Clearly, a glutton for punishment, I decided to handle hot peppers again. After the hatch chile incident of recent history, you'd think I'd just say no. Wrong. Apparently I love the feeling of lava pouring from my fingertips and I won't rest until my entire face is on fire, with the possibility of accidentally being blinded by capsicum. Good times!
I thought by baking and seeding them, they would be fine. I should have done some research, but I was too caught up in what I was doing to be a responsible adult. Who has time for Google? I'm busy dousing myself with gasoline. You gotta match?
My plan to stuff them with roast and cheddar cheese was thwarted when the Big Guy brought home cream cheese. Ah well, cheese would end up being the least of my worries, and as it turns out, cream cheese has more fire extinguishing properties.
After stuffing and wrapping with bacon, I arranged then in a metal pie pan & covered with foil to warm on the grill--just enough to make the cheese ooey gooey.
Despite the fact that I was dipping my hands in ice water, complaining about those damn peppers, everyone in our party put them in their face because people are beyond logical sometimes. They were so popular in fact, some of my neighbors attempted to make them, and we ate them. Again.
What the hell is wrong with my friends?
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