Hot Stuff Baby You Want It, Honey!

 I have a bizarre physiology in that my system quickly becomes used to any given substance and develops a tolerance to it.  I am also able to digest compounds, particularly capsaicins, fully, so that whatever stupid hot stuff I've eaten doesn't 'take it's revenge on the way out.' 

Back when I was eight years old my father made friends with a dude from the Bandidos MC whose road name was Paco.  Paco was super cool, an older dude with a wife and a family and grandkids.  He rode a huge fuckin' Harley and flew his colors all the time.  The 'didos were known for turning it around - a leather bore your top and bottom rocker with your club mascot and motto, if any, in the middle.  Other 1%'ers would cover up their colors with Levi's jackets with the arms cut off, which made it into a denim  vest called a 'cutoff'.  The Bandidos, at least in Multnomah and Clackamas, never, never rode under cuts.  Their way of telling all the other clubs how badass they were was to get their old lady to weave (on a frame and nail loom; remember those, old people?) a vest with a personalized version of the official Bandidos insignia and the riders road name.  That was REPPING. You never rode under a cut. They were Bad Mother.... (Shut your mouth! Well I'm talkin' bout Shaft! Then we can dig it!)

Anyway, so much for biker culture.  At the time I was cooking all my own food because my mothers cooking was...less than optimum.  If I wanted to see anything on my dinner plate that wasn't boiled or had gone through a pressure cooker, then I had to make it, and I used to watch Graham Kerr and copy the recipes and make my own dinners.  One of the things I loved was Spaghetti Diavolo.  Only my Diavolo was straight from the Seventh Circle of Hell; Violence - and I violently used that hot chili spice, man.  It made ol' Paco sweat and wipe his face and my father cough and sweat. Ha.

Around that same time Mezzetta came out with pickled jalapeno peppers, and Paco had gotten my dad addicted to them, because he'd bring a jar to work and pass them out.  All the white boys freaked, but my dad was (all flaws aside) cast fuckin' meteoric iron, and nothing brought him down.  He developed a taste for them, and we started having a jar of them on the table for dinner every meal.  My dad challenged me to eat one, thinking that I would gag and cry or something - but I didn't.  Sure, it burned, but it burned good, and it had that vinegar bite that killed the taste of my moms cooking.  I became addicted too.

Over the years I challenged myself to eat hotter and hotter peppers, and I worked my way up to Scotch Bonnets, raw.  Like an apple. 'Sweet Old Man' peppers - like an apple.  People told me I was going to give myself an ulcer, but seriously?  All the cultures in the world that include raging  hot peppers in their everyday cuisine who aren't suffering from bleeding ulcers kind of convinced me that I wasn't doing anything dangerous - just delicious.

By the time I was in my fifties I was eating La Yucatecan green sauce like it was water, on everything.

And one of my friends said 'You know, you ought to go into competitive chili eating."

This appealed to me.

Peppers! Being a chick!  Delicious peppers!  Showing off! Winning money!  (Or more usually beer, or a tavern jacket, or some lottery tickets)?  Yeah, I was thinking about it.  I started buying Scotch Bonnets and eating them raw, and grinding up Japonaises and coating chicken nuggets with the dust and working my way up, man.  My husband was afraid to eat leftovers.  My daughter frankly cried.  And so between these two white folks, I decided not to accidentally poison my family and gave it up.

Yes, I was almost a competitive hot pepper eater.

Could I still work my way back up?  Hell yes I could.  But I'm not going to because - there really isn't any real return for your effort, and some of those exotic hot chilis cost money, honey.

So I am going to pass on my secrets of hot chili eating to those of you who have been considering entering the arena:

1. Mayonnaise.  Mayonnaise emulsifies oil and water.  It ties itself to the hot capsaisin and renders it into a form that can be washed away by water.  One sip of milk and you're out of a competition.  Water?  Not a problem.  Piece of bread?  Tortilla?  Home free.

2. Cortisone.  If you have an inflammatory issue and you take any corticosteroid, it cuts the reaction of your body to capsaisin by about 2/3.  A bird pepper will give you a minor tingle and a wink if you have corticosteroids on board. No shit.

3. Bananas.  If you have one of those stomachs that refuse to listen to reason, eat a few bananas before the ordeal.  That hot stuff will just get lost in the shuffle.

Now that you have my secret hot pepper eating secrets, go forth.  Compete.  Rise to greatness. Get that tavern jacket!  Spend a shitpile of cash!  Travel to Thailand and compete against North Dakotans, huge Teutons and sly Scotsmen, eager to prove their DNA against native consumers!  Eat those peppers!  Go for the gold!!!!!