The wimpiness of the British palette is well known. Sure there’s the occasional heavy smoker and chili addict who’s burned off their taste buds who eats peppers by the handful, but for the most part they don’t do hot. So while the tameness of chilis I’ve found in supermarkets was not exactly a surprise, it has still been a bit of a disappointment.
Sainsburys’ chili section was looking pretty spare today, but for the first time I’ve noticed they had scotch bonnets, so I bought some. Jesse chopped it up for a stir fry (more on that later), washed his hands and thought that was the end of it. Until he rubbed his nose. And I guess because it hurt a bit, he kept rubbing because 20 minutes later he was apparently in unbelievable pain. He washed with soap and water. He washed with olive oil. He washed with milk. And then stood in the shower for 10 minutes and rinsed his nose some more.
But some time in the middle of suggesting soothing liquds, I started to become afraid of dinner. I ran into the kitchen and scooped out some of the chilis. I even used a knife for fear of touching the little monsters. The chili was defeated at last and he went back to watching tv in peace. And now I have to live with the shame of being afraid of a cute little pepper.