Tuesday 7 August 2012

Chilli memory

Over the past few days chillis, that is chilli peppers, have figured quite prominently in my daily itinerary. Now, anyone that knew me during my time in French Guiana, I'm looking at your; Trev, Liam and Sarah, knows that I have a very painful blind spot in my memory for hot food.

Years between the consumption of hot chilli peppers can be excused and as such my performance at the Great Dorset chilli festival can be excused but whilst in the only EU community in South America things were different.

OK, I was younger and fitter then:


But, I did, and still do have a problem when deciding which spicy foods to have a go at. We hadn't been in country for long, in fact I believe that it was, maybe the second or third night. It was down to myself, my room-mate and co-conspirator for most of my time in Kourou, Trev Lund and the contract manager, Dave Kelleher to find somewhere to talk, reflect and have some food.
At that time, as anyone will attest visiting Kourou in the early noughties, there was little to do, so we began the night at the only real bar Bar des Sports:





Then we were looking for a place to eat. We ended up at La Grillade, a steak outfit that turned out to be the best place to eat for months later. We were served our ordered steaks on wooden platters with respective cutlery and a large Scots bonnet chilli, which I picked up and bit into immediately, stating;

'I love chillis me!'

Fifteen minutes later, I was still convulsing and crying. Two offers of an ambulance had been declined as had a lift to A & E. The sniggering from my colleagues lasted right up until the pain diminished and I could se once more, the French clientele however were more concerned and maintained the call for medical attention, I declined and recovered.

Time passed and my memory faded. In fact, my memory faded all too quickly and was lost well before my next encounter.

A few weeks prior to my acrimonious departure from Kourou and my parent company it transpired that a visit to La Grillade was inevitable. Dave, a great guy but miscast, invited Trev and myself to the restaurant. Once again I was presented with the wooden platter, meat and bell pepper. Once again I attacked the beast, and once again the ambulance was placed on standby.

When the tears and the pain cleared a rather friendly Frenchie took me to one side to explain my ignorance. The 'kin hot chilli was present on the platter in order to cut through with the steak knife and hence to gain a smear of chilli oil. A subsequent cut through the steak would yield a slightly spicy slice of meat, marvellous.

Once again after this weekend I realise that my ignorance with regard to food is paramount and that I have very little memory of food that has caused pain.

Still, I love chilli.




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