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Murder on the Capsaicin Express
08-30-2015, 08:05 PM
Post: #101
RE: Murder on the Capsaicin Express
(08-30-2015 07:42 PM)Gungawoman Wrote:  I was a civilian officer, not a sworn officer. The sworn got nothing but pure pepper spray in the face.
My hubby loves anything hot. When we go have Thai food, he asks for "Thai spicy" and then puts hot chili sauce on it, as well! Me? I'm a wimp in that department!

Whew! Some people! But I did eat nachos with Pepper Spray
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03-14-2016, 10:15 PM
Post: #102
RE: Murder on the Capsaicin Express
I love all of the food bravery I see in these posts. I have to add a tale of daring do of my own. I have always loved hot and spicy foods (maybe it is because my older brother used to pin me down and put drops of Tabasco in my mouth) But the story starts out with me a young newlywed in the kitchen with a stuffy nose and a bottle of cayenne pepper. I had a very strange string of thoughts that lead up to the train wreck that was about to happen. The thought was if Tabasco sauce clears my sinus's then how much better would cayenne pepper do? So I popped the lid off the cayenne, so I had free access to that fine powdery heat. I grew up in the 80's so I knew of a little trick of holding your thumb just right to create small depression that can hold powdery substances, just long enough to get them to your nostril. Well I think the stage is set. In your mind things work so much better than in reality. I carefully loaded the powder spot, then I snorted the the red powder in one fell snort. Time does stand still and memories can literally be burned into your mind. You know those really long ice picks, no the really, really long ice picks that is what it felt like. I fell to my knees on the kitchen floor with a blinding, searing pain of very long ice picks in my nose. To add insult to injury, it made me more stuffy.

The moral of the story, I'm an idiot.

Cheers,

Duddaroe
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03-14-2016, 10:48 PM
Post: #103
RE: Murder on the Capsaicin Express
(03-14-2016 10:15 PM)Duddaroe Wrote:  I love all of the food bravery I see in these posts. I have to add a tale of daring do of my own. I have always loved hot and spicy foods (maybe it is because my older brother used to pin me down and put drops of Tabasco in my mouth) But the story starts out with me a young newlywed in the kitchen with a stuffy nose and a bottle of cayenne pepper. I had a very strange string of thoughts that lead up to the train wreck that was about to happen. The thought was if Tabasco sauce clears my sinus's then how much better would cayenne pepper do? So I popped the lid off the cayenne, so I had free access to that fine powdery heat. I grew up in the 80's so I knew of a little trick of holding your thumb just right to create small depression that can hold powdery substances, just long enough to get them to your nostril. Well I think the stage is set. In your mind things work so much better than in reality. I carefully loaded the powder spot, then I snorted the the red powder in one fell snort. Time does stand still and memories can literally be burned into your mind. You know those really long ice picks, no the really, really long ice picks that is what it felt like. I fell to my knees on the kitchen floor with a blinding, searing pain of very long ice picks in my nose. To add insult to injury, it made me more stuffy.

The moral of the story, I'm an idiot.

Cheers,

Duddaroe

I had a buddy who had a sinus attack. He was snorting nose spray like crazy, so I told him try some wasabi. He did, got a dab on s finger, licked it and voila! His sinus problems were clear! His nose was runny, his sinuses opened up and he was draining like a maelstrom in the bathtub circling down the drain.

Snorting cayenne? Wow, that's pretty ballsy in all honesty, but never in my life will I do that...still if you did not survive, I wonder if you would be front page of the Darwin Awards if you passed on? KIDDING!
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07-13-2016, 09:17 AM
Post: #104
RE: Murder on the Capsaicin Express
I can relate to this story. Perhaps an amusing anecdote might be in order.

In 1985, I had the opportunity to participate in my university's cultural-student exchange program. Members of our university would spend a semester in Mérida, Yucatán, México, living with host families. The idea was to immerse the students in a foreign land, encourage them to see how other countries live, and encourage their students' growth. As this was just at the beginning of the global economy and Al Gore had not yet invented the internet, such programs would promote understanding between nations. It was a great idea and, quite frankly, it worked very well. I learned a ton about Mexican lifestyle, culture, and became quite adept at Spanish (as the accent marks in the second sentence above attest).

So, there I was, a suburbanite from southeast of Cleveland, Ohio, sitting at my host family's dinner table, surveying the feast before my eyes, consisting of rice, black beans (which I love!), an incredible salad, steak, and tortillas (with which I have fallen in love). Smells. Flavors. Humidity. And sauces. Yes, the sauces. There were onion-vinegar sauces. Picante sauces. And a little dish of what looked like diced red vegetable things in vinegar with a plastic spoon (which should have been my first clue, along with the guy in the hazmat suit standing next to it).

Wishing to show my acculturation and open mindedness, along with impressing the host family's most fetching 19 year old daughter (who couldn't have been more disinterested in your humble author), I selected my tortilla, spreading a mixture of rice and black beans, and diced onions. Then, to top it off, your unsuspecting correspondent shoveled the diced vegetable things in vinegar sauce onto the taco. At first there was a gasp from the host mother, along with a courteous warning, "Ay, Juan. Ten cuidado. Pica. Pica mucho." Well, not having mastered Spanish, I had no idea what "pica, pica mucho" meant. I learned. That expression is now indelibly seared into my memory as well as my throat. It means, "It's spicy. Really spicy." It literally means, "it bites. It bites a lot". At this point, discretion should have been the better part of valor. But, no. I charged forward, expecting to enjoy my taco.

Now, remember, Mexicans tend to be more unobtrusive than we Americans. Where we 'gringos' tend to charge ahead in the face of potential calamity, Mexicans are more likely to be restrained or standoffish. For example, if we in the States break something we say, "I broke a plate". In Mexico, the statement is, "se me rompió el plato", which translates into to "the plate broke itself to me". That is not a criticism; on the contrary, it is an observation that, linguistically and culturally, Mexicans have a different concept of personal responsibility for one's idiotic actions, and they tend to be more forgiving and understanding when you do something monumentally stupid. Lesson learned. Now, back to the story.

So, I had made my black bean, rice, onion and sauce taco, poised to devour it with reckless abandon. At this point, I should have taken a clue from the family members at the table. Instead of wrestling the taco from my hands and instructing me that what I was about to do was supremely dumb, they all had put their respective cutlery on their plates and were watching me. The mother was concerned. The sons were giddy with anticipation. The fetching 19 year old daughter (whom I wanted impress with my culinary abilities) was simply watching me with amusement. Did I notice that? Nope. I forged ahead. And bit into my taco. The mother gasped. And I began to chew. And chew.

That is when my world exploded. Not a slow burn. A nuclear detonation. My tongue burned. My eyes melted. The back of head shot cranial debris all over the wall (the cook was none too pleased about that). My throat constricted and my face swelled to gargantuan proportions. The sweat. Ah, yes, the sweat. It soaked my shirt. My hands trembled and my stomach would have none of it. At some point I lost consciousness. When I crawled back to land of the living, I saw that everyone at the table was staring at me, the mother fixed with a horrified expression, the sons fell out of their chairs laughing, and the 19 year old daughter simply shook her head and chuckled. The father sat there, stoic, and passed me a bowl of sugar, saying, "Toma. El azucar te ayuda. Te presento al habanero. Pica. Pica mucho."

And that, my friends, was my introduction to the habanero chile.

jvb
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07-18-2016, 09:32 PM
Post: #105
RE: Murder on the Capsaicin Express
Hahaha! What a great story, JB! Love it!

If I'd known you were French, I'd have worn galoshes...
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