My Son and the Tiny Hot Peppers

When I was still gardening, I once ordered seeds for several unusual kinds of peppers from a home grower. He sent along a packet of seeds with a note that said, “Try these. I don’t know what they’re called but they’re pretty and they eat good.”

They were pretty. The plant made a small bush with bright red little gems of peppers all over it. I grew it in a pot and it was probably the most decorative vegetable I ever grew.

But there was that promise that “…they eat good.” They were tiny, perhaps ¾ of an inch long. Knowing the theory that all peppers have the same amount of heat per pepper no matter how small or large, I was really cautious. I was correct. Those were the hottest freaking peppers I ever tasted and were useful only in a large amount of chili or other stew.

I had a number of friends, mostly male, who prided themselves on enjoying the hottest of food. They were the people who ate the hottest of curries, asked for the hottest of Thai food, and thought Tabasco to be mildly hot. I thought I’d challenge them.

I always offered two peppers. Strangely, the reaction was almost universally the same: The subject of the experiment nibbled a tiny bit off the tip of the pepper, his face took on a peculiar expression as if concealing a tightly-held scream, and he deposited the remainder of the peppers into the trash. One victim turned sort of purplish red. Only one of my chili-lovers didn’t take the bait. He looked at them and put them into his shirt pocket for later use. He didn’t bother to taste them. He had either met them before or knew the “same amount of heat no matter the size” principle. He had also lived in the Southwest and eaten more than his share of peppers and Tex Mex food.

My poor son, though, was an unintended victim. He was about ten at the time and he had always claimed he didn’t like spicy food. He got his nerve up and popped a whole one, seeds and all*, into his mouth before I could stop him. I thought he was going to lose his breath, his heartbeat, and all other functions. We had milk, so he drank probably a quart or more trying to put the fire out. It worked to some extent, and he was finally able to breathe. Water finished the job.

He was much too young for the better remedy: wine or beer. The alcohol dissolves the oil and takes it away. The calcium in milk just helps neutralize the acid but it’s only somewhat effective. Sometimes buttered bread helps as the butter dilutes the pepper oil. Water does nothing because the oil clings to the inside of the mouth and water won’t wash it away.

After that, hot food never intimidated him again. No amount of spiciness could come even close to that incendiary little pepper that “… [were] pretty and they eat good.”
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*The seeds of any pepper are much hotter than the flesh.

(c)2008 Katherine DeWitt