Danger of Jalapeños

Scott Adams (Dilbert.com): "...The other day, my friend Steve and I had a "Husbands Cook for Their Wives" night in which we hoped to accomplish several things. First, we thought it would be a good way to add to the Husband Bank of good deeds. Second, it was an excuse to drink beer on a Tuesday afternoon. And third, Steve would transfer his vast knowledge of cooking methods to my ignorant self. It was this third objective that went terribly wrong.


Among my duties that night was chopping the jalapeño peppers. I had never prepared a meal with jalapeño peppers, and I didn't know much about them. The conversation went something like this.


Steve: You should wear rubber gloves to cut the jalapeño peppers.
Me: Really? Is that necessary?
Steve: Yes. Do you have any rubber gloves?


I knew we had some rubber gloves somewhere in the house, but finding them would require the help of my wife, Shelly, and I didn't want to bother her on Husbands Cook for Their Wives Night. So I pressed the point.


Me: I could just wash my hands after I cut the jalapeño peppers.
Steve: You really should wear gloves. And don't touch your eyes, or any mucous membranes. And whatever you do, don't take a piss until sometime next week.
Me: I'll just wash my hands when I'm done cutting the peppers. That should be fine.


At this point, an obscure statute in the Guy Code came into play and Steve realized that nagging me wasn't the way to play this. Instead, he decided to let me take a run at the jalapeño peppers bareback. If he was laughing on the inside, he did a good job of not showing it. ..." (More to follow after the link)


This posting in the always interesting Dilbert Blog cracked me up, and even made my girlfriend laugh. Seeing as it was cross culturally humorous, and written from a mans point of view, it deserved the attention of the Grumpy Old Men.


So how about it? 


I've never had a problem cutting jalepenos barehanded before, but I have done a mighty fine number on my eyes.


Men's retreat, 2008, Peckerwood Cabins in the back woods of Oklahoma. Sliced up some home grown jalapeños one of the men brought, and started to simmer them in a man-sized cast iron skillet with half a stick of butter. 1.49 minutes later, my eyes are running like the falls of Niagara, and even with the peppers removed, it was the hottest batch of eggs I've ever served up in my life, hot enough my father refused to eat them.