I once ordered a dish at a Thai restaurant that contained tiny, thin, black, hot peppers that snuck up on me. About 20 mins after eating, my mouth was on fire! We had already left the restaurant and were on our way out of town, so I didn’t get thd chance to go back and ask what those tiny nuggets of doom actually were.
back when the Red Savina habanero was the hottest (or second hottest) pepper on record, I grew a couple of plants. when they finally* produced ripe fruits, I took one and nibbled off the end of it. Within about 20 seconds I was sweating profusely and had the hiccups.
- seriously, it took forever. it seems like as they cultivate these things to be hotter, the more fragile and slow growing the plants become. This year my jalapeno plants were fruiting by early summer, the habaneros did nothing but drop flowers until late summer. then BLAM, I had more peppers than I knew what to do with.
About half of a dried Carolina Reaper. Beautiful fruity flavour and the heat builds up slowly. Of course, it just keeps building and building… I was getting a good sweat on and no milk to cool it off so I had to ride it out. As far as prepared food I once ordered a hot chicken and banana pepper wrap but there had to be more of something else like Dave’s Insanity because I couldn’t finish it, it was just too damn hot. This thread reminds me of the infamous chili judging joke.
Years ago, I had a friend who loved HOT sauces and salsas, and liked to make his own. One Monday morning, he came in with his latest creation, made from habaneros. He gave us this pearl of wisdom: “You know, boys, how mama always told you to wash your hands after you take a leak? I can tell you right now that when you’ve been cutting habaneros, you better wash your hands BEFORE you take a leak!”
As for me, growing up in Taiwan and Indonesia trained me in eating spicy Asian foods. I can handle a significant amount of heat from Chinese, Malay, Indian, Thai, and Indonesian cooking. Mexican and Cajun? Not so much.
Many years ago, my wife and I went to a Chinese restaurant that was known for its hot and spicy dishes. Interestingly enough, the manager/waiter was from India. I ordered a meal that was listed as one of their hottest. The waiter asked me if I had ever eaten at that restaurant before, and I told him that we had been there a few times and that I had had other spicy dishes, but not that particular one.
Then I said something truly dumb: “I grew up in Indonesia; you probably can’t make it too spicy for me!”
It turned out that the waiter, too, had grown up in Indonesia during the same years, but in a different city. His dad was in the Diplomatic Corp for India, and he had lived there for several years, and we shared anecdotes and played the “Did you know …?” game to see if we had any mutual acquaintances.
My meal was great, tasty, and pretty hot. I finished off my plain, white rice, which helped to neutralize the burn.
When the waiter brought out the bill, he also brought out a plate of 4 huge shrimp in some sort of sauce. He said, “The cook is from Szechuan, but over the past year or so, I’ve taught him how to cook Indonesian style. He doesn’t speak English, and my Chinese is rusty, so it has taken a while, but I think he’s getting pretty close. This is for you, and hopefully will bring back many memories of Jakarta.”
He hovered over me expectantly as I took a bite, and I popped the whole shrimp into my mouth. I nodded my approval and gave him a thumbs up. He smiled and waited for me to finish the rest.
Since he had so graciously brought me this special gift, I had to eat every bite, or else I would have caused him and the cook to lose face. Because I had been taught from an early age never to cause offense to one’s host, I bravely ate each shrimp.
My eyes were flooded, my mouth was on fire, and my throat felt like I had swallowed a burning lump of brimstone. My wife said later my face turned bright red.
I reached my chopsticks out to my bowl of rice, it was completely empty!
And I couldn’t ask for more, because I had always been taught that if my host ever asked me if I wanted more rice at the end of a meal, I was to always answer, “No”. Asking for more rice at the end of a meal indicates that the host did not feed you well enough, and is a major cultural faux-pas.
I don’t know what was in that dish, but I never had the courage to go back to that restaurant.
Wait, were you saying Mexican and Cajun are spicier than the Asian cuisines? Completely the other way around for me. Never found Mexican or Cajun to hit crazy spice levels, unlike Thai, Hunan, and Szechuan foods.
I’m one of those people who enjoys what other people won’t touch. The waiter always says, “that’s really hot are you sure?” and I say “bring it.” It’s pleasantly hot. I go to those wing places that have mild, medium, hot, super hot and “attempted murder” and I’ll have the attempted murder. Yup, very hot, but still enjoyable.
