The search at the Fancy Food Show for something truly, scaldingly, blisteringly spicy continued yesterday, much to no avail.  I dedicated some ample time to trying Buffalo and Jerk sauces, in hopes that somewhere amongst their ranks would be the sauce that could vaporize my pancreas.  Not to be- only sweet sauces, or tangy sauces, or sauces labelled "XXX" yet less spicy than 70s porn.

There were two standout exceptions, though.  And let me just porpose that I'm no food critic, I'm no paid journalist, and I'm certainly no gourmand.  I'm just a guy looking to batter around every cell in his body courtesy of a little capsaicin.

#1, Rene's Nuckin' Futs hot sauce, the dabble of which I tasted having dripped through my torso like the oozing hydro-chloric acid blood of the aliens from the Alien movies.  Simply put, Nuckin' Futs was distilled evil with a red tint.  Pure spice, vicious and unforgiving, really without any flavor to speak of.  I tip my hat to any man (or woman) that willingly and intentionally creates a liquid that could have ended World War II 10 months earlier.

#2, Bart's Delicatessen's Peruvian Hot Chilli Paste, a tangy, flavorful neutron bomb to the mouth, not quite as completely poisonous (and I mean that in a good way) as Nuckin' Futs, but something that must have killed all the free-radicals, residual mercury, trans-fats and long-ago swallowed pieces of bubble gum hiding in my body.  Bart's sauce, to my tongue, was actually delicious, but blended with a full-bodied ass-kicker of spice.  Really something special, that.  Oddly enough, Bart's is a British company.  Naturally, I'm not inclined to associate spicy food with the Brits (rather I'll lend them the adjective "bland").  But proof's in the pudding, that That sauce was simply THE sh!t.

An ode:

Upon my burning palate place what you will,

The cauldrons of Acheron may boil and singe

All the sooty, smeared Underworld,

Yet I'll not break any more a sweat

Than currently pours forth from my tortured brow.

For I have just sampled the spice of Hell's window box.

Vesuvious and Aetna may tag team against my tongue

And burb forth lava like the world's end,

But my tongue won't lash or dash a bit- it's already done.

Open my maw and feed me North Korean warheads,

But don't expect me to shed one tear more,

For this awful, evil heat, courtesy of <insert your hotsauce here>

Has purged my passioned tear wells of all irrigation.

Count me as dry, sated, and completely insane.