The Joy of Cooking
I would like to tell you about the most painful cooking experience I've had since tripping and taking a header into a whirring blender.
We had a lot of fresh vegetables and some chicken. I decided on the fresh tomatoes and banana peppers. But wait...those aren't banana peppers. They are Hungarian wax peppers (a.k.a. hot banana peppers).
I should also mention that one of my hands is not quite right. I burned the pinky finger awhile ago and a lawn mower accident left me with a scrape on the palm. Neither wound has healed well and consists of very dry patches of slightly raw skin. Apparently, the skin there has enough room to allow a robust interaction between the pepper's active chemical capsaicin and the nerves in my hand. You see, capsaicin binds to a receptor called the vanilloid receptor subtype 1 (VR1). VR1, an ion channel-type receptor which can also be stimulated with heat and physical abrasion, permits positively-charged ions to pass through the cell membrane and into the cell from outside when activated. The resulting "depolarization" of the neuron stimulates it to signal the brain. By binding to the VR1 receptor, the capsaicin molecule produces the same effect that excessive heat or abrasive damage would cause.
In other words, shortly after cutting up the peppers my hands start stinging and burning. I try a quick soap and water wash in the sink, but I quickly stop as it feels like fire is shooting out of the faucet rather than water. My hands are on fire! I scream for help and my wife starts shouting out suggestions.
Milk! I douse my hand in milk. Only, it doesn't feel like milk. Now it feels like I plunged my hand into a fire ant nest. Flame-resistant fire ants. Now my hand is still on fire while red ants swarm all over, stinging, biting, the queen burrowing under my skin and laying eggs where they hatch and give birth to teething infant fire ants.
Rubbing alcohol! Rub off that chili pepper oil with alcohol! I run to the bathroom and start sponging down with alcohol. Only, the bathroom was already occupied. Do dragons piss gasoline? Because there was a dragon standing over the toilet who, angered by my intrusion, turns and pisses gasoline on my hand. He laughs. Snorting laughter that shoots flaming snot rockets on to my hand. The fire is burning bright as sun now.
I'm running around the house, screaming like a little girl, starting at my hand in disbelief, wondering why my skin is not melting off. It looks normal, utterly unharmed, but still feels like a flaming ant-infested, dragon-fired hunk of meat. I want to run around the house, dipping it in everything, seeking relief. Pudding. Laundry detergent. Syrup. A cat's ass. The mother fuckin garbage disposal.
Finally, I settle on a first generation anti-histamine with a shot of vodka while I submerge my hand in a bucket full of ice. The nervous system depressant combined with the extreme cold seem to make the burning bearable. At least enough to type.
So, was dinner worth it? I'll let you be the judge.
Recipe: Flaming Red Hand Chicken
2 lb boneless skinless chicken thigh pieces
1 large vidalia onion
a sprig of rosemary, two sprigs of thyme, several leaves of purple basil and thai basil
a few grinds of pepper
four banana peppers (or hot banana peppers, although the mouth heat is not nearly as bad as the wounded hand heat)
about a pound and a half of fresh, garden-ripe tomatoes (a couple low-acid meaty yellows, some meaty reds), coarsely chopped
fresh garlic cloves, sliced
one glass of marsala wine
olive oil
Brown the chicken in olive oil. Add onion, peppers, and garlic. Cook until onions are tender. Add everything else and lower the heat. Simmer forever. Or an hour or so.
Ouch.
We had a lot of fresh vegetables and some chicken. I decided on the fresh tomatoes and banana peppers. But wait...those aren't banana peppers. They are Hungarian wax peppers (a.k.a. hot banana peppers).
I should also mention that one of my hands is not quite right. I burned the pinky finger awhile ago and a lawn mower accident left me with a scrape on the palm. Neither wound has healed well and consists of very dry patches of slightly raw skin. Apparently, the skin there has enough room to allow a robust interaction between the pepper's active chemical capsaicin and the nerves in my hand. You see, capsaicin binds to a receptor called the vanilloid receptor subtype 1 (VR1). VR1, an ion channel-type receptor which can also be stimulated with heat and physical abrasion, permits positively-charged ions to pass through the cell membrane and into the cell from outside when activated. The resulting "depolarization" of the neuron stimulates it to signal the brain. By binding to the VR1 receptor, the capsaicin molecule produces the same effect that excessive heat or abrasive damage would cause.
In other words, shortly after cutting up the peppers my hands start stinging and burning. I try a quick soap and water wash in the sink, but I quickly stop as it feels like fire is shooting out of the faucet rather than water. My hands are on fire! I scream for help and my wife starts shouting out suggestions.
Milk! I douse my hand in milk. Only, it doesn't feel like milk. Now it feels like I plunged my hand into a fire ant nest. Flame-resistant fire ants. Now my hand is still on fire while red ants swarm all over, stinging, biting, the queen burrowing under my skin and laying eggs where they hatch and give birth to teething infant fire ants.
Rubbing alcohol! Rub off that chili pepper oil with alcohol! I run to the bathroom and start sponging down with alcohol. Only, the bathroom was already occupied. Do dragons piss gasoline? Because there was a dragon standing over the toilet who, angered by my intrusion, turns and pisses gasoline on my hand. He laughs. Snorting laughter that shoots flaming snot rockets on to my hand. The fire is burning bright as sun now.
I'm running around the house, screaming like a little girl, starting at my hand in disbelief, wondering why my skin is not melting off. It looks normal, utterly unharmed, but still feels like a flaming ant-infested, dragon-fired hunk of meat. I want to run around the house, dipping it in everything, seeking relief. Pudding. Laundry detergent. Syrup. A cat's ass. The mother fuckin garbage disposal.
Finally, I settle on a first generation anti-histamine with a shot of vodka while I submerge my hand in a bucket full of ice. The nervous system depressant combined with the extreme cold seem to make the burning bearable. At least enough to type.
So, was dinner worth it? I'll let you be the judge.
Recipe: Flaming Red Hand Chicken
2 lb boneless skinless chicken thigh pieces
1 large vidalia onion
a sprig of rosemary, two sprigs of thyme, several leaves of purple basil and thai basil
a few grinds of pepper
four banana peppers (or hot banana peppers, although the mouth heat is not nearly as bad as the wounded hand heat)
about a pound and a half of fresh, garden-ripe tomatoes (a couple low-acid meaty yellows, some meaty reds), coarsely chopped
fresh garlic cloves, sliced
one glass of marsala wine
olive oil
Brown the chicken in olive oil. Add onion, peppers, and garlic. Cook until onions are tender. Add everything else and lower the heat. Simmer forever. Or an hour or so.
Ouch.