Anyone who knows me surely knows that I like spicy food. I don’t mean that in a “I got Fire sauce at Taco Bell because I’m a badass” sort of way. I really like spicy food. When I go to Thai restaurants and they ask me how spicy I want my curry on a scale of one to five, I typically say “seven.” When I go to Mexican restaurants and they bring out chips and salsa I ask them to bring the “real” salsa as well. I eat Indian food about once a week. I always opt for the hottest buffalo wings. If a dish has the name of a pepper in it I order it. My own cooking takes spicy to another level. Not content to make something that causes your nose to run, I have actually cooked food so spicy it gave me a nosebleed.

The hottest thing I’ve ever eaten in my life was a pepper when I was in Morocco. My host family tried to warn me it was spicy, but I was wearing my American goggles and assumed that I could handle it. My experience has been that the rest of the world has a very different idea of what constitutes spicy. That theory was completely backed up by tonight’s dinner.

The other day I went to a little Mexican grocery store and grabbed some rice, beans, tortillas, and a little bottle of green salsa. Tonight I made enchiladas using the above ingredients. I decided to leave the salsa for last, since I didn’t know how spicy the combination of my bean and rice mixture and sharp cheddar would be. I took a bite and it tasted rather weak, so I proceeded to dump generous amounts of green salsa on top. What followed next was nothing short of ridiculous. I’m pretty sure the neighbors could hear me screaming through the walls.

So the moral of this story is, if you want something really spicy, shop at import grocery stores. If not, then by all means continue to dab little drops of Texas Pete on your food and whine about how hot it is.

 

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