Hot stuff


So I was begging for inspiration, when IP delivered a recount of a story where two people were snogging each others faces off and Z put his finger in the girls mouth.   She enthusiastically started sucking on his finger, realising a little too late that Z had dipped his finger in Tabasco sauce….

Now, I am not sure if she was speaking about herself or not, but it did remind me of a party I had many many years ago.   It was standard house party rules, too small a place, too many people, never enough booze….you know the type.   We had put on a spread of various chips and dips and a good time was being had by all.   Then there was Mark, he took a liking to a particular tomato dip, and was using tortilla chips like spoons to demolish it.   After going through 2 batches of this stuff, I decided to slow him down.   I took the now empty bowl and headed to the kitchen to refill once more.   Rummaging through the cupboards, I discover a bottle of “Dan-Ts Inferno – White Hot Cayenne Pepper Sauce” this isn’t as hot as the name suggests, however, it does make Tabasco taste like mayonnaise in comparison.   So I empty the bottle into the bowl and replace said bowl on the table.   Mark dutifully grabs some tortilla chips and starts spooning this stuff into his mouth.   I think it was the 4th scoop where his tastebuds caught up with what was happening, immediately shutdown and sent all sensory responses directly to his pain receptors.   First he went bright red and broke into a sweat, then his eyes became wide and a look of abject terror moved into the real estate of his face.   Mere microseconds after this took place, he bounded to the kitchen where he shoved his head under the cold tap and stayed there for around 10 mins.   You need a moral?   Never eat all of my fave dip at my party… :twisted:

A few years later and I am staying at my Aunts place for a weekend, she introduces me to her new fella (who would eventually become my Uncle).   He seems pretty cool, we go out for a few beers and generally have a good laugh.   At some point during the night, the subject of hot/spicy food comes up.   As I have said before, we like our food quite hot in our family so of course, when he suggested a curry eating competition I was well up for it.   We arrive at the Curry House, and decide that we will order 4 different Currys..each one hotter than the last.   I forget their names, but if I tell you that Vindaloo was the 2nd of the 4, you will possibly understand the level of heat we are getting to.   Now, the curry house made up our order and packaged it up to take away and we headed home.   We started to unpack the currys and noticed that they all came with plastic lids that had been heat sealed onto the container.   Good idea thinks I, no spillage.   Getting this frickin glued plastic monstrosity off each container though proved somewhat difficult, the plastic would split and you would end up with a load of the curry sauce on whichever finger fell through.   Still, no problem…lick sauce from finger and carry on.   We begin on the first of the 4 and I distinctly remember checking the container for the telltale number 3 written on it by the curry house…unfortunately this was most definitely number 1 and I realised I could be in trouble.   A casual glance towards my soon to be Uncle determines that it is barely registering as a curry…He even talked about giving some to his dog as it was weak….At this point I have already lost bodyweight through sweatloss.   Cue curry number 2…again I get some of the sauce on my finger and proceed to lick it off…at which point my tastebuds shut down…long enough for me to finish it.   Once again “Uncle Asbestos Mouth” is quite content.   I have a slight ringing in my ears and can’t see from the sweat pouring down my face.   Most people would have stopped at this point and conceded….most people….not me….I don’t do losing very well.   Bring on curry 3.   I had assumed, wrongly, that my tastebuds shutting down would last.   I didn’t anticipate them springing back to life just in time for the first mouthful of curry 3….excruciating pain…how the hell do people enjoy this shit!?!?   Still, I somehow get through it and may have spent the latter part of it sitting inside the freezer…but finish it I did…somehow.   Then came curry 4, it should be pointed out that Uncle “Thermonuclear” was merrily chatting away and seemingly unaffected by anything he had eaten thus far…for my part, I was talking like I had just had a stroke.   I open curry 4 and again, end up with sauce on my finger.   I take a lick…and my head exploded, seriously, pain the likes of which I can probably never fully explain.   I dish it up and Uncle Volcanoe tucks in….and I conceded.   I think I managed to get about halfway through before passing out…   I was just glad that we remembered to put the toilet paper in the freezer when I woke up the next morning…

All these years later, I have just about got the feeling back in my lips..but my tastebuds will probably never recover.

Ah well, Vindaloo anyone?


