I'm from Arizona. Being born and raised in a desert means that you are used to certain things. For example, seeing snow on TV and in the movies... and only on TV and in the movies. Another example is the anticipation and eventual joy that is monsoon season. Practically all of the annual rainfall occurs during a three to four week period. Everyone has their idea of what Arizona is, but I'm sure most agree on one thing, the place is hot.Hot isn't just the temperature though. From a young age we are taught to appreciate hot flavors as well. Case and point, when I was not even old enough to walk my parents went to a Mexican buffet called Pancho's. The place is awesome! All the Mexican food you can eat, and you can raise a little Mexican flag at your table if you want more food. Tangent! Back to my story. We're sitting in Pancho's, when Dad looks over at me and sees me sitting there sucking on my pacifier. (I was a clever kid.) Having probably just dipped a chip in some salsa he suddenly decides to enroll me in a social study involuntarily. He reaches over and grabs my pacifier, dips it in the salsa and sticks it back in my mouth. Obviously I don't remember this personally, but when he recounts the story he usually says, "I figured if you cried I had milk." Gee, nevermind the fact that you just stuck salsa in your kid's mouth on purpose. However, according to Dad, I instantly noticed that my previously saliva-flavored sucking toy now had a new taste to it. I was intrigued. A puzzled look crossed my face as I tried to decide on whether this change was to my liking. After a moment of thought, and few more hits on the pacifier, I reportedly determined the change was good and continued sucking on it without further response. "That was when I decided to keep you," my Dad finishes.
All of this is to say, I'm definitely no stranger to spicy food. So, about a week ago a co-worker mentioned she had a garden and had been growing all sorts of stuff she was trying to pass on to interested people. She told me about peppers she had and asked if I wanted any. Not one to pass up on free food, I happily accepted the offer. She brought in the peppers pictured in this post last Tuesday in a crate. I grabbed about 3 of the orange ones, 3 of the green ones, the two yellow orange ones, and a small greenish one. As she gave them to me she cautioned that she had eaten a few of them over the weekend and thought they were pretty hot. She suggested cooking them to reduce the intensity.
That night I went home intending to make some sort of stir fry. I had remembered from my time in Arizona that often the seeds of the pepper are what makes it hot. I proceeded to clean out the seeds and cut them into pieces. This probably goes without saying, but I boldly performed this cooking ritual unprotected, without gloves. I had a skillet with some sesame dressing, some vinaigrette, and a small amount of soy sauce. At this point I am tossing anything I think will go well into the skillet. After the peppers I added some cubed chicken, and some cola rice I had made previously. I finished off my creation with some cabbage stuff they add to pupusas, and simmered for a few minutes.
Red flag #1. As I was cooking everything I noticed I was coughing every now and then because of the fumes. "Maybe the sauce and everything heating up is just a little smokey," I reasoned to myself. Nevermind that my roommate, helping me tear up the kitchen floor, was also coughing.
Red flag #2. I happened to brush my nose with my hand at some point in the process. What can only be described as a mix between Icy Hot and sticking your hand on a metal slide that has been sitting in the Arizona summer sun began pulsating on my tender nose parts. My nostril was on fire and rubbing it wasn't making it any better.
Red flag #3. After cooking the mix long enough to make sure it was well cooked (you have to cook out the hot in the peppers right?) , I sat down to eat my meal. The first bite was too warm to taste. "I just need to let it cool down," I again reasoned to myself. After 10 minutes the temperature of the food had not diminished and my nose was still smoldering. I decided to call it a game and not risk punishing my intestines for the next few days with what was obviously spicy food.
Having ignored all of the signs, I went on with my night thinking I had just made a meal that was a little too ambitious and hotter than I really knew I could take. If my story ended there I would have been a happy man. Oh no, I'm an idiot.
I continued my nightly rituals, checking email, watching TV, a nap of three to four hours. I woke up sometime around 1am and discovered that my contacts were dry and my vision was blurry. Yep, they had to come out. Let me pause to tell those of you who don't already know exactly why you never handle hot peppers without gloves. What makes them hot, Capsaicin, is oil based. That means you can't just wash it off with water. So when I put my pepper juice covered finger in my eye to take out my contact, the delicate surface of my eye screamed in pain. "Yeooooooooowwwww!" I groggily murmured. Unfortunately I didn't get it out with the first try.
My mind raced through the events of the night. Take peppers home. Cut open peppers. Wash out peppers with bare hands. Red flags 1, 2, and 3. Burning, tired eyes. Dry contacts. Oh crap! I paused to survey my pain, and then manned-up and went in to retrieve the contact. With one out, and a now swollen right eye, my left eye was waiting in fear. "I gotta get it out," I reasoned, though reason had clearly gone to a different home that night. The burning was much worse that the nose, now only an ember of the previous fire earlier in the night.
All said, the ordeal of getting the contacts out wasn't long lived. I restored my sight with my blessed glasses and went to bed shortly thereafter. I knew the next morning was going to be a challenge and did a quick search on the internet about ensuring the pepper juices of liquid fire were removed from my hands. I found a page where some guy had capsaicin on his hands and was barely able to tolerate the pain. A few posts suggested pouring milk on his hands for temporary relief. Another post suggested lemon juice. A few other posts unwisely suggested bleach. I also learned again of the oil-based qualities of my now immediate nemesis.
The next morning I set off to make sure my hands would be free from the pepper juice. I went downstairs to the kitchen to engage in cleaning. I first poured olive oil on my hands thinking I would get the one oil off with the other. After that I poured milk on my hands. Who knows, maybe there was some inactivating enzyme that would work its magic. Finally I poured some lemon juice. "There, clean from eye irritating oils," I concluded.
You probably already know the next part. My hands weren't the whole problem. When I took the contacts out I had smeared them up with the juices, and left them all night to soak in a water-saline solution. The oils hadn't gone anywhere. I realized this just after I put the first contact back in my eye and it swelled shut for the next 30 minutes. Having taken a step down the path of no return, I again manned-up and put the other contact in. I don't think I would be exaggerating when I say that I considered putting head through a wall to stop the pain. I had to turn off all the lights just to be able to slowly open my eyes. I grabbed some VISINE® FOR CONTACTS® and tried to flush things out. Surprisingly the visine was helpful, but I couldn't get enough into my eyes to actually make a huge difference.
I eventually regained enough composure to venture on to work. I wore sunglasses, like always, but had to cup my hands around the outside of them to keep the sun out. Would you believe the cool air from the AC was wonderful? I got to work and began setting up for a training I had to do. While sitting in the room one of my co-workers walked by and asked if I was crying. "Well, yes, but not for what you think," I replied.