Hatch Chicken

Settle down grammar Nazis! It's not supposed to read 'Hatched Chicken'--it's Hatch Chicken, like, the pepper, and stuff. Omg, seriously?!?!

I bought into the 'Hatch Hype'--a near panicked compulsion to buy, prepare and eat them as they are in season, and disappear before you know it! Thanks, Central Market, this one's on you!

So, I: washed them, grilled them, blistered them, peeled the now-black skin off of them, and seeded them while the chicken was cooking on the grill.

My plan was to place one half on each chicken breast, then top with Monterey Jack, melt, & enjoy. I had fashioned an aluminum bowl with black beans, and another foil packet with a little rice, garlic, green onions, and tons of cilantro, ready to warm and eat.

It looked wonderful! Grill marks, perfect. It smelled fantastic! Peppery, goodness. It tasted...HOT AS HELL! Oh! Oh! HOT! HOT! HOT! And then, my cheek...burning...forehead...burning...nose...burning...like a super severe sunburn, and oh shit! My fingers are ON FIRE!!! Ow! Ow! Ow!

I had to ditch the pepper and just be content with my chicken, beans, and rice. And sweat. I couldn't stop, it was gushing from my pores. I was afraid to wipe it from my face, afraid blisters would emerge from what used to be my face but is now a human hotplate. Napkins are suspect as I have no idea if it may have accidentally been contaminated from the lit taper candles that used to be my fingers!

The Big Guy had the hiccups, happens every time he eats food that's too spicy. And me? Looks like I'll be sleeping in my contacts tonight! Dios mio.