The Best Thing I Ate This Month is usually about one dish, one bite that refuses to leave your mind. It is not designed to survey an entire menu. But this time, any attempt at restraint felt dishonest. I found myself thinking about this meal for days afterward. I told people about it unprompted. This is not my usual habit. I am typically an eat it and move on kind of guy. This lingered.

SpicyMAN sits next to a barbecue spot in a stretch of Merivale that feels more practical than picturesque. You could miss it. Open the door and you are greeted not by a dining room but by a mountain of stairs. No explanation. Just a climb. So many steps that my friend, already inside, texted to ask if this was truly the place.

Climb them.

At the top, the space opens wide and bright, all exposed ceilings and visible pipes, an industrial expanse that feels unexpectedly airy after the awkward entrance. It is unadorned but confident, as if to say the spectacle will arrive on the plates.

We ordered too much food for two people. Decisively too much. This turned out to be wisdom disguised as excess. The leftovers became lunch and dinner the next day, then another small feast after that. Each reheated container carried the same hum of heat and depth, letting us relive the whole experience.

The name is not subtle. The heat is real. I choked almost immediately, eyes watering, nose running, convinced I had exposed myself as the weak link. My friend carried on calmly, or so it seemed, until a few bites later when it was her turn to falter. We took turns blinking through the fire, each of us meeting the same reckoning in our own time.

There was nothing polite about it. This was a full, involuntary surrender to the spice. But it did not feel like punishment. It felt like initiation. Once the first blaze passed, the heat settled into a steady glow at the back of the throat. We had each taken our hit, crossed the threshold, and now we could finally get down to the pleasure of it.

Shrimp Fried Rice, so often an afterthought, was anything but. The grains were distinct, edged with crisp bits that shattered lightly. The shrimp arrived in generous, sweet chunks. The flavour ran deep enough that you could order only this and leave perfectly content.

The Dry-Fried String Beans snapped and blistered, tangled with peppers that delivered wave after wave of savoury heat. Addictive, not overwhelming.

The Mapo Tofu trembled in a brick red sauce alive with Sichuan peppercorns. Silken, layered, complex, floral and numbing all at once. A dish that changed as you ate it.

The Traditional Sweet and Sour Pork came out audibly crisp, lacquered in a glossy sauce that was sharp and sweet and impossible to resist. Not spicy, just exuberant and hot in temperature.

And the Hot and Sour Shredded Potatoes, tangy and fiery, somehow crisp and tender at once, a pile of strands that demanded attention.

The best thing I ate this month wasn’t just one dish. It was the entire table, glowing red, gold, and green (a little nod to Culture Club), shared with a friend who loves food as fiercely as I do. We faced the heat together, survived the initiation, and kept leaning in for more.

SpicyMAN, 958 Merivale Rd, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. Open 11:30 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday, 11:30 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Closed Wednesday. Authentic Sichuan and Northeast Chinese cuisine.