Yes, I know, I know. The Weekend Debate is late again. But, look, the Reds clinched the Central Division Saturday evening, the Bengals actually won yesterday, and assuming some sort of Disney-style, Fairy Godmother-esque miracle doesn’t befall my Fantasy Football competition during Monday Night Football, I should bring home a win this week. So, you know, I’ve been busy paying attention to sports.
Also, I spent the weekend working on my query, doing ALL TEH LAUNDRY, playing hockey, and spending ridiculous amounts of hard-earned cash on clothes for the kids lest the newly-arrived fall chill reduce them to dirty, shivering Dickensian street-urchins in short-pants. I think we can all agree the grandparents would frown on that.
Of course, as I told the Puddinette, we could easily avoid the largely unnecessary expense of buying warmer clothes. All we need is a bottle of Sriracha.
If you aren’t familiar, Sriracha is a hot chili sauce* of, um, Thai(?) origin. It also seems to share certain properties with illicit narcotics. The first time you try it, a mere drop or two will sear with your mouth with the raging nuclear fire of a thousand suns. This burning sensation may be repeated later. You know, um, internally.
Somehow, though, Srircha is like having a baby**. When your taste buds finally regenerate (making taste possible again), and the incediary blaze of the aftermath has faded, your brain will only remember the awesome parts. In this case, how the glowing red paste made your leftover pad-see-iew the most yum-eriffic, deliciously reheated noodle dish you’ve even slurped up through your pie-hole.
I suppose it’s possible, though, that not everyone shares my coke-like addiction to the Red Rooster. Perhaps your brain is wire normally and the only thing you recall after splattering your Lean Cuisine “Sesame Noodle” lunch with Sriracha is screaming for water to cool the incinerating heat before passing out in the break room in front of that temp that’s been answer the phones in-between heated rounds of Fruit Ninja. Assuming that is the case, I thus give you:
Sriracha: Hot Sauce of the Gods or Tool of Taste Torture?
I leave you to debate it in either comments or via oral debate (by which I mean, “talking to yourself”).
Did someone say “poll”? BOOM!
*Once you’ve learned what Sriracha is, I recommend this comic from The Oatmeal. It’s pretty much the definitive word on the stuff, if you ask me.
**For reasons I can only assumed are evolutionary in nature, the human brain is apparently configured to conveniently forget the non-insignificant inconvenience of raising an infant beyond utterly helplessness. Two years later, no one seems to remember the dread weeks of sleep deprivation, the inability to live according to your own schedule, the 8 loads of spit-up covered laundry that must be washed daily, or the general zombie-like condition of most infant parents. Instead, everyone remembers the way the baby smelled or smiled when they had the cutest little gas.