Jalapeno Hazards

At first glance, jalapenos peppers might appear innocuous. However, bite into one and you'll feel as though you've emptied a thousand Red Hots into your mouth. And if the juice should touch your lips, you'll swear you've been sprayed with mace.

Despite this, jalapenos are an essential ingredient in Tex-Mex cuisine. My hot-sauce recipe is no exception. One day, though, these peppers punched up more than my salsa.

It was a sizzling day in August, on an afternoon so hot that squirrels refused to scamper and cicadas agreed to silence. My son Ron, his wife Julie, and the dog they affectionately call my "grandpuppy" had just arrived from out of town. Initially, I thought our swimming pool might be responsible for their impromptu visit. But soon I realized they'd simply run out of hot-sauce.

I said, "I'll make some for you, if you agree to help me." Then I held open my refrigerator door for several minutes, letting the chilled air dry my damp face. "Let me see," I said, peering inside. "I've got tomatoes. Cilantro. Spanish onions. Bell peppers. And of course, these," I said, handing a bag of jalapeno peppers to Ron. "You can seed them."

He seated himself at the kitchen table, and asked, "What do you mean? Seed?"

"I mean cut them lengthwise and scrape out all the seeds." Did he need me to say this in Pig Latin? I warned him to be careful. "You don't want to get any of that juice on you. Anywhere."

Ron gave me a look that suggested maybe I'd regressed a full twenty years. "I think I can handle it, Mom." He grabbed a serrated knife and sawed away.

I thought to myself, he might be a police officer but he doesn't know everything. "Don't rub your eyes, whatever you do," I insisted.

"Got it," he said with a smirk.

Julie agreed she'd peel the tomatoes if I'd chop the onions and cilantro. And as the three of us butchered produce, an odoriferous cloud formed inside the kitchen. This made our eyes water and the dog gasp for breath, so we opened a door.

Our red and green soup had to first simmer and then boil for thirty-minutes. Waiting, I cleaned the aftermath of what looked like a vegetable massacre. I'd just begun rinsing my hands when my mother phoned.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Making hot-sauce," I said. "Ron and Julie are here."

"Hot-sauce! What are you going to do with that?"

Mom doesn't understand voluntary combustion. She's the only one in our family who won't consume spicy foods. "Well, I thought we might eat it," I said, laughing. Then I scanned the room for Ron, hoping he might be nearby and willing to rescue me from this inquisition. Maybe he'd want to say "Hi" to his grandmother. But he'd gone to the restroom.

Mom had completed her dietary critique when I heard Ron race into the kitchen. He looked as if he'd been hit with a branding iron, bouncing first on one foot and then the other. With one hand, he firmly clasped his "manhood."

I pulled free of the phone receiver and mouthed, "What's wrong with you?"

He shouted back, "I'm on F-I-R-E! Quick! What do you put on a jalapeno burn?"

Confused, I asked, "Where's the burn?"

"On my John-son!"

Mom hollered through the receiver, "What did he just say?"

I ignored the question. "How did you get jalapeno juice on that?" I inquired, not really wanting to know.

"He got juice on his privates?" Mom said.

I searched the room for Julie and found her standing to my right. She stared at her husband and giggled.

"Is ANYBODY going to give me something, here?" cried Ron.

From the refrigerator I retrieved a tub of margarine. "Here. Take this and rub some on . . . you know," I said, handing him the spread. "Just don't dip!"

"Tell him to pour milk on it," Mom instructed.

I repeated this to Julie. She grabbed a carton and chased after him.

Now, I'd be lying if I said I haven't savored this moment. Come to think of it, that hot-sauce was the best I've ever made!   

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Last Updated: Tuesday, January 08, 2008 10:43 AM