Bring on the heat

pimentasI was talking to the guys at work yesterday, as it would appear that some of them are missing the national food of Great Britain…namely Hot Curry (and yes, the capitalisation is necessary).   Apparently, a place has been located that understands the term “English Hot please”.

Germans don’t do spicey food..they place a 3 chilli warning sign on what are essentially tomatoe flavoured crisps.   They consider standard, run of the mill bell peppers as excessive.   When you ask for chilli on your kebab…they look at you strangely when you ask if they have real chilli anywhere.   Not a spicy hot food nation is all I am saying.   Very occasionally, I will concede, you get a surprise…I went to a kebab shop some months ago and went through the usual routine:

Me: With chilli please
Kebabman:   *lightly introduces concept of chilli to kebab*
Me:   No I said chilli please… I am English, the hotter the better
Kebabman: I have put chilli on
Me:   No, you have given the kebab a theory lesson on what chillis are
Kebabman: *sighs* Ok, more chilli
Me:   Thankyou
Me:   Bites into kebab
Me:   Head explodes
Me:   Recovers and (hopefully) successfully hides the nuclear reaction going on in my mouth

Suffice to say, he is my favourite Kebabman.

So consequently, the curries here (whilst full of flavour), do not require a gallon of beer to cool off…which of course increases the enjoyment factor…as long as you get in touch with your inner lager lout.   So, a “proper” curry house has been discovered and we will be going for a heat competition in a couple of weeks.   For my part, I will be ensuring that there are plenty of toilet rolls in my freezer for when I get home.   I will also place paramedics on standby and maybe eat some candles…Homer Simpson stylee.   When I return from my dream walk with the talking fox…I may blog about hallucenigenic curries and their effect on inner city Frankfurt.

I digress…. the conversation about thermonuclear curries reminded me of a Chilli that my Mum cooked many years ago.   We like reasonably hot stuff in our family, but my Dad had a friend coming over..and Mum said she would cook a Chilli for everyone.   This prompted said “friend” to ask if it was going to be a proper Chilli or some weak thing.   My Mum insisted that we like our food HOT, but that wasn’t enough and it turned into a macho “I can eat food so hot, they can power small countries with the ‘output'” conversation.   My Mum assured him that it would be suitably hot and she felt sure he would enjoy it.

So the night arrived, and I stumble into the kitchen to get a drink and notice that Mum appears to be making 2 individual pots of Chilli.   One of the normal family size variety…and one of the somewhat smaller and, dare I say it, sinister…evil..child of Nosferatu variety.   Various spoons and possibly the bottom of the pan were most definitely melting.   My Mum may have been cackling as she dropped small and unassuming ingredients into this smaller pan…each of them met with a cloud of purple smoke, a smell of the sulphurous pits of hell and a distinctive gurgling sound.   I think what gave away her intentions though, was the leather apron…welders mask and lead gloves she donned whenever she went anywhere near this smaller pot.

So dinner is served and we all tuck into our Dads friend failed to notice that all of the plants with 10 feet of him had withered and died the second that Mum walked past with his Chilli in a specially reinforced bowl, and began to munch away.   No sooner had he got the first spoonful to his mouth, he broke out in an instant sweat.   His head was so red, I literally thought he might pass out…every few seconds he would glance across at us..quietly munching away, chatting normally and generally enjoying the experience.   After the 2nd mouthful..I believe he lost the use of his tongue, and his speech became slightly slurred.   He made some pitiful excuse shortly after, something about having a big dinner and he was really sorry, but couldn’t eat anymore.   At least, that’s what I think he said…to this day I couldn’t understand him properly.

The moral to this story is of course…do not cast aspersions at my Mums cooking…she may try and kill you.

Wish me luck…

Oh…thought I would leave you with this Chilli cookoff story :

Notes From An Inexperienced Chili Tester Named FRANK, who was visiting
Texas from the East Coast: “Recently, I was honored to be selected as a
judge at a chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last
moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge’s table asking
directions to the beer wagon, when the call came.

I was assured by the other two judges (Native Texans) that the chili
wouldn’t be all that spicy, and besides, they told me I could have free
beer during the tasting. So I accepted.”

Here are the scorecards from the event:



JUDGE ONE: A little too heavy on tomato. Amusing kick.

