When grown men cry...vol 3.5336

I am not the crying type, do not do it at funerals, do not do it at weddings, sad movies anything. My bro does not shed tears either, and nor does the other male companion at the dinner. Forgive my sexism here for not listing the women but the post is titled "when grown men cry".

I made some jerk seasoning last night, the flavor was amazing but "oh my goodness, oh no, oh no oh no"...those are words that were echoed all night as tears poured from eyes as sweat sprung from my brow. My heart literally felt like it stopped (I think it might have). My bro had to walk outside into the cold air, our friend started gasping and doubled over in pain, and I, the Cali Jamaican, the man who created the meal, ran to the refrigerator poured a tall glass of milk and started gargling with it. I had made the spiciest jerk chicken and shrimp meal I have ever made in my life.

The pepper literally had me screaming, thank goodness we were out in the woods of Malibu. I have never experienced heat like that. It gave me instant hiccups and I could not stop the eyes from 'bleeding'.

The craziest part is that Sarah sat serenely across from us just staring at us as if nothing was wrong. I thought I was 2 steps away from death, and Sarah was in Oliver Twist mode "please sir can I have some more".

We killed a couple bottles of wine, a whole bottle of vodka, almost half a container of soy milk and tonnes of cups of water and I still feel as if my body is on fire. It is now 24 hours later and I am still haunted by the fire of it. The best part is, it tasted so damn good that we kept eating the food, even though we were suffering.

On a brighter or should it be lighter note, my scallops were judged "perfect" I was so damn happy. I always find scallops so damn challenging to make, they are so finicky. But I broiled them with some sea salt, garlic, ginger, sugar, olive oil and fresh cracked pepper and they just seemed to take the 'perfect' level of flavor.