Not Like Stove Hot. Like Hot Hot.

Marisa Demarco
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2 min read
Not like stove hot. Like hot hot.
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Once, I was posted up in a booth behind a tourist couple, and the lady said in an alarmed voice to the man: “This food is so hot you can’t even taste the food!”

Lady, the hot is the food—of life!

I like my chile so hot it elevates my consciousness, sharpens me up.

I like my chile so hot it dilates my pores and sinuses.

I like my chile so hot it withers my shitty day.

I like my chile so hot it cremates boredom.

I like my chile so hot it burns the demons out of me.

I like my chile so hot it cauterizes my heart.

Today, I went to
Cecilia’s Café. There were new warning signs posted around the restaurant. I thought, perhaps, they were there to caution new customers about the usual level of heat—which is in the red.

Instead, it seems the chile is now EVEN HOTTER. I had to take most of my meal to go after attempting it for some time with the acoompaniment of several glasses of water. I dropped ice cubes onto my tongue and just let them melt.

I have eaten my leftovers in four parts throughout the day, about a half-cup at a time. I’ve been on a kind of weird continual inhale all day—lots of little breaths in in in … out … in in in …

This is high praise. My day has been awesome. Get the red.

Also, where’s your favorite hot spot?
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