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.
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.