Saying that I don’t like spicy food is probably an understatement. If you’ve ever been to dinner with me, you’ll come to know that bland is better as far as I’m concerned. As such, it doesn’t take much heat for it to quickly become too much. I don’t even use cracked black pepper as it can be too hot for my palette. My throat feels like it’s on fire and I don’t find hosing myself down any way to enjoy a meal.
Winter time means chili time, however. My husband is the designated chili maker in our house, everything made from scratch. He knows my meager tastes and tries his best to alter the recipe accordingly, though I know it’s not a science. A pepper or two may find its way in sometimes. Usually, it works out well enough. This last time, however, had so much kick I think my ass is bruised.
I somehow found it in me to finish my bowl, though, with a lot of help from multiple glasses of milk. Even doused in cheese and crackers, my boys took a few bites and pushed the rest away. Not a surprise, really. My daughter, however, happily devoured every bite.
What the rest of us couldn’t finish, she inhaled.
And when the bowl was licked clean, she even wanted more.
I may not like the heat, but it doesn’t seem to be a problem for my 2 year old. Leave it to my daughter to not only show up her mom, but the boys, too. Though I have to say, I think it takes bigger cajones to tackle her diaper after. Now that was terrifying. Word to the wise, no more chili until she’s potty-trained.