So, I’m at this pan-asian place and there’s nothing particularly spicy on the menu. Pretty bland stuff, except for one item. Hot and spicy soup. “I’ll have that” I say. The waiter said I probably shouldn’t. It’s really hot. Well I’ve heard that before. I’ll take it. The waiter warned me again. “You really probably shouldn’t.”
Holy fuck. That was ridiculous. As a matter of pride I tried to finish at least half of it, but I think I gave up after about a third of it. That soup had no flavor; it was pure fire and pain.
It kinda made me mad. The restaurant was not known as a hot and spicy place. Why put something on the menu no one is supposed to order? It’s like the chefs in the back are laughing, “fuck this guy, we’ll make him suffer.”
It’s not that they’re spicier, I imagine. Just that the spice is incorporated in different ways. Familiar heat is easier to take than unfamiliar heat, even if the level of heat is similar.
Mrs. Renfro’s Ghost Pepper Nacho Cheese Sauce. The spiciest queso I’ve ever had.
I once had a Subway sandwich so hot it made my throat almost close up. Sriracha chicken, jalapenos and buffalo sauce. Big mistake.
A local brewery was doing a tasting at a bar. They had many of their beers available to try and they were all pretty good. Toward the end of the event they mentioned a ghost pepper stout that we could try, but they stressed that it was extremely hot. They had one bomber bottle sans label.
I watched other guys get their samples in tiny plastic shot glasses filled 1/8 to 1/4 full. Basically a few drops. People were grimacing and complaining. I tried a sip and kind of liked it.
I went back and got a full shot glass. I sipped it and between coughs/chokes it actually had an interesting taste. I think I had two more shots before calling it a night.
I had nasty-horrible diarrhea the next day along with nausea and a stomachache.
I posted this in a completely unrelated thread in 2001, but it applies here as well:
I think they had to stop putting actual acid in their acid wings. My story was from 25 years ago.
Oh, no, the Duff’s wings were as acidic as ever. Chokingly so if you get a full whiff of them. Just not as spicy as I was expecting/hoping.
Hell Pizza in New Zealand has four levels; Flame Kissed, Forked Tongue, Ring of Fire and Hot as Hell. I ordered a pizza with the third level of heat and it was barely edible. A thai fish curry I had was of a similar heat but delicious, same goes for a couple of Indian curries I’ve eaten - painful and eye-watering but absolutely delicious and satiating along with it.
This just goes to show that the level of heat one can tolerate is often dependent on the food it’s on.
I loved me some hot thai food in Ottawa years ago. There, the chef decided what level of heat a particular dish would be served with. You couldn’t order it hotter, or milder.
I got a beef dish labeled as extremely hot, and the heat complemented the flavors perfectly. Had it not, the heat would have overwhelmed me. As it was, I did make one statement that became a family favorite: “My food! It’s full of stars!”
Was it good or bad?
Some Szechuan food in Beijing that was literally half a pound of diced chicken and a pound of Szechuan peppers. I’ve had hotter peppers but not in volume.
Since others are quoting previous posts, I might as well do the same:
(You can click the blue square to see the post in context.)
And that’s still the hottest I’ve gone, even though I’ve picked up quite a taste for both Thai and Indian food since then. I can definitely tolerate hotter food now than I could back then, though, so I wonder if repeating the stunt would be as painful now as it was, but I really have no love for painful levels of spice in and of itself. I’m just glad I can tolerate heat well enough to enjoy a huge range of cuisines.
I ate in a Chinese restaurant in “Little Korea” in Los Angeles. Every patron was served a little dish of kimchee. So hot I didn’t swallow the first bite.
Those Chinese brown peppers are unbelievably hot.
My Dad used to like “Hot Mix”–cauliflower, carrots, and broccoli in a glass jar with some kind of clear liquid. I still wonder what was in that liquid.
A friend invited me to eat in an Indian restaurant on the pier at Redondo Beach, California–“Sitar by the Sea.” Something in the meal must have had Indian curry in it.
I once ate at a Carl’s Jr. (since razed) in Torrance, CA. It had a salad bar that included jalapeños. I didn’t know that; I mistook them for sliced green beans. I learned real quick they weren’t. :eek:
Back when I was living in the New Orleans area, I’d snack on slices of rye bread sprinkled with Tabasco.
I used to eat Crystal Hot Sauce on saltines, soon after I first got enough heat tolerance to eat Tabasco-class hot sauces.