Murray considers himself a bit of a chili novice. He enjoys a touch of flavor, a gentle warmth, but anything beyond that is strictly off-limits. So, when the waiter at the new Mexican restaurant asked about his spice preference, Murray was emphatic: “Mild, please! As mild as you’ve got!” He even double-checked, just to be safe.
His tacos arrived, looking deceptively innocent. A vibrant salsa adorned the top, its color hinting at freshness rather than fiery intensity. Murray took a confident bite. The initial flavors were pleasant – tangy tomatoes, sweet onions, a hint of cilantro. Then, the heat hit. It wasn’t a gradual warmth; it was an immediate, intense inferno that seemed to engulf his entire mouth.
His eyes watered. His face flushed. He gasped for air, feeling like a dragon exhaling a plume of pure fire. The “mild” sauce was anything but. It was a volcanic eruption in his mouth, a culinary betrayal of epic proportions. Twenty agonizing minutes followed, filled with frantic gulps of water, desperate pleas for milk, and the bewildered stares of his dining companions. Murray’s lips tingled long after the initial burn subsided. He learned a valuable lesson that day: “mild” is a highly subjective term, and sometimes, it’s best to err on the side of extreme caution when it comes to spicy food. He left the restaurant with a newfound respect (and fear) of chili peppers, and a story that would be recounted with much laughter for years to come.
