The Great Ghost Pepper Debacle

Our story begins at a street fair in Pittsburgh, where Carla and I spent the afternoon among tented stalls filled with gewgaws, and brickabrack, and tchotchkes...

Until I found a hot sauce stand.

??

There was the usual array of cayennes, and mango habaneros, and salsa verdes... and then waaaaay in the back, there was one dusty bottle with no price tag: 

Naga jalokia. The dreaded ghost pepper.

I'd heard its name whispered in hushed tones on the internet, but I'd never tried it for myself. 

So I asked the vendor, "How much?"

He stroked his wiry, grey beard. "Not for sale."

??

"What?! How can it not - "

"I said, it's not for sale. But if you can swallow a tablespoon and not cry, it's yours." 

“You’re on,” my mouth announced before my brain weighed in. 

“And if you cry, you gimme a hundred bucks.”

“Well, f***. Ok...I’m in this deep. Let’s do it.”

The man chuckled, then cracked the seal. 

I distinctly heard the cries of tortured souls coming from the bottle. The sulfurous odor of brimstone filled the outdoor air.

A half-minute later, a tablespoon of ghost pepper sauce seared its way down my esophagus.

A full minute later, my ignited tongue was floating above the counter, flanked by an army of hot sauce bottles brandishing cocktail forks. 

“Quis ardet capsimum. Quis ardet capsimum,” the bottles chanted as they marched in place. (I later learned that means, “You done ate some stupid stuff, son, and now you gonna die!”)

And then things started getting weird…

My disembodied tongue spoke to me, channeling the living spirit of Morgan Freeman:

“We all make choices. And sometimes, when we make choices, we have to live with the consequences of those choices.” 

A battalion of Louisiana Gold bottles started lobbing cocktail weenies in my general direction.

My tongue continued, “But today, Lee has yet to learn the true consequences of his actions.”

“S***,” I croaked, “it gets WORSE?” 

*Quis ardet capsimum…*

“In just a few short hours, Lee will come to understand a critical lesson, which is simply this:

What

goes

in

must,

in time,

come out.” 

??????

I blinked, and the vendor was leaning forward against the counter, studying me for signs of tears. 

I was vaguely aware that Carla was watching me too.

*What a dumbass," the tongue chided.

Locked under the man’s unwavering stare, with a dirge inferno in my throat and my mortal pride on the line, I did what any self-respecting idiot would do. 

I croaked, “That all you got?“

??????

The man tipped his cowboy hat as my flaming tongue rose in the sky, fading into a cluster of ash and dissipating into a cherished memory. 

“Son, you must be dumber’n I thought. Here ya go.” 

He handed me the bottle, and for a split second, I thought I saw a glimmer of respect in the man’s eye. 

Or fear, which is just as good.

It was worth the hour of having the inside of my face feeling like a kiln.

I mean, if Dante had tasted this stuff, I think he would have written another chapter. 

But anyway, the whole experience left me with one burning question. 

Do YOU dig hot sauce? What kind? Ever tried one you regretted? 

Ok, that was three questions. 

But I (hopefully) delivered a giggle or two today, so I think I’m worth it. 

Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed today’s nonsense. It’s “based on a true story,” which means Carla and I bought a bottle of ghost pepper sauce in Pittsburgh once and I pretty much made up the rest. 

Happy Saturday. Thank you for allowing me to waste a few minutes of your time. ??