Her Ladyship

Notes from the gutter.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010


Long-time Ladyship friends know my quest for the ultimate spicy dish. I have had numerous meals at restaurants where I've ordered the waiter to bring it "hot hot HOT. As hot as they can make it, and then double that!" where the chef ends up peering around the corner to see what kind of lunatic is eating in their restaurant. And it never is hot enough.

Last night, though, I got schooled.

I had read that the Indian military was looking to weaponize a chili that has over 1,000,000 Scoville units, and joked that perhaps THAT would be enough for me. The Texan decided to do a little research and found a sauce that is supposed to contain it. So an innocuous-looking bottle was awaiting me when I came home from work last night.

I tried a wee bit on the tip of my tongue. It spread rapidly to the back of my throat but wasn't too bad, so I figured it would be safe to sparingly spread some on my sandwich. WRONG. Oh god, was I wrong about that.

I couldn't eat it. Could. Not. Eat. It. At all. So I tried rinsing off the cheese. No go. Maybe warming it up in the microwave? Nope. Increasingly desperate, I rinsed off the meat. Not even. I ended up throwing it out because my entire throat was on fire at that point and I couldn't imagine making it worse.

So I sat there, gasping for air, as my throat, lips, nose, and then nasal cavity went numb. After about half an hour I could breathe normally, but my lips were still feeling it hours later when I went to bed, which I am prepared to accept was psychosomatic more than anything else.

Moral of the story: that tiny bottle will last me a lifetime, as I cannot see using more than one drop at a time.


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