Having conquered my fear of canning a couple of weeks ago, I decided to try my hand at pickling and canning hot peppers. Jalapeno and banana peppers to be exact.
Mind you, this was last night after a long work day and after sprinting through a few household chores, including whipping up a classic Mollie Katzen recipe.
Somehow, near-midnight canning seemed like a smart thing to do. At least in the annals of my exhausted, irrational brain.
Although pre-warned from years of watching my favorite cooking shows, I chose to ignore the expert advice to wear gloves while handling hot peppers.
“Whatchu talkin’ ’bout,” I thought as I hand-washed, sliced and de-seeded a couple dozen hot peppers. “They’re not hot. They’re so mild it’s ridiculous. Besides, gloves are for sissies.”
Oh. My. Heavens.
Apparently, you can’t see hot but you can feel it.
My hands turned red and started burning. First from the outside. Then from the inside. Badly. Really badly. Cry-to-my-mommy badly.
Hot, fiery pain.
Meanwhile, my dear one was off elsewhere in the house, blissfully unaware of my blistering pain. What was the remedy for hot pepper burns? Oh ow oh ow ow. I did not want to tip him off to my current stupidity so …
I tried washing – worse.
Milk – temporary.
Butter – soothing.
Alcohol – crazy.
Gojo
Lemon juice – eeh.
Baking soda – ahh.
Aloe vera – uh huh.
All of them all at once – yes, yes, When Harry Met Sally
So, everything I do (even canning) brings me back to my thing: writing.
Writing? Really? What does this pickled pepper pain story and writing have in common, you ask?
Only this:
Learn from others. Heed and follow best practices.
Cooks: Handling hot peppers requires wearing gloves.
Writers: Writing well requires thoughtful and purposeful placement of words followed by ruthless editing.
P.S. My efforts yielded exactly two, count ‘em two, jars of pickled peppers, including this one:
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