27 August 2018
Story #923
R. Linda:
In honour of your birthday, I had tacos. I had those spicy shells and extra hot sauce, and I cooked the meat in a hot salsa because that's the way I like it. No, I did not subject the rest of me family to the hot and spicy. I made Nachos for the rest of the family, and it was a very mild version. I had a nibble and shook me head in disdain.
"Yeah, big guy, you shake your head. We'll see tomorrow how the cast iron stomach holds up." Tonya said and snorted.
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Me nachos - mild version for wimps
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Well, after six of me magnificent tacos, the steam was coming out of me ears and nose. Mam commented I looked like Ferdinand the Bull.
"Fernando," I said, making a seventh taco.
"Well, too bad Rolonda isn't here, Fernando, she'd laugh at your daring-do," Tonya said, making reference to the one person in the world who could outdo me in hot and spicy tacos under the table. This time, I snorted. And I was sorry I did that because a piece of jalapeño caught in me windpipe and I was in dire straits, but I made like nothing was amiss. I covertly put more ice in me water and took a few gulps, but that did not go undetected. Me eagle-eyed Mam figured out what happened, and she sat there laughing at me until her face turned beet red.
"You'll give yourself a heart attack, Mam, laughing like that." I managed to squeak out to her.
"And YOU will burn da membranes in yer troat an' nostrils ya will by God." Mam countered.
They had all cleaned up and left me on my tenth taco. I know what you're thinking, but I love me tacos. Not having room for an eleventh and feeling the burn, I cleaned it up and was tempted to mix the hot and spicy filling with the nacho chilli because I knew the next day, Mam would make up a dish for lunch. But I didn't.
That night I had a dream, yes I did, and as always after hot Mexican fare, this happens like clockwork. I dreamt I was out in Colorado celebrating your birthday. I had wanted to go to Estes Park because I had heard there was a fabulous Mexican restaurant. Where had I heard that? At the time, I had no clue, but being awake, it was from meself! I had found that restaurant when I was last out there, but in me dream I didn't know it was meself that suggested it.
Anyway, you didn't want to go. You said you could cook better than any restaurant, but I said it was your birthday and you shouldn't have to cook. So I dragged you to Estes Park, literally, you had dug your heels in and I had both your wrists and slung the walker over me shoulder with the oxygen tank and pulled you all the way to Estes Park, your heels leaving tire-like marks on the pavement. When I want Mexican food, me strength be like Super Taco Man.
Once at the establishment of me dreams, you decided to lie down in the doorway, kicking and screaming, you weren't paying for food you could make yourself. I said I was paying for it, so stop it and let's get inside.
"You don't get it, Gabriel, I can COOK BETTER THAN THEM INSIDE!"
I told you I knew that, but it was your day, and we were going to eat hot and spicy Mexican food, whether you liked it or not. You smirked at me, like, sure, we are.
After scraping you off the pavement, pounding the walker down in front of you, placing your hands on the bar, and heaving the oxygen tank onto me, I ushered you into the brightest, boldest, most colourful Mexican restaurant in the world. You were so blinded that you stuck on your sunglasses and snickered at me. Following you, I was thinking that if the interior looked this wonderful, the food would be twice as wonderful, I thought, because I still didn't remember who had told me to go there.
We were seated by a man with a thick black moustache who spoke Mexican so I was lost right off and YOU decided not to interpret and let me do foolish sign language until the man, frustrated with yours truly, threw up his hands in despair and looked at you like HELP ME THIS GUY IS A MORON!
We ordered a pitcher of sangria and a platter of the hottest tamales and burritos on the planet. Meanwhile, our waiter brought us a plate of nacho chips and hotter-than-hell salsa. I took a chip, dumped it in the salsa, and managed to get the whole salsa-covered chip in me mouth. As I chewed, I was in hot heaven, oh so good. You looked at me, had a few chips of your own and started chewing me out about cobwebs in the blog. I was so engrossed in defending meself that I downed a few more hotter-than-hell chips and realised there was no water on the table, nothing to wash the heat down. Me mouth, me oesophagus, the good old cast iron stomach were on a three-alarm blaze! I think your eyes were on me (but I wasn't sure from the sunglasses), and you had this smug expression on your face, knowing what the matter was, but saying nothing. Instead, you shoved the salsa at me and told me to finish up, you had had enough and wanted to keep room for the spicy hot entree. That was just mean, R Linda.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and I stood me tall self up and caught the waiter's eyes as I pointed to me throat and made a cup-like action with me hand as if I was drinking. He looked like OK and came over with a pitcher of sangria which had coconut floating on top! I was like, what's up with the coconut? But okay, I only wanted water, but being on fire, I poured you and me a glass of sangria and emptied my glass, chugging down orange pieces, coconut, and whatever other fruit was floating in there. Unfortunately, I thought I was going to explode in flames, so I ended up with another glass, but that didn't help. I then picked up the pitcher and drank the entire contents.
"Are you better now?" You asked with a smirk.
"Oh, bring it on," I said like a jerk.
And no sooner had I said that when the hotter than the sun tamales and burritos arrived.
"Dig in, Gabe." You said, snickering as you took a mouthful. But then something weird happened. You just stopped everything in mid-chew. Your face had an expression of horror and disgust. I took a small forkful because I thought the food was awful, but it was great; only it reignited the fire I had almost extinguished and had me signalling for another pitcher.
"WHOO!" I said, feeling me insides burn. I was watching as you put your fork down and moved your plate away. "What? What is the matter, the food not to your liking? OH, I KNOW it's too HOT for you." I started laughing.
"No, it is THAT thing over your shoulder."
I turned around and on the partition that separated the tables, a rather large painted iguana was looking over me shoulder. I jumped at first, thinking it was alive. It wouldn't have been so bad, but it was in a rather aggressive posture. I realised that at every table was a painted iguana, and they looked like they had once been alive, and now were stuffed and painted as table decor.
"I will not eat another bite with that thing staring at me." You said it with arms crossed over your chest, like a three-year-old about to have a tantrum.
I signalled our waiter and made signs that we would like the iguana gone. He said to you that the iguana was a good luck symbol, but you told him either the iguana went or you would. Exit iguana.
We resumed the meal, but I remember the word in Spanish for water is agua, so I did manage to blurt that out, and we got two glasses filled with ice cubes and water to the brim. I was happy, as for you, you couldn't care less.
Yes, I forced the hotness down me gullet, I paid for it the entire time trying to keep up with your diminutive self that seems to not be affected by hot and spicy food. Yes, I was feverish and me insides were charred, I drank not only the second pitcher of sangria but a pitcher of water.
You told me that flan for dessert would cut all the heat, so we ordered two flans. You had hot Mexican coffee, and I had more water. You were right; the flan did help, but I had the scary feeling that I would still be on fire until Christmas rolled around.
"I am sending you a monthly subscription to Water On Demand." You said when we were all done. "Every month, you'll get sixty bottles of water to quench the fire. When it is all out, you'll come back and I will cook you REAL hot and spicy Mexican food, and I will bet you'll be on fire for the next two years."
"You're scaring me," I said.
"No, HERE'S the scary part, I will put a lot of beans in those dishes, just to add to the discomfort afterwards if not the embarrassment." And you started laughing, diabolical laughter that woke me up in a muck sweat, it did. That was mean, and I hope you didn't mean it, but then again, knowing you, you'd do that. Then I realised it was all a dream. Though if you were at me dinner last night, you'd have mixed me hot filling in with the nachos just to see Mam's reaction. Yup, do I know you or what?
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BOO!
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Happy Birthday, Muse!
Gabe
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