A whole new meaning for "Flame Throwing"

The first sign of trouble was when our waitress asked if I had to work the next day.

“No,” I said matter-of-factly without any explanation.

“Good.” She sounded sincerely relieved for me. “When I ate just half of one of these, it changed my entire system the next day,” she explained as she waved her hands up and down her torso, lingering in the gastrointestinal area. “Good luck!”

And with that, the challenge began. We were in a restaurant in Portland last night that bills itself as Pirate Cookin’. It’s a cross between New Orleans Creole and Caribbean food. My entrée was a Mac Pie which was elbow macaroni with a bunch of cheeses, roasted tomatoes, sweet peppers, and habanero chilies. Doesn’t that sound yummy? I’ll let you know how it is when I have the left-overs for lunch. I never got around to eating it last night.

The purpose for our excursion was the restaurant’s “Great Balls of Fire.” Still moping around after the disappointing trip to Albuquerque a few weeks ago (see March 6 post), I was desperate to find some heat. The Balls have a reputation – as do I – so I was eager to put both to the test. I'm calling it a tie.

Listed at the top of the menu was:

The Infamous Great Balls of Fire – Many have tried, some have died! Eat all 5 habanero-cheese fritters with the sauce and get your picture on the Wall of Flame!!

So with five witnesses, I cut the first meat-ball-sized fritter in half. It was deep-fat fried and dense, sort of like a hush puppy. The cheese wasn’t gooey. It was more bready and there were little orange flakes of chopped habaneros throughout. I took my first bite. Not really all that hot. And honestly, not all that flavorful. The instructions clearly stated that I had to finish not just the Balls but the salad-dressing dish of sauce as well. I dipped my fork in the sauce. Whoooo doggies!!! Now THAT was some heat. It was immediately clear that the challenge was the sauce, not the fritters. Having assessed the situation, I put my game face on and dug in.

Meanwhile, the five friends were “enjoying” one shared Ball among them. My smelt dipping friend (see February 6 post) asked me if it was hot. Still able to speak at that point, I said, “The ball isn’t so bad, but be careful of the sauce.” She confidently plopped a forkful of unsauced Ball in her mouth and immediately turned bright red. Her eyes watered. After delicately removing most of what had gone in her mouth, she started coughing and her hands flew around reaching for napkins and drinks. She then uttered a few choice words, thankfully none aimed at me.

At this point, I think I had finished one Ball and I had already removed my coat. Somewhere around Ball 2.5, my hair was sweating. On my recommendation, my friend summoned some milk. She was very kind to get me some as well. Midway through Ball 3, I blew my nose and that dish of half-finished sauce suddenly looked huge. About half of my milk was gone. Another friend declared me muy loco while aiming his camera phone at me. At Ball 4, my forehead was sweating. Not just a glisten, a sweat. And my legs were bouncing. Like a swimming duck, it was pretty calm above the table but below the table my legs were like jack-hammers, trying to release some of the accumulating pain, energy, and flight response. As I cut Ball 5 in half, I was very ready to be finished. I could see the bottom of the sauce dish but I still had enough for my final Ball. Staring at the photos of previous idiots, I defiantly mopped up the rest of the sauce and put the last pieces in my mouth. And this was when the real fun began.

I knew that as soon as I stopped, the pain would really set in. The waitress had been kind enough to offer some sugar packets, “A little secret if you find yourself ‘in a situation’ if you know what I mean.” I had never tried sugar before. I used maybe half a packet and it eventually did help. As did the smoothy, the full glass of milk, the half-glass of water, and the half-glass of margarita. My friends noted that my chest was a little red. Upon further inspection, I determined it was a heat rash. Shortly thereafter, my picture was taken.

Somewhere along here, our entrees arrived. That wonderful sounding Mac Pie wrapped in a banana leaf now looked really unappetizing. As the rest of the table enjoyed their meals, I sat in a daze. I managed to get the heat under control but the roof of my mouth was raw and numb. My tongue was doing ok, mostly because I had elected to eat the balls sauce side up, so the roof took the heat instead of my tongue. Yes, I’ve had practice. And then, blissfully, the coveted Pepper High set in. Really hot foods release endorphins. These are happy chemicals. Now you know The Secret.

The rest of the meal is a bit fuzzy. I just sat there, buzzing and mellow. Several times the waitress reiterated how fortunate it was that I didn’t have to work the next day and that I really must have an iron stomach. All I could offer was that time would tell.

We almost made it home. Without going into too many details, I’ll admit my throat is a little sore this morning and my back hurts. Rob assures me that I can still claim victory since I managed to get the Great Balls of Fire and the Liquid Sunshine Sauce into my system. It was just a matter of time before they all made a hasty exit one way or another. I am indeed happy I don’t have to work today, though. It would get in the way of my two exercise classes.

UPDATE as of 10:41am: I went to the gym. I was an even more esquisite example of "low impact" than normal in Class #1. I skipped Class #2. I'm now on the hunt for toast and chicken soup.