Note: The following story really happened, and I’m usually not allowed to tell it because it paints my husband in a less than flattering light. So, I want to preface this by saying that my husband is the nicest sweetest man on the planet. Ok, now lets get on with the story.
Some time ago my husband bought some hot sauce for me. He knew I liked REALLY hot stuff, so my darling ordered a bottle of Blair’s Jersey Death Sauce. To put the rest of this story in perspective, here is Nick’s review of Blair’s Jersey Death Sauce. I think the most important sentence in that review is that this sauce should not be used without dilution.
Anyway, my husband didn’t read that bit on the bottle, and decided to surprise me by making me a snack incorporating his new find. He made me a grilled cheese sandwich liberally doused in Blair’s Jersey Death Sauce. We’re talking globs, here.
I ate about half the sandwich, and my face started tingling, my ears were ringing, and well, loathe as I am to admit it, the sauce was too hot for me. I put the sandwich down, and went off to pour a glass of milk. My husband comes around, and we have the following conversation:
(Keep in mind that at this point I do not know what hot sauce is on my sandwich, and why it is burning me up so bad.)
Him: What’s wrong with the sandwich?
Me: I’m not sure I’m loving the new hot sauce – it’s a tad too hot for me.
Him: What? What are you talking about? There’s no such thing as a sauce too hot for you. It’s perfect! Finish the sandwich!
Me: I’m telling you, I’m not finishing that sandwich. It’s inedible!
Him: Oh puh-lease, I had the same sandwich and I was fine with it. How could you not handle the heat?
(This went on for a few minutes, and then inspiration struck.)
Me: Okay, tell you what. You eat a bite of this sandwich, and if you tell me that it’s fine, I’ll eat the rest of it.
Him: No!
Me: I’m not eating this sandwich unless you take a bite. Unless you know, you’re admitting that you had a considerably less hot sandwich
(The women in the crowd will recognize this as the oldest lie exposure gambit in the book. Being male, he cannot now find a manly way to back out of the pain he knows awaits him if he takes a bite. On the other hand, he definitely cannot admit that I’m right.)
He took a bite.
I’ve promised not to reveal what happened next in the interest of staying married, but let’s just say that several gallons of milk and a big honking can of I-told-you-so may have been involved.
7 responses to “What’s On My Sandwich? Death!”
Rumors that I cried like a little girl are blatantly false. My attorney advises me to report that I took it like a man, and drank the whole bottle just to show her who was boss.
Fabulous!
I did something similar when I first got into hot sauce. I bought a bottle of Blair’s Mega Death. I didn’t know what that meant. The first time I used it, I added copious amounts to the tomato sauce that was to go on the pizza I was making. Neither of us could finish a single slice, and we paid for it the next day as well. Now, to avoid it happening again, I always test each sauce before using it. Just in case.
That’s funny, tell another one!
[…] Additional Material: Earlier review of Jersey Death by Nick Thylas sandwich showdown Other posts by Nick LindauerFiled under: General Comments: […]
My fiance is a hot sauce addict. Several times though (usually when using “After Death” or “Geckzilla”)he looked about ready to keel over dead. Does anyone know if too much hot sauce could actually kill you? No really, I want to know, because the guy tortures himself, tears streaming down his face, coughing, red-faced, gasping. When I’m done laughing, I usually stick around to make sure he keeps breathing.
“Pain is weakness leaving the body” and the scene in the movie “Fight Club” (searing, flesh…) have a lot in common with this concoction…Dilution is not the solution, straight up is the way to go….