud. I respected that and went along even though I'd prefer to go to nicer places and pick up the check, hell, I didn't care, never felt it would obligate him to me for a meal. Besides, I was growing to really like him. The best was none too good for Dan.

He'd had a raw deal from the law when he was given some bad drugs and while under the influence got into a fight. Busted and on parole. Worse, it happened on Fire Island so he spent years of not being willing to give the place a chance again. So much for me ever getting him to come visit me at The Pines. His Iowa family, other than his sister were all left behind him having rejected him when he came out, I think; Dan, his sister and his niece were together as their own family. He had learned that being independent and tough was the way to survive. When Dan made his mind up there was no changing it, so I knew the only way I could share a decent dinner with him was to cook it myself. He deserved it anyway, so I decided to cook a stir fry of wonderful vegetables. On the appointed date I went shopping.

There is a market on the west side in Hell's Kitchen called The Amish Market. I don't know if they are really Amish but they sure had the best selection of foods, including a full palette of produce, breads, cheeses, fruits out of season, olives, well you get the idea. To a chef like me, it was paradise. A chef like I was knew next to nothing about chilies but I knew I wanted to try a few in my vegetable medley. I was feeling adventuresome. Mistake number one but one I make with often good results. After I got the most wonderful colorful selection of stir fryables, I saw the most marvelous display of chili peppers, all shapes, colors, and all entirely mysterious to me. I was particularly curious about a squat looking one especially, which had yellow, green orange and reds blushing all over it. I turned to the only other person nearby, who was also selecting peppers., She was a wrinkled old lady covered by an old coat the color of dust, By her looks I saw she was a latino. In my best none too good Spanish I held the pepper and asked her if it was sweet. "Esta es dulce?" "Oh si, muy dulce" says she.

Ah great, as up till then I hated most Latin hot foods and never bothered to learn a Goddamn thing about chili peppers, believing them to be the tools of the devil, and of people trying to prove how much punishment they could take. I had totally dismissed Tex-Mex as not being worthy of the term cuisine. There was heat and there was flavor. My European and Cantonese schooling had taught me the joys of subtlety of flavor, and how to push it to the limits without causing pain. My pretty little sweet pepper would add JUST the right amount of spice and color to my dish.

I happily headed home with my treasures, and no books in my collection to learn that I had brought home a Habaniero pepper - 14 on a scale of ten, also called a Jamiacan Hot Bonnet. Having been a part time protégé of Julia Child when I was at school in Cambridge, helping clean up after her when they were shooting one of her shows at WGBH, I knew she absolutely hated chilies and I naively followed her reasoning. She was Goddess.

Dan arrived and almost immediately lit a joint. The apartment was already dimly lit and candles and soft lighting even flowers set the mood. This was about to be great. My head began to expand, our euphoria grew. We found ourselves both buck naked and also groping. I'd cooked like that before, but this was special. Busying myself with my ingredients and also with Dan, I took out the pepper and began to remove the seeds and mince it so when the frying started all would be at the ready. Then it happened. We both realized something was terribly wrong. We were both on fire in places I don't even want to mention, but use your imagination. It took but a moment to realize what had happened, and to try if I could, as pained as I was to see the humor in the situation. Dan was in real pain, being more genetically thin skinned than I and not having had the benefits of my experiences with laughing at myself. I was mortified -- I had hurt him without realizing what I was doing. He didn't find it funny at all. We showered of course but to very little avail. Had we only known about milk, or bread, or both; they help to wash away and quench the fire. But that knowledge came sadly after the fact and after I bought several books on chilies shortly afterward.

Years later, I often use mild doses of very hot chili sauces in my cooking, especially my barbeques, but only just enough to tantalize those certain taste buds that need waking up. I want my food to stimulate my guests 'almost' all over the place, whenever it can, just not 'there' any more.

It was many months 'till Dan forgave me entirely, and a long time in learning to trust me again. I still feel stupid about it, even now. We're still close; I love him to death, and would have found a way to make him mine had I not been distracted by The Black Sheep restaurant. Years have passed and we have only continued to grow closer. He is a beautiful, loving soul. Guess what? He was here last year with a hoard of Thai ingredients including chilies that would kill you, to prepare an authentic Thai dinner here at Washington Street. He made a delicious peanut soup that was way too fiery for me. You decide. It teaches me to learn to laugh at myself, if there is a point, that's it -- the love and friendship of Dan and I survived that uncomfortable time, and we can still look back and smile. He's since had the blessing of meeting the love of his life in Ray, and has suffered the tragic loss of his kidney functions. He endures Dialysis three times a week on top of the HIV. He courageously perseveres despite all adversity. His strength and determination in the face of all that has been an inspiration to me.

If every story has a hero, then it's Dan. And if there's a villain - of course it has to be the old lady.