Ornamental And Ornery As Heck
About fifteen years ago, my grandfather decided to turn the former site of his house’s air conditioning unit into a small garden. The man had a nuclear green thumb; he’d buy half-dead plants from various stores and turn them into what would be prize-winning beauties (if he cared about that).
At some point, he decided to grow some ornamental Thai chilis in this garden. While not exactly as hot as a habanero, these things are about twenty or so times as hot as a jalapeño, and they lack anything resembling complex flavor (as they’re cultivated for looks rather than edibility). This means that, despite being less hot than some peppers, they’re also less tolerable. He didn’t know this, though, and picked a few once they “ripened”, placing them in a basket on the counter once he found out the hard way.
Along came my mom and me for a visit. After some talking, my grandfather decided to cook dinner for us and invited us into the kitchen. He showed me a carton of Lactaid he had bought for me (since I have trouble digesting milk) and offhandedly mentioned the gallon of rainbow sherbet in the freezer.
Seeing these gorgeous-looking peppers on the counter, I made the bold claim about how much I love eating pickled jalapeños. He gave me a little smirk and sarcastically suggested I try one of the peppers. As soon as he turned his back, I grabbed one of the things, popped the whole thing in my mouth, and began chewing. He turned back to me just in time to see me swallow, and his face went white as a ghost.
I didn’t have to wait long to find out why. In less than a second, my mouth felt like it was on fire. He quickly grabbed the Lactaid out of the fridge, but before he could pour me a glass, I yanked the carton from his hands and started guzzling. Soon enough, this half-gallon carton was outright gone, my stomach hurt, and my mouth was still on fire.
I reached for a loaf of bread on the counter and just started eating. The bread would briefly quash the heat, only for it to come back in full force. Before I knew it, the entire loaf was gone, and I’d started on the second. At that point, my grandfather was sweating nervously, and he grabbed the gallon tub of sherbet and a spoon. A good thing, as I quickly finished the second loaf and was still in agony. Blisters were now forming on my lips — a testament to how ill-advised this move was, no doubt. I started chowing down on the sherbet, while my mom called poison control.
As the phone call went on, my mom got a sheepish look on her face. She thanked the person on the other end, hung up, and told my grandpa to put the sherbert up. She then asked if he had an unused toothbrush. I was instructed to go into the bathroom, brush my entire mouth thoroughly, and come back out. Once that was done, she put petroleum jelly on my lips to soothe the blisters. It worked, but I was now incredibly nauseous from having consumed so much food. Dinner was canceled because I needed to lay down (not that I would have been able to eat it anyway), and I was directed to the couch.
I’m not sure if I had a crash course in hot foods that seriously upped my tolerance and messed with my perceptions, or if my mouth legitimately became less capable of detecting flavor, but non-spicy food seemed flavorless for several years after that. I actually ended up spending the following half-decade adding various hot sauces to pretty much everything I ate; otherwise, I found even my favorite foods horribly bland.
