When I was about 20 I got into a routine with 2 mates of meeting straight from work every Friday night, a couple of hours in the gym, 3 hours in the pub, and then to our favourite local curry house. Over time I graduated up to having their vindaloo most times, even though this carried a fearsome reputation locally.
At the same time I started going out with a new girlfriend, and when I asked what her taste in food was ahead of our first meal together she mentioned her love of curry. We duly went to the same restaurant, where I was greeted by the staff like the returning prodigal son (did no harm in the eyes of my date!) and I ordered my 'usual', only this time I was stone-cold sober rather than 5-6 pints to the good.
When the vindaloo arrived I realised I was in serious trouble from the first mouthful. I manfully tried to soldier on but within 2 minutes I was a red-eyed, snivelling wreck gasping for air and whimpering for something to extinguish the pain. Cleary the alcohol had been de-sensitising my taste buds
I seem to recall we never quite made it to date number 2!