I could only find size small latex gloves. These will not fit me. This leaves two options: 1) allow Mrs. Chili365 to prep the jalapenos 2) prep the peppers bare-handed, hoping that I will not have the sudden urge to touch any mucosal membranes, or rub my eyeballs, or handle any other, you know, stuff.
I love Mrs.365. I can trust her to birth and raise healthy babies, to take care of all the household finances, and to step in an act as my better judgment and moral compass. She is terrific and by far smarter and exceedingly savvier than I am capable of being, but to trust the good Missus with the jalapeno poppers? Not a chance. I’m going to go it alone. I just hope that nature doesn’t call to me as I prep these epic peppers.
(Day 256- 70% complete. Whew.)
8 oz cream cheese softened
2/3 C shredded cheese
2 T finely diced chipotle pepper
1 T chili powder
1 T dried diced onion
Jalapeno or Cubano peppers or both.
- In a bowl mix the ingredients (beside the Jalapeno or Cubanos) by means of mixer. (If The Pirate is helping you, keep reminding her to KEEP her fingers out of the bowl. Jeez, this is an accident waiting to happen).
- Cut the stem end from the peppers.
- Hollow the peppers removing the seeds and membranes. DON’T touch anything sensitive (including Elton John) while performing this solemn act.
- Stuff the cream cheese stuffing into the pepper. (Don’t listen to Elton John’s music while doing this. Listen to the Afghan Whigs).
- Grill over medium-hot coals.
I made a simple request to Pre and Chili Jr., “Move the grill to the front yard. We’re making chicken thighs and jalapeno poppers. I don’t want the yard birds to know what we’re up to.” (I’m a bit squeamish when it comes to grilling chicken IN FRONT of our pet chickens). As (bad) luck would have it, my simple petition was met (in a matter of moments) with 1) a horrible crashing sound in the garage. 2) The appearance of Pre, sweaty and full of soot, expounding “WTF, you didn’t tell us that your stupid grill had a gecko-like defense mechanism. The sucker dropped a leg as soon as we picked it up. It looks like Normandy Beach out there. Jesus. You better come quick. Oh, and radio a MASH unit. Jesus.”
Once the grill was finally in place (legs and all), things took a turn for the better. The beer flowed, the flames blazed, and the chili peppers cooked. The poppers were great. The jalapeno version was quite hot. I pounded two peppers and ran for water (ok, I actually sought more beer. Betty Ford isn’t monitoring this, is she?) Seeing my pepper-induced suffering and seeking the cowardice of self-preservation, the ITP ate up the Cubanos, eschewing the jalapenos. Hey! Both were good. Of course from a Scoville standpoint, you’d suffer more by eating the jalapenos, but if I’m not a martyr for chili, I am nothing. Nothing.
On the subject of martyrdom, I completely avoided blowing my nose or using the facilities for 2 hours post-pepper prep. Cha Cha ow.