Cold Blooded Killer

That was the name of the hot sauce that almost took my life. What I apparently failed to realize when I decided to sample it is that here in New Orleans, they take hot sauce very seriously. I was in this place called "Aunt Sally's." It's a praline shop, which sounds innocent enough, but they sell an assortment of other things, too, and hot sauce is one of them. Two brands were out for sampling.

The first one I tried was excellent. It was yellow-orange, mango flavored, and had just enough of a kick to be interesting. Then, like a glutton for punishment, I decided to try the other one. As a general rule, I like hot food, and at first, it wasn't a problem; it was just very spicy. I even made it out of the store before I experienced anything I would describe as pain.

It was funny for a while. I was bent over, panting. My nose was beginning to run. My sister took my picture. My mom giggled. I joked about needing to go back in and warn people. Then my ears popped.

My entire mouth was screaming. I don't even remember any flavor in the sauce, only pain. Whatever chemicals the devil-sauce contained had been thoroughly absorbed into ever surface my mouth had to offer. My nose was running, but I couldn't form thoughts coherent enough to ask for a tissue to fix the situation. In fact, I think my brother offered me a napkin, and I remember telling him not to talk to me and flailing my arms, almost smacking a lady behind me. I felt bad, but seeing as how I was choking on fire and she wasn't, my focus shifted quickly.

I became quite certain that I was going to die. The entire lower half of my face, from my cheeks to my chin, was tingling, like your foot after it's fallen asleep and just begun to regain feeling. Finally I accepted a napkin and blew my nose, but it wasn't until about half an hour later that my cheeks stopped feeling weird, and even later that my tongue stopped stinging. It's still holding a grudge.

It was both the worst and best hot sauce experience I've ever had.