If you've been reading these, you may know about my construction worker husband.
Lately he's been working with a crew of similarly sun-hardened, frequently sweat-drenched, burly compatriots. Last month, they decided they needed to spice up lunchtime.
With, would you believe, a homemade salsa contest?
No wives allowed, or at least that's what I was informed. Of course, with the last name Rodriguez, why he'd need reinforcements from a Pennsylvania Dutch-ey is a mystery to me. So, I was unceremoniously shooed from the kitchen while he chopped up tomatoes, garlic, onions, and cilantro without ever once resorting to a power tool.
Then came what would for me seem a fatal mistake – he decided to use jarred jalapenos instead of fresh. And he dumped about two teaspoons of juice into the mix.
Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, HOT!
He loved it, and the guys didn't seem to mind, although I did notice, some of the salsa came home that night.
Too hot to handle, guys?