I'm outta here...

I am two days away from rejoining Aleda and Maria in Nova Scotia. Being alone these past few nights has encouraged an extreme personal cuisine. Each evening, I taste my various chiles in an attempt to gauge their flavors, their subtleties, their dynamics... and it, the volcanic IT, finally erupted. This 3" yellow pod (pictured) is called the DEVIL'S TONGUE... and it licked me. Just two hours ago I halved the fruit, inspected its "oils," and inhaled the exposed flesh. [The best way to immediately discern the differences of all these many varieties is through smell.] There were citrus blossoms and a ripe habanero fragrance, but the capsicum pungency immediately kicked me in my ruddy face and I started to cry. I shook IT off and went in for a taste with my eyes shut and a full glass of wine on hand (normally the best fire-soothing companion). Lemon merengue, honey, and... Death! Or, at least, damn near death. I buckled or swooned... I'm not sure what happened because I lost a few moments. Gargling lava, swimming in sulfuric acid... I dunno. I really don't know! For the first time ever I resorted to ice cream (more than a pint!) to dull the pain and swore that Nova Scotia would be free of this kind of self-abuse. I finally need a break. Satan won!

Never Trust the Little Orange Ones

With apologies to Quentin Tarantino, this is the real "Hateful Eight." One particular pod of poison, pleasantly named "Orange Teapot" (second from right), seems like a friendly fellow; but damn him straight to Maleboge (his place of birth?): He's a duplicitous, vulgar little jerk who nearly destroyed my evening.