Sauce, Oh I got your sauce.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Ring of Fire.”

Oh, I am craving something spicy right now.  Nothing along the lines of get me to the hospital because I touched my eyes with the oils of some pepper, but hot enough to maybe make the top of my head sweat just a tad.  Thai, Indian, the occasional Japanese Sushi Roll with just a bit more wasabi then intended?  Lay it down before me!  I’m lucky enough to have a stomach that can handle the torture others run from.

I’ve got a jar of Kick-Ass Jelly Beans that was a present years ago still sitting on my office desk.  Every once in a while someone thinks that they can just sample one without consequence.  Well, while they aren’t the hottest thing on the planet, best not to chop down while in the middle of a meeting.  A the poor fool who took a handful was just trying to be brave, then run to find something to cut the burning from his tongue.

A pantry at home filled with sauces.  Various peppers from around the world mixed in 4 ounce jars with quaint names like Gator Hammock or Devil’s Spit.  There is an especially nasty looking glass jar, encased in its own special plexi-glass box that can only be mixed with gloves on, outside and hopefully while you are standing upwind from the smell.  1 tablespoon added to every gallon of water and you still might burn your throat.  I haven’t had the courage to use that one yet, it might just remain a conversation starter.  The bottle is kinda cool!

My joy continuing in to the garden where in previous years I have planted various types of peppers.  Not just bell pepper, but banana peppers, chilis of all sorts, things that make your tongue go yeah!  Russian roulette with the little ones, some hot, some not.  Put them in a bowl and leave them on the counter while people are cooking Thanksgiving dinner.  Talk about how they might be hot, but mostly are not.  Watch as your ex’s brother grabs a handful and pops them like the aforementioned jelly beans.  “These aren’t hot!”  Only to have the ex grab one that burned her tongue and have her not speaking to either of us for an hour.  Fun Times!

I’m careful with my nephew though.  He thinks everything that has the word “Spicy” means that it will end in a burning mouth.  He’s 6 and has no concept of the word.  So even when talking about adding more “spices”, I just resort to saying them by name.  Lest he refuse to eat the extra Basil that went into the pasta.

I’ll leave you with this picture.  A counter where a crockpot has been going for most of the day.  A mixture of beans, tomatoes, onions and various spices.  Homemade Chili that has just stewed all day, festering in its own juices.  Laying out next to the bowls, some cheeses and other bits and pieces to top my concoction.  But the thing that will catch your eyes, at least half a dozen sauces to tempt you.  Calling out like a challenge to your intestinal fortitude.  Making you wonder if on the way home you should stop and pick up some antacids.  Are you up for the challenge?

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One thought on “Sauce, Oh I got your sauce.

  1. Pingback: What the heck? Why is my toilet on fire?! | The Hempstead Man

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