[Assam] How Not to Eat the Bhot Jolokia - on Associated Press

[utpal borpujari]

How Not to Eat the World's Hottest Chili

By TIM SULLIVAN, AP

New Delhi: I know people who regularly eat <i>bhut jolokias</i> — the 'ghost
chili' now rated as the world's hottest pepper. They're nice people. I like
them. They don't seem crazy.

Appearances are deceiving.

I ate an entire <i>bhut jolokia</i> the other night, sitting at my dining
room table with an open beer and — on the advice of the experienced — a bowl
of yogurt and a few slices of bread at the ready.

I had the strange fear that nothing would happen, that I had travelled
halfway across India in search of a chili that would be no hotter than an
apple. I thought I was prepared.

What followed was a gastronomic mugging.

I know, I know. You probably think I'm exaggerating, or maybe just
inexperienced in the ways of chilis.

"I like hot peppers," you're saying to yourself, thinking of those times —
you were probably in college, maybe your early 20s — when you'd had too much
to drink and challenged a friend to a chili-pepper- eating contest. You
slopped down one jalapeno after another, enjoying the way it battered your
system.

I used to think like that too. But that was before my encounter the other
night, when I took the first nibble from the end of a red vegetable, barely
two inches long and weighing little more than a sheet of paper.

"Not too bad," I said aloud to the empty room. My ignorance lasted about
three seconds. It was hot. Hotter than anything I'd ever eaten. My tongue
burned, I began to cough.

I knew I'd have to eat quickly, or I wouldn't be able to finish it. So I
took another bite, and chewed. Then another. I ate down to the stem. I
swallowed.

It's not how <i>bhut jolokias</i> are normally eaten — most locals use them
in sauces, or chew off tiny pieces between bites of their main course — but
I figured I should get the full experience (Plus, let me add, one of my
editors suggested this exercise in masochism: Thank you, Ken).

The full experience?

It was awful. My eyes watered uncontrollably and my nose ran. I felt like I
was gargling with acid. My hands quivered. As the minutes passed, the pain
grew worse.

I shoveled in yogurt: No relief. I chewed bread: Nothing. My head felt like
it was expanding. My ears felt as if hot liquid was draining from them.
Picture one of those old <i>Tom and Jerry </i>cartoons, with steam blasting
from Tom's ears as a train whistle blows. That was me.

The experts say beer and water do no good at such times. Maybe that's true,
but gulps of very cold beer were the only things that helped me — washing
away the pain for a few blessed seconds.

Twenty minutes later, I had recovered enough to speak clearly. So I called
my wife in New York, where she is on vacation with our children. She laughed
at me. A day later, my tongue felt as if it had been scrubbed with a wire
brush.

And a day after that, a friend made me a lunch flavoured with <i>bhut
jolokias</i> .

It was a traditional meal from Nagaland, the north-eastern state along the
Myanmar border where my friend was born, and where super-hot chilis are a
part of life. There was diced chicken and hunks of pork and a cold stew of
fermented tofu beans, all spiced with the chilis.

The food was simple, delicious. It was mild by the standards of Nagaland,
just one <i>bhut jolokia</i> or so for each dish. I loved it.
I just hope she couldn't see that my eyes were watering again!
       
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