Humans like to eat a lot of strange things— decomposed shark, Namibian warthog rectum, British food—yet among the strangest is our taste for chili peppers: a fruit that, ecologically speaking, specifically evolved to repel us.
Although chilies meet the culinary definition of a spice or vegetable, from a botanical point of view, they are fruits—berries, to be specific. But whereas other berries have thorns to protect against seed-destroying predators, chilies have a defense mechanism in the form of the chemical compound capsaicin, the principal function of which is to cause pain for predators. The scientific term for this is “directed deterrence.”
Birds, which are natural seed dispersers and excrete seeds whole and intact, are immune to capsaicin, a biological reward for helping chilies to spread and propagate. Humans, by contrast, are an ecological threat to chilies, because our mammalian teeth tend to crush and destroy seeds. We can sense capsaicin at a minuscule one part per million (consider that our threshold for sensing salt begins at about 2,000 parts per million and for sugar, around 5,000).
It’s not our sense of taste that’s doing the work here but our trigeminal or chemical sense, which registers sensations of irritation, temperature and touch to alert the body of potential harm. In fact, the same pain sensor that alerts us to capsaicin, TRPV1, also responds to physical heat, specifically temperatures above 109°F. So eating a pepper isn’t unlike, say, being stung by a bee, licking a nine-volt battery or burning your tongue on scalding hot coffee—all sensations intended to warn the body of exposure to harm and if necessary to trigger a series of protective reflexes.
Bite into a habanero pepper or order your food “Thai hot,” and your body essentially thinks it’s being attacked by a chemical weapon. Beyond the burning pain, which is supposed to compel you to reject or eject spicy food, you’ll probably begin to sweat as your body attempts to flush your system; your nose will run to protect your nasal passages; your eyes will water to protect your corneas; you’ll produce excess saliva to purge your mouth; and you might cough or sneeze to protect your airways. These are many of the same defense mechanisms you’d expect if you were to choke on a pretzel or eat something you were allergic to.
This deterrence isn’t limited to humans. Capsaicin is an effective threat deterrent for organisms ranging from predatory insects and rodents to seed-destroying funguses. Some farmers in Africa, to keep elephants away from their crops, plant chilies along the borders of their fields, or mix chili powder with motor oil and smear it on fences, or burn bricks of chilies and dried elephant dung.
Capsaicin has been used underwahood, ter to keep mussels from attaching to boat hulls. Manufacturers have put it in wallpaper adhesive to ward off rats, and some car makers have started wrapping electrical wires with capsaicin-infused tape to keep rodents from chewing them (a problem that may have been exacerbated by a switch to soy-based wiring, which smells similar to vanilla when heated). Chili-flavored birdseed is also a thing, used to prevent squirrels from pilfering bird food. Yet humans are the only animal stubborn enough to seek out this pain by putting hot sauce on our eggs or eating vindaloo curry—and there’s no scientific consensus as to why.
The simplest explanation is to point to food preservation, as chilies also happen to kill bacteria and mask the taste and odor of foods that aren’t the freshest. This would explain why spicy foods tend to be more prevalent in hotter climates, where higher temperatures make food preservation more challenging. In fact, not only might chilies have helped to preserve food before the age of refrigeration, but they also may have provided a primitive form of air conditioning, as the gustatory sweating meant to flush the body of capsaicin also has a cooling effect that helps to regulate body temperature. Another theory is that our habit of eating spicy food evolved as a method of peacocking— that is, showcasing bravado and masculinity in order to attract mates. Indeed, research shows a correlation, particularly among teenage males, between a preference for spicy foods and testosterone levels, as well as personality traits associated with the pursuit of money, sex and social status.
Such hypermasculine display and self-inflicted harm are hallmarks of adolescent coming-of-age rituals going way back. In Aztec times, young men were held over fires to mark their transition from youth to adult- symbolizing their transformation from “raw” youth to “cooked” adulthood. Similarly, some teens today mark this transformation by smoking cigarettes or vape pens, drinking Fireball whisky or posting videos of themselves eating prohibitively hot peppers (or toxic Tide pods) on social media. Eating spicy foods seems mild by comparison.
It’s also possible that humans turned to chilies out of a desire to escape monotonous routine. This would explain why astronauts in orbit tend to crave spicy foods like hot sauce, cocktail sauce and wasabi. Granted, microgravity plays a role here; it causes a swelling of the tongue and nasal passages that blocks a lot of the pathways to taste receptors, mimicking the effects of a head cold and leading astronauts to seek out stronger flavors—or, in the case of chilies, stronger chemical sensations.
But for the military too, spicy foods have become a staple of combat rations, especially for long deployments. Beginning in Iraq in 1990, the U.S. military started issuing miniature glass bottles of Tabasco sauce with meals, later switching from glass to ketchup-style packets to cut down on weight and breakage.
JASON SCHNEIDER
Another benefit of chilies is that they can help us to cope with other types of pain, both physical and emotional, similar to the mechanisms of watching sad movies, running marathons or scratching insect bites to the point of tissue damage. Those forms of self-inflicted torture not only provide tangible distractions from real-world pains (in essence, giving us something else to cry about). They also trigger the release of feel-good chemicals that help to block and suppress pain, one of the reasons distance runners experience a “runner’s high.” This helps to explain why capsaicin is a common ingredient in over-the-counter topical pain treatments for things like arthritis, sore muscles and joint pain—and why the Aztecs used chilies as an anesthetic during childbirth.
Cultural psychologist Paul Rozin, who coined the term “benign masochism” to describe our attraction to chilies and other “initially negative experiences that the body (brain) falsely interprets as threatening,” similarly likens the attraction of chilies to that of roller coasters and horror movies. His idea is that we crave not just varied and complex sensations but the thrill of simulating danger and the rush of pushing ourselves to our limit.
Even though humans long ago reached the top of the food chain, where we hardly have to work for our food let alone hunt for it, that taste for adventure—to push past our comfort level and endure the pain—is still inside us; it’s how we got to the top of the food chain.
Then again, maybe the explanation is simpler. Perhaps we just can’t resist the temptation of forbidden fruit—or, in this case, forbidden berries.
This essay is adapted from Mr. Siegel’s new book, “The Secret History of Food,” which will be published on Sept. 28 by Ecco (which, like The Wall Street Journal, is owned by News Corp).
One theory says the sensation distracts from pains; another says we’re just showing off.