For months now my cooking has been getting spicier and spicier.  I’ve been pressing my limits.  Trying to find ways to make things hotter.  I’ve been sweating as I taste test my salsa, and I’ve been dropping in another Jalapeno.  Whole.  Nose running, sinuses emptying.  Add another Serrano.  Just for flavor.

My face burned tonight the moment I took the lid off the simmering Adobo Chicken.  A recipe I’d just made up.  Which is to say that I put things together into a skillet and turned it on low.  I wasn’t trying to explore the outer banks of spice torture.  I was just trying to make some Adobo Chicken.  I was going to shred it and throw it on some tostadas, add cheese and lettuce and sour cream. (And curse the skies because why do I never have avocados when I really want them?)  My inner-chef is from a mountain town in central Mexico.

Alas, I have explored the parameters of my spice consumption capabilities.  Tonight I gained simultaneously the victory of making my spiciest meal ever and the defeat of having cooked a meal so face-blazingly hot that I can’t even consume it.
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Rachel is having her surgery tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. She should still be in the operating room at 12:00 p.m. when I step foot into my Adult 1 classroom to take a test about Cancer and tumors.  The whole thing is so mind-boggling I can barely even deal with it.  I’ll update you guys as soon as I know how it all turned out.  Thanks for your love and support, both for Rachel and for me.  Y’all are the best.