Hot stuff

Rob enjoys spicy food. When asked at Thai restaurants how spicy, he says, “Max it out.”

Saturday, in celebration of his birthday, a Vancouver Thai restaurant gave him yellow curry that he said was the spiciest he’d ever had. I think that means he liked it. Especially since he wanted to take the doggy bag back to our hotel fridge and then back home the next day, even though it would sit in our car for several hours while we visited the Body Worlds 3 exhibit. Although, since he didn’t take it to work with him yesterday, I think we’ve passed the point at which he will eat leftover food. 48 hours is about his limit.

Among my very romantic gifts to him was a bottle of “Ass Blaster” hot sauce. It has a donkey and an outhouse on the label. He was delighted and wanted to test it last night on tacos. (Even though we’d driven through Taco Time the night before. He loves tacos.)

He distributed the Ass Blaster liberally on his carne asada, and … you see where this is going right? … proceeded to actually die from the hotness. Water made it worse. He drank milk straight from the gallon container, but a few minutes later the burn returned.

This, he said, was the hottest thing he had ever tasted. Then he read the ingredients, which included the main ingredient in pepper spray. Who knew that was even edible?

Rob said, “I have been defeated.”

He decided to take the bottle with him to work today and dare his coworkers to try it. If I weren’t a strong believer in the 8th Amendment, I’d suggest he sprinkle it on some of the juvenile offenders’ trays. Actually, I did suggest it. But I was kidding.

Published by Kari Neumeyer

Writer, editor, dog mom, ovarian cancer survivor

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