A little over two years ago, Sinéad did some editing for a non-English speaking student from Mexico and, in order to demonstrate her immense gratitude, this student sent us a box of chili sauce (as well as myriad tamarind sweeties). It cost us about thirty quid in customs and we sat looking at this mad box of about twenty chili sauces (two of each!) and thought... 'we don't like chili sauce'.
And so began the process of redistributing the wealth. We kept one of each type, gifted a bottle here and there, and eventually off loaded about six of them on some other Mexican friends who thought they had died and gone to chili sauce heaven. The tamarind sweeties quickly disappeared at work, generally accompanied by the sounds of spitting and shouts for a napkin. And so we began the arduous task of trying out all the chilis. We put chili in and on everything.... chili, eggs, toast, pizza, lentil soup, stew... you name it and Sinéad's probably tried it. I was a little less tenacious.
When we moved to the north, the chili came with us. I mean, hey, we had a van to fill, why not bring it all (especially given that we had to make two trips). And so the legacy of the chili continued. A damn good thing that it doesn't go off.
And now it's gone. We used the last of the chili on some homemade pizza last night. It's the end of an era and I'm a little lost. I've come to expect to spice up any potentially compatible meal with chili. It's a habit now to parade an array of various chilis on the table when we have guests for fajitas or nachos. How proud a hostess have I been to boast an authentic chili SELECTION?
I feel a tad bereft and quite hard done by that now I've developed a taste for chili, it's Tabasco or nothing. Alas.
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