Salsa.

As I write this blog, I am pressing my lips furiously against the condensation on my glass of water, as I naively decided that I no longer needed the ice cube I was previously using.

I made home-made salsa once. After eating it at a friend's house, I looked up a recipe for mild salsa, and where the recipe called for optional jalapeno peppers, I decilined. My salsa was delicious, although it had a tad bit too much cilantro for my taste.

Today, I went to Publix with Mike to buy some sort of delicious fruit. As we perused the fruit section, he stopped in front of one bin and became rather excited. I was confused and hesitant, since I didn't want to disappoint him by letting him know that tomatillos, while tiny, green, and interesting looking, couldn't possibly be whatever delicious fruit for which he had mistaken them. Luckily, he began raving about homemade salsa, buying all the necessary ingredients on the spot.

Later that evening, we began the process of making said salsa. Now, when I made salsa, I just stuck some large pieces into the Magic Bullet, via suggestion of my father, and ended up with a chunky, delicious sort of salsa, like the one my friend inspired me to make. This salsa, however, was to be finely ground. Finely ground. I don't think you are quite getting the picture. Imagine cutting something into itsy-bitsy pieces in your mind, so that it is approaching inhalant-size. Then Mike tells you, "Oh, it's almost there, just go through it a few more times!" Really? Are we drinking this salsa? Also, since we are making a rather large bowl of this salsa, it takes hours to chop everything. It took two people about two hours, so I can't imagine the task of making it alone. However, after hours of cutting, sore hands, sore back, and other similar symptoms, the salsa was ready for the taste test.

Because of the ingredients, I knew it would be spicier than my jalapeno-free salsa. Also, I knew that habanero peppers were one of the most spicy substances known to man. I even should have been warned when Mike, with a much higher spicy tolerance than me (as a child, Popeye's chicken strips, which aren't spicy, were too much for my tongue, let alone anything that dared called itself mild) was shocked, though impressed, with the spiciness of this salsa. Instead, I chose to put a miniscule amount of salsa on a tortilla chip and take a nibble. Bad idea.

I jumped back, repeating the words, "Too spicy! Milk!" until Mike poured me a glass of the small amount of milk he had left. After taking a sip, I tried another bite. This method may have allowed me to eat a considerable amount of the salsa which, though tasty, could burn a hole through certain types of cloth. When the milk was finished, I was finished with salsa. However, two minutes of washing my hands with soap and water had not removed the pepper residue. I mistakenly licked my thumb, only to be assaulted with another wave of fire. With no milk, I grabbed an ice cube. I'm not sure if I counteracted the spice or if I successfully numbed my mouth. Either way, it dulled the pain.

I will never again volunteer to mince the habanero peppers.