THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT

Sometimes stuff shows up in my inbox that has no conceivable spammatic content, being, more or less communications from a reader-base that wishes to talk without revealing themselves to the general public, or which believes that their query has no interest for many others.

I cater to both types. I may not answer immediately, as several folks in Germany and the Netherlands now realize, but I do eventually answer.

Please note: if there were evidence that the querent was a young female adult who had Wind-In-The-Willowish fantasies about enjoying a cup of coffee with the Badger of Nob Hill, or wished to read Conrad and Faulkner in his presence while quietly enjoying his stimulating company -- which has been described as 'comforting', 'wicked', 'nurturing' and 'life-affirming', in a civilized animal (mustelid) sort of way -- I might respond considerably sooner. Vibrant female persons, between twenty and forty, who are smaller than a badger, and shorter too, get my complete attention.
I am quite fond of weasels, stoats, and martens.
Pole cats and lithe carnivores.
As well as otters.


One person, whom I shall identify as "The February 11th Maccabee", whose original question is partially answered 'here', recently asked if there was a hotsauce which was spicier than Sriracha.

"By the way, do you know if a company makes a sauce as good as the red rooster Sriracha, but hotter? I've found that whatever I'm trying to flavor tastes too much of Sriracha by the time I've added enough for it to be spicy, so that I've had to use two hot sauces! Perhaps the most popular company has an extra-spicy version?"

Sriracha (滙豐食品公司 Huy Fong Foods Corporation) does not make anything stronger. But naturally I remember two sauces that use Habanero chilies: Melinda's, and Dave's.



HOWLING AT THE MOON

["The merciless peppers of Quetzal-Tenango, grown deep in the jungle by inmates of a Guatemalan insane asylum."]

I first encountered Dave's Insanity Sauce several years ago, when Duckwhistle Chin was gloating over his most recent acquisition. He happily let me have a taste, and I marveled at it's intensity. Yes, that is a rather spicy item. It burns. He knew I liked being kicked in the mouth, so he was pleased that I appreciated his sauce as an excellent addition to hamburgers or stewed stringy inedible marshbirds.

While we were talking, we decided that the Redheaded Stepchild, in charge of human resources (and possibly the sheep dip) needed to be exposed to Dave's. So we went into the room where he sat, and innocently told him that we had a sauce we thought he might like, if he ever ventured into spicy territory, but we weren't sure. It might not be flavourful enough. We were hesitant. He probably eschewed such childish things.

We layed it on thick. The Redheaded Stepchild swallowed it up, because we were appealing to his ego and his manly self-image. He was ready to try our humble offering, but he wanted us to go first, just to prove it wasn't poisoned.

Duckwhistle downed a modest spoonful. I did likewise.

Then the Redheaded Stepchild demonstrated what a super hero he was by taking a big gulp.

He had barely said "nah, this ain't ..." when his face turned fire-truck red, and he started sputtering. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help coughing like a cat with hairballs, an asthmatic infant gasping for air, an inveterate cigarette smoker horking up a lung, or a lion seal bellowing down at the pier. For ten whole minutes. Discreetly and diplomatically he lay down on the floor and contorted.

Duckwhistle and I sat there with stone faces.

Duckwhistle has very little capacity to register capsaicin. Some people are like that. And for myself, I've learned that when a point is to be made, I can ignore almost any amount of pain.
It's good, trust me.
Zen.

When he had finally recovered enough to stop spluttering and convulsing, the Redheaded Stepchild swore that he would never speak to us again, we were evil, positively demented and daemonic, the worst computer engineer and credit dude respectively ever in the whole universe, this was a dark day, he wouldn't forget, and he would get even.

The next week he was boasting to the geeks in the back about this fabulous hot sauce he had discovered, why, it was amazing.
A brilliant discovery. He deserved praise.

Unfortunately, he broke his promise to never speak to us again.
Kept asking us in private how we did it.
We never told.


There are other hotsauces that use extra hot peppers. There are even condiments that use the Bhut Jolokia (ghost pepper) from Assam, a mutant that looks totally innocent and ornamental, but which packs in a fire three to five times hotter than Habanero.
One sauce that has gotten rave reviews is Habanero Hotsauce by Blackmarket Hotsauce dot com. They make an entire range of interesting condiments, and are fresh and zesty.

For further happy exploration among the oral nitroglycerin, go to the list at Insane Chicken, and scope out the impressive selection.
It's from 2012, so some of the sauces may no longer be made.
No, I haven't tried them all. Not even most of them.
I do make my own hot preparations, though.
When I can find fresh habaneros.


Now, returning to the concept of a small woman with a book and badger fetish, who lives somewhere Nob, Russian, or Telegraph hills, I cannot tell you how much the concept captures my interest. If she were to also be a cigar smoker, or at the very least did not mind the fine aromas of pipes and cheroots, I would be thrilled beyond measure. Correspondence may lead to lunch, almost definitely to coffee or tea and cookies.
I knew some restaurants that do good fish.
As well as clay pot cooking.

Most of them have bottles of Sriracha.

But we could bring our own.



AFTERWORD

I rearranged my humidors yesterday. It turns out I have far too many cigars. Including several fine pre-revolutionary Nicaraguans, and some long cheroots from the Philippines that were made to order. I smoked three cigars; a thin Dutchman, a Dominican robusto, and a double corona.
The last two sticks while taking a walk, as it was too close to my apartment mate's estimated time of return to risk doing so indoors. Even though I shut her door tightly when she leaves in the morning, and open all the windows, she still gets a bit miffed if she smells the fancy fragrances.
Fortunately the weather is pleasant enough to wander.
Smoking that substance Californians hate.
Scaring women and horses.

And children.

Precious(!) children.

Mustn't forget the children.


The nasty little f*^kers are our future.



Yes, I really am up at 3:40AM, think about cigars and hotsauce.




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