JUDGE TWO: Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.

FRANK: Holy shit, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried
paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope
that’s the worst one. These Texans are crazy.



JUDGE ONE: Smokey, with a hint of pork. Slight Jalapeno tang.

JUDGE TWO: Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken

FRANK: Keep this out of the reach of children I’m not sure what I am
supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to
give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to rush in more beer when they
saw the look on my face.


JUDGE ONE: Excellent firehouse chili! Great kick. Needs more beans.

JUDGE TWO: A beanless chili, a bit salty, good use of peppers.

FRANK: Call the EPA, I’ve located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I
have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now get me more
beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back; now my backbone is
in the front part of my chest. I’m getting shit-faced from all the beer.


JUDGE ONE: Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.

JUDGE TWO: Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or
other mild foods, not much of a chili.

FRANK: I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to
taste it, is it possible to burnout taste buds? Sally, the barmaid, was
standing behind me with fresh refills; that 300 lb. Bitch is starting to
look HOT, just like this nuclear waste I’m eating. Is chili an



JUDGE ONE: Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding
considerable kick. Very Impressive.

JUDGE TWO: Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit
the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.

FRANK: My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can
no longer focus my eyes. I farted and four people behind me needed
paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili
had given me brain damage, Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring
beer directly on it from a pitcher. I wonder if I’m burning my lips off?
It really pisses me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming.
Screw those rednecks!


JUDGE ONE: Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spice
and peppers.

JUDGE TWO: The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and garlic.

FRANK: My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous,
sulfuric flames. I shit myself when I farted and I’m worried it will eat
through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that
slut Sally. She must be kinkier than I thought. Can’t feel my lips
anymore. I need to wipe my ass with a snow cone!


JUDGE ONE: A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.

JUDGE TWO: Ho Hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of
chili peppers at the last moment. I should take note that I am worried
about Judge Number 3, He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is
cursing uncontrollably.

FRANK: You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn’t
feel a damn thing. I’ve lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like
it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili, which slid
unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava-like shit to match my
damn shirt. At least during the autopsy they’ll know what killed me. I’ve
decided to stop breathing; it’s too painful. Screw it. I’m not getting
any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I’ll just suck it in through the 4-inch
hole in my stomach.


JUDGE ONE: A perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili, safe for all,
not too bold but spicy enough to declare it’s existence.

JUDGE TWO: This final entry is a good, balanced chili. Neither mild nor
hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge Number 3 passed
out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure
if he’s going to make it. Poor Yank, wonder how he’d have reacted to a
really hot chili?

I love the smell of napalm…

…although perhaps not the taste.

It was long ago, a simpler time when men were men and New Years Eve BBQ street parties were brought together by the contents of what looked like a dark green varnish tin, but in fact contained a purple jelly like substance known as Napalm.

The thing about Napalm, the important thing to remember about Napalm, is that it is not listed on very many outdoor cooking sites as a suitable BBQ lighter fuel.   The reasons for this should be relatively apparent….toxic sausage* anyone?

So the scene is set:

  • Grassed area usually used by kids for football, taken over for party  – Check
  • 4 giant oil drum BBQs – Check
  • 3 12×12 RAF tents to store….stuff – Check
  • Enough food to supply an estate of people with around 600 houses – Maybe not, but some people won’t come – so… Check
  • 1 x Organiser with serious shortcomings in the sense of humour area – Check
  • Oh… and booze – Lots of booze – Check

The party starts getting underway, is in full swing some might say.   I, at approximately age 14, and along with my friends, have found the backup booze stash and started “experimenting” with different concoctions in a Stein.   This does cloud my actual memory somewhat, so some of the specifics of the night escape me.   I do know that this was my first experience of a beer induced pavement pizza…

Things that may or may not have definitely possibly  happened:

