Chicken Tikka Masala would be my Kryptonite.
I would be fighting some magic mutant space dinosaur and protecting the citizens from its wrath, and while saving a baby carriage from the dinosaur's fire-breath, I would crash into the window of an Indian lunch buffet. I would text-message the mayor and tell him that I'm working on a secret plan and not to worry with one hand while loading up my plate with the most fantastically neon orange curries known to man with the other. Then I'd undo my utility belt a few notches and spend the rest of the day sighing contentedly like a cat in the sun until the magic mutant space dinosaur tired itself out and fell asleep.
And then I would suckerpunch it until it died.
IT COULD HAPPEN!!!
