I love to cook. It relaxes me. My kitchen is my sanctuary.
I got mad skills too.
This past weekend I decided that I wanted Mexican. (To clarify, the type of food and not a type of guy.)
Fajitas to be exact.
I didn't have any salsa. I had everything I needed to make one, but decided since I had some fresh pineapple to make a sweet pineapple salsa instead. Yes, you guessed it, I am a chance taker.
I found a pretty easy recipe on the Internet.
1/2 of a pineapple.
1 small red onion.
2 tablespoons cilantro
2 tablespoons of lemon juice
2 jalapeño peppers diced.
Salt and pepper to taste.
Okay, I am willing to take chances when it comes to ingredients. In fact I will try anything once. But I am not crazy about hot stuff. I want to be able to taste my food and when there is a lot of heat in something I find that it stops my taste buds from working correctly. So in anticipation of that I only added 1/2 of 1 jalapeño to the salsa.
It looked beautiful. It smelled beautiful.
Hmmm, how can I describe this in a way that makes complete sense and paints a picture.
There was no taste. None at all. There was just heat. Heat. Hot. Hot. More heat. All I felt was heat. Too much heat. It was so bad that I wanted to cut my own lips off. And to top it off, I had no milk. Luckily I remembered a container of Oikos Greek pineapple yogurt was sitting in the back of my fridge. Thank you John Stamos for being so damn cute I bought your yogurt and had it on hand. I was in pain for almost 30 minutes (which actually felt more like days that passed in a haze of pain and suffering) until I started to get relief from the dairy.
But the best part, and I can't even believe I am putting this out there, was when I got into the shower. I thought I had washed all of the heat from the jalapeño off of my hands, turns out, I was wrong. And I don't even want to go into how I know I was wrong or what I touched that I later needed to slather yogurt over to get the burning to stop. Trust me that is one mental picture you really don't need or want.