I gave myself a whanging chemical burn on my hands this evening cutting up what seemed to be a fairly innocuous couple of Anaheim chile peppers. They're supposed to be some of the milder chiles and I don't tend to wear gloves unless I'm working with habaneros.
The Anaheim is the long green one that's sort of in the middle in the picture.
It's not the first time I've abused my hands by misjudging the level of capsaicin in what was supposed to be a mild chile. A couple of overly keyed up poblanos also burned my fingers (and a couple of other tender parts before I realized what was happening) while I was in pursuit of peperonata greatness (which means making the recipe in the link, but using hot peppers for some or all of the bell peppers).
But, a love of chile peppers generally tends to imply a certain willingness to engage in self abuse. How else then could one achieve the adrenaline jacked high that the burn of the chile leaves you with as your body releases endorphins to counteract the pain that you've inflicted on yourself on purpose? Redness, burning and generally inflamed skin after chile preperation is acceptable collateral damage.
I've added more serranos than were absolutely neccessary to my recipe for guacamole and thrown handfuls of tiny, mouth numbing Thai bird peppers into a weekday evening stirfry. I've even infused habaneros into simple syrup to pour over sorbet for dessert. Cayenne pepper in my hot chocolate? Done that. If I can find an excuse to work a chile pepper into a recipe, I will. The more the better. The greater the burn, the bigger the high. Peel me off the damn ceiling.
No. I don't have an addictive personality. Why do you ask?
Speaking of which, the dry work week continues. T minus 21 hours and counting until booze o' clock!
Technorati Tags: Chile Peppers , Food , Addiction , Dining