Tuesday, May 04, 2010


I was in tears last night, following my latest experiment with dried chilli peppers.

The recipe was much the same as before: sweat a chopped onion in olive oil with some garlic, then chuck in some tomatoes, a tin of chickpeas, half a tin of water and some salt, and leave to simmer for 45 minutes.

There's two magic ingredients: a hefty slug of the undrinkable brandy I bought to immolate my Christmas pudding in, and some dried chilli peppers.

Last night, I chose the largest four from the jar, chopped them up and threw them in. I did try to eliminate as many seeds as I could before I did that, but clearly to no avail. By 9:30 I was sat on the sofa, spoon in one hand, bowl of stew in the other, blubbing while my girlfriend reminded me that I don't like hot food.

Well, it's not that I don't like hot food. It's more that I dislike my face turning crimson while hot tears of pain run down my cheeks. A crimson face on its own suggests good vascular function1; by themselves, tears indicate somebody so tender and sensitive that they are moved to weeping by the misery of the world.

But both together? It's just a clear sign of incompetence with condiments.2

1 I'm not a doctor, so you might want to take professional advice before believing this.
2 Thankfully, this did at least act as a distraction from the greater pain of my shoulders and thighs following Sunday's run, at least until I went for a massage later on and was near to bellowing with agony as a small woman applied all her weight to my legs.


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