Little Green Monsters

I think it's quite likely that when Arthur Brown sang the immortal words "I AM THE GOD OF HELL FIRE," he was singing about the noble jalapeno pepper. My experience with this spicy treat happened many years ago, before common sense had overtaken youthful 'I-know-it-allness.'

I enjoy traditional, spicy salsa with my tortilla chips, on my hamburgers, hot dogs and in an omelet. In fact. I like it hot and spicy. I like it to make my tongue burn, my eyes water and I even like it when it makes me hiccup. For some reason, Salsa manufacturers decided that North Americans preferred catsup to real salsa. When the only salsa available at the grocery store had turned into a pasty, bland goop overnight, I decided that I would take a stab at making my own. I searched high and low until I found a recipe that looked promising.

Shopping for fresh ingredients at the vegetable market, I spotted the little green cherubs, the Mexican spice of life, sitting so innocently, all shiny and inviting. I gingerly popped them into the bag provided and returned home to prepare my own salsa.

I stewed the tomatoes, diced the onions, shed a few tears, chopped the red and green peppers, measured and added the spices and lovingly stirred the mélange until it was time to add the dynamite.

Having never been warned about the handling and care of jalapeno peppers, I reached for the 'bag-o-hell' and spilled them into sink. I washed them as every good cook would, and chopped them into fine little pieces of green fury. I added the little pile of dynamite to the mix, stirred them in, put the cover on the pot to simmer, and went about my business while the salsa to be simmered.

Within minutes, my eyelids began to sting and my lips began to burn. Minute by minute the searing pain grew more intense. My eyes became swollen shut. I stumbled blind up the stairs to the bathroom to flush my eyes with cool water. When I was able to see again through little red slits, I was horrified at the spectre looking back at me from the mirror. I was aghast at the condition of my face. My eyelids and lips were covered in blisters.

Had I been warned of the dangers of handling those little green monsters, I'd have worn full welding protection; gloves and face shield.

I recovered of course, but never attempted to make jet fuel again.