Long before he went on to national infamy via Fear Factor and The Man Show, comic Joe Rogan had a bit in his stand-up routine that touched eloquently on the notion of environment affecting perception:
"Here in L.A., I'm seen as this sort of fast-talking, hard-edged tough guy from New York City.
"But back home, everybody thinks I'm gay."
Analogously, I have a lot of friends who consider my love of and tolerance for spicy food supernatural. They grimace and shake their heads in bewilderment when I order the wings hot (just hot!). They blink uncomprehendingly when I rain Tabasco (regular old Tabasco!) sauce down on a slice of cheese pizza. They shudder at the sight of my teeth cracking into a tortilla chip topped with hot salsa, topped with a fresh slice of jalapeno pepper (not even a Serrano!).
They have no experience with the musician pal of mine whose favorite hangover remedy is chewing on a pickled habanero immediately upon waking. They didn't meet my former co-worker who slathered incendiary Thai red chili sauce on everything. They've never seen a buddy pry the lid off the vinegar- pepper bottle at Steak 'N' Shake and casually begin popping those tiny buds into his mouth while waiting for his grilled chicken salad.
They're not down with the chile-heads, so to them, I'm the guy with the titanium taste buds.
But here, at the third annual I Like It Hot! Festival, I'm a dabbler, a tourist, a poser. In Largo's Honeywell Minnreg Hall (think of a 4-H hall with higher ceilings and less intrinsic personality), 30-odd kiosks line a horseshoe-shaped promenade, offering fiery concoctions for sale and free samples of everything from homemade barbecue sauce to garlic-olive salsa. For a $2 fee at the door, one is free to do unlimited damage to the lining of every inch of one's digestive tract, and at least half of this stuff would send me directly to the hospital, palsied eyes threatening to burst from my skull to escape the pain, unable to breathe.
Many of the 100 or so patrons wandering the mall this late in the afternoon, however, taste indiscriminately, trying a bit of anything and everything with no sign of discomfort. They pause, head up, considering. They savor. They compliment the combination of flavors. And then they ask if there's anything hotter. Not everyone here is willfully courting eventual rectal discomfort — as anyone who watches the Food Network knows, chiles are a burgeoning culinary trend, and plenty of wide-eyed families peruse the booths seeking information rather than adventure — but there are definitely some serious diehards here.
I'm not here to have my uvula scalded; I just want a nice garlic hot sauce with a little bit of kick and a lot of flavor. There are too many intriguing condiments on display not to do some tasting, though, and it's not like I'm some sort of pepper pansy, so I begin making the rounds, checking out numerous kiosks, all representing local or regional companies. It's hard to believe that all the purveyors operate out of our area — the festival barely fits in this building, which is the size of a small hangar.
"I think we've outgrown this hall," concurs ticket-taker Yvonne Benedict, whose son Bob Teets runs the award- winning Your Hot Sauce Company and is a major force behind I Like It Hot! "We'll be moving next year."
First I hit the Chile-Chile Bang Bang booth, and sample a medium-heat version of the Tarpon Springs company's ginger-infused sauce. Good stuff, with a pungent flavor completely different from most condiments. Then it's on to Jolley Mon, a Largo outfit started up earlier this summer.
"I'm a bit of a new kid," says Steve Jolley, as I tap a generous dollop of his mango-habanero sauce onto a chip. It's so killer I buy a bottle before moving on, but not before he talks me into trying a marvelous brownie made with the super-hot habaneros. Yep, people eat stuff like that.
It soon becomes clear that I Like It Hot! isn't just about sauces. There's fresh produce. Chili. Pulled-pork sandwiches. Pickled freaking everything. A Tampa company called Valido's offers edibles ranging from spiced carrots to homemade southwestern dip mixes (I got all over that shit; drop by for some jalapeno-cilantro dressing sometime). And, of course, cellular phone accessories.
One bottle of hot barbecue sauce from Uncle Dea's and two packages of amazing spiced beef from family-run outfit Sam's Beach Jerky later, and I'm out of money. I haven't found my garlic grail yet, either, and an hour or so of sampling has made me dangerously overconfident.
It was bound to happen, and it happens at the Catch A Fire kiosk. The Garlic Sniper sounds like exactly what I'm looking for, so I go whole-hog for the taste test. The initial flavor is perfect, tart and a little bitter. Then the fire blossoms. And keeps coming. I smile politely and back away from the booth, trying to fade into the crowd before the sweat, tears and snot emerge. Then I make a beeline for the beverage vendor (I know, I know — it doesn't really help, but it's still the first thing you think of), fairly sure smoke is emanating from my nostrils. A big guy in a tank top with hair everywhere but on his skull notices, smirks, and elbows his girlfriend. Small towheaded children turn their faces up to my reddened visage and burst into tears; their balloons trail horizontally behind them as they flee.
The beer guy either doesn't understand that I don't want beer, or knows what's up and is tormenting me. After I resort to sign language, he smugly points me in the direction of the other beverage vendor, way over there.
After a can of tea and a couple of cigarettes, my tongue seems to have returned to its normal size, but I think I'm pretty much done trying out sauces for the day.
Maybe I am a pepper pansy.
Just don't tell my friends.
Scott Harrell can be reached at 813-248-8888, ext. 109, or be e-mail at scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Oct 2-8, 2003.