So, Friday night we went to Lil Burro some good Mexican feasting. I had planned on getting a light meal, maybe some jalapeño poppers and one taco. When we get in, there’s a note on the message board about the new Fire Jalapeño Poppers, and a list of people who were able to eat some. The guys up there when I come in had done three and five. I think to myself, “Poppers? Come on, you just toss them back. Five is nothing!” So, we settle down into our booth and order some nice spicy cheesy-salsa dip and chips. It has a little bit of a kick, but I’m not worried about overload. If anything, it’ll get me accustomed and help, right?
When they arrive, I discover what I’m in for. They aren’t poppers. They’re full Anaheim peppers, grown on site, not crap peppers bought at a grocery store. Originally, they looked like these:
They look like this upon arrival:
Up close, they look like this:
Now, I get a little worried. Surely, they can’t be that bad though. I’ve had the Chile Relleños there before and survived intact.
The server had warned, “They’re okay at first, but after the first two or three bites, you’ll really start to feel it.” LIAR! I took one bite and knew I was in serious trouble. Immediately, I went to the iced tea for help. (It didn’t.) Now, I was presented with a serious quandary. Do the smart thing and move on to the taco, swallowing my pride, or trudge onward in a vain attempt to get on that stupid board? You guessed right, I went for the glory, determined to eat all five on my plate and attain honor.
The ensuing half hour was a battle of epic proportions. I valiantly fought bite after bite. Of course, there was a good five minutes between each bite, during which I consumed vast quantities of iced tea, sour cream, ranch dressing, chips, straight sugar packets, and anything else within reach I thought might soak up some of the demon sauce assailing my tongue. In the end, I believe that is what did me in. Peppers + an entire gut full of iced tea-soaked dairy = defeat. With my last ounce of energy divided between taking the last bite and fighting the urge to hurl all over the table, I took the last bite of the third pepper, at which point I literally tossed in the towel (napkin).
After paying, we get up to the front and I put my name on the board with a marginal amount of pride, having not died at the table. Then, I see it. Whilst I was barely surviving a nuclear assault, some guy had apparently done ten, or come back on the same day and did five twice. I was humbled, yet still proud to have my name up there for a few hours until they reset the clock.
I spent the rest of the weekend fearfully waiting for my large intestine to spontaneously rupture; yet, it never happened. For that, I am thankful.