  • Napalm smoked BBQ food scattered everywhere after taste #1
  • Organiser type person completely unable to put out the Napalm induced BBQs….as this is the way Napalm works – FFS**
  • 200 people decided that they would follow my Mum and Dad*** to their cellar bar for a “Proper Party”
  • “Argumentative Couple” have their weekly argument, things get broken and the Military Police show up
  • My Mum decides that the best use for Napalm flambe sausages is to plug the police cars exhaust pipe like in the movies****
  • Police car makes a decidedly unhealthy noise, some would call it a bang, I called it an explosion and the engine breaks
  • My Mum and her cohorts try to sneak back to the party unseen and fail…miserably
  • Some stupid 14 year old kid, whose name escapes me*****, walks right up to his parents and announces that he is not drunk and has not just been sick.
  • Same 14 year old kid throws up in front of parents
  • Then falls in pavement pizza
  • Parents respond by laughing uncontrollably
  • Organiser type person begins shovelling mud/grass from field into BBQ to try and quell heat/flames
  • Rest of street party attempt to squeeze into my Mum and Dads cellar bar – Most end up in my bedroom (in cellar at my request btw)
  • Topfer Strasse collective party hard and almost nothing gets destroyed in either the cellar bar or my bedroom – Result!
  • Organiser person refuses to recognise that his party died hours ago and stays resolutely at his post, seemingly cooking the field now
  • Organiser persons wife and kids are forced to stay with him whilst the rest of the estate are in our cellar
  • New Year comes and goes
  • Nobody notices
  • Last person leaves our cellar at approximately 8am

That was the night that was – I do not recommend napalm smoked sausages – But I can recommend parents like mine that managed to save an entire estates New Years Eve party….even if it did annoy organiser type person…. yey!

* Oh come on, there has to be a band called Toxic Sausage…”Please put your hands together for Toxic Sausage, and their number 1 hit single…Napalm BBQ”

** Seriously, someone from the RAF that has  access to stores of Napalm MUST have even the most basic understanding of how it works

*** Now, I know other people claim to have the coolest parents in the world  OK Seriously for example  – I just want to go on record to say that actually mine are at the top.

**** See!!!!

***** Me :-?

I am currently….

…happy – There is no other word for it right now.

Lets look at the contributing factors:

  1. Liverpool won last night, which means we* are in the Quarter Finals of the Champions League
  2. I managed to replace my fire damaged cooker extractor fan unit for â??25
  3. I have the blog bug**
  4. I have confirmed that I have an apartment to go into when I leave the one I am in
  5. Said apartment will save me shitloads of cash a month
  6. And will have Sky TV fed in by the landlord
  7. I have had 2 random phone call approaches about jobs in the last 2 weeks (ego massage anyone?)
  8. I stunned my boss into speechlessness (is that a word) with an improvement plan he never saw coming
  9. I sent my kids 2 giant Kinder Surprise easter eggs
  10. I am really enjoying my conversations with Sarah

Not bad really, especially the Sarah thing.    As you probably gathered from  my first post, I still care deeply for her.   So I am very happy that I can still make her laugh, and she is still doing the same for me.

What does that mean?   No idea, probably nothing.   But it is nice and it contributes to me being happy right now.   Of course, I have to head to work in a few minutes, so that could all change very shortly…

Just to talk about number 2 for a second (hahhah I said number 2), a few months ago I was cooking one of my favourite German junk foods, Fleischkase.   For those of you with German language skills, this literally translates to “Meat Cheese”.   If that sounds disgusting to you, you are probably a normal and well adjusted individual.   However, it tastes….well…..genius, if I am honest.

Anyway, the best way to cook “Meat Cheese” is in a frying pan with a little oil and serve with loads of pimmel  (sic) and then the junk condiment of your choice.   I prefer what is referred to here as Rot/Weiss (Ketchup/Mayo).   So there I am, heating up the pan with a little oil and the phone rings.   I answer the phone (as most of you would have done..don’t judge me), but then do I

  1. Go back into the kitchen and either turn down or at the very least monitor the hot oil in pan situation.   Or
  2. Go and sit on the sofa and have a 30 minute conversation

Tick tick tick  – We are going to have to hurry you……

For those of you that picked #1, you clearly don’t know me very well.   I opted for a well thought out sofa chat, whilst leaving an open frying pan with hot oil to catch fire.

I didn’t notice this fire until after the conversation, by which point the kitchen was entirely black.

Suffice to say, I am quite lucky to still be here and more lucky that the apartment is.

Meat Cheese flambe anyone?

* Yes I, like all men, feel the need to describe my favourite football team as if I am one of the players…or more accurately, owners
** Possibly contagious, but as yet unproven to be terminal (time and upcoming posts will tell though)