Hell Night

Monday afternoon my friend Joe calls me and asks if I'd like to join him for Hell night at this satanic restaurant.

I have heard of Hell Night before; it's a Boston urban legend; only the strong survive and those that attend have to be a little bit touched in order to actively want to participate.

Sure I said. Why not. I'll go. WHY NOT? because it's INSANE to go to Hell Night. That's why. I should have said no right off the bat. But I didn't. I mean, who the hell willingly participates in dishes that are known around the GLOBE as the hottest dishes on the planet? I met Joe and Kris and they laid it out for me what would happen. Joe explained that the menu has different options much like a normal restaurant, but on the right hand side are small bombs that indicate the spiciness of the dish. 1 bomb is extremely mild, and even those that enjoy spicy foods only dare to go to a 7 bombed dish. 10 bombs is basically the hottest fucking thing that has ever existed and that no one in their sane mind would voluntarily eat. (in fact, they have a waiver that you sign before it gets delivered to your table.)

We entered the restaurant and I immediately noticed two things: The first being that the wait staff all had bandana scarves tied around their faces from the nose down and the second thing I noticed was that there was hard core punk music blaring from the speakers. If the literal interpretation of what hell was escaped me before, it didn’t now. 

I was becoming educated on how we would order the meal and what to expect within my body the next day. (it was like a run through from the doctor at the gynecologist before the actual exam. *shudder*)

I put my faith into Joey's decision making for the menu and let my taste buds do the talking from there on out.  

The first order was a Russian roulette; it’s exACTly what you think it is. There is a meat ball for each person at the table (4) and one of the meatballs has the Trinidad Scorpion pepper mixed in with the meat. Fortunately none of us got it.

Next was corn smothered in a chipotle mayo with peppers sliced on the corn; It doesn’t seem bad, then all of the sudden the pang of hotness spreads from the center of your lips back through your mouth down your throat and hollows out your stomach cavity. Imagine the explosion scene at the end of Blown Away. and that was just the corn. 

On to the chicken wings, which was a 7 on the scale of hotness. the wings are a 3 alarm fire. the wings are the type of anger you have for your ex boyfriends. it begins softly, then engulfs you faster than the flames of Blown Away; it's more like being drenched in gasoline then having a match thrown inside your mouth and neck. Joey, Kris, Mike and I all did our fair share of eating ice cubes and licking corn bread. 

Then the table behind us got up to leave. We noticed he ordered the Trinidad Scorpion Pepper sauce with out the pasta. He said he ordered it to see if any of his co-workers wanted to try it at the office. Next thing I know, he's opening the take out container and offering me  a bite. Feeling brave, I took a pea sized bite and experienced the #10 bomb. The hottest dish served on the planet was snaking its way through my body. This experience can only truly be described as euphorically evil. Pain that level can only be described as a 60's cartoon drug sketch. I woke up at 5am the next morning to chug ginger ale and soy milk. 

I can check that experience of my list, and i'm 2 pounds lighter because of it, but for the love of baby jesus, I would glue those couple of pounds back on me if I could.  I fought the Trinidad Scorpion, and guess what, it kicked the shit out of me.