I've been trying to avoid jerks all my life, as a general rule. As such, I have also, by association, avoided beef jerky, Steve Martin's "The Jerk", and most importantly, any food with any sort of "jerk sauce". Seriously. Home made jerk sauce?
But today I broke my rule, and bought a Jerked Turkey sandwich at a pub. It was fairly exciting - it came on 7-grain bread, had some fun strange cheese melted on it, some tomatoes, and came with two peppered pickles on the side. The first bite was delicious, the second, delicious, and by the third, while still delicious, I noticed something interesting. I noticed that my mouth was burning. Burning like with oils. Burning oils of sadness. Spicy would be the word, I believe - I'm not sure, since I usually avoid anything that says spicy, so I've never truly experienced it.
Anyway, the jerk sauce really got to me. But it was a $7 sandwich. And I was having a nice lunch with Maryl. So I just powered on through. I drank two glasses of water with it, and I was near crying, but I powered on through. Oh yes... I did... and the pickles too - the peppered pickles. Maryl took a bite of the sandwich and looked confused at me, as if to question, "You think this is spicy? Do you really think that THIS is spicy?" Oh yes my dear, I did not grow up eating chilies in chili-eating contests. Except the General’s Challenge of course, but those hardly count as contests.
On the way back from lunch, the things in my stomach started to make me feel a little... wow. Remember that simpson's episode where Homer, yeah, with the wax, and then the - with the super chili thing? It was like that. It felt like I had just drank a shot of vodka mixed with tequila. The warmth spread, it permeated, and then it boiled.
And it boils.