How do you know that your hot sauce addiction has gone too far? The above bottle of chipotle Tabasco had been in my possession for a mere 24 hours when that photo was taken. During the course of that day, I ate it on a grilled cheese, I used it in a marinade for fajitas, I had a snack of it on tortilla chips, and then ate it on the fajitas themselves.
When your daily hot sauce consumption can be measured in ounces, that’s probably how you know. So, okay, maybe I’m addicted. It’s my brother’s fault, really. On a visit home last year, I saw him shaking it onto a slice of pepperoni pizza. “It’s good,” he said, “It’s really good.” One bite and I was hooked.
As I think I’ve said in the past, I love smoky anything. If they made perfume with just a hint of barbecued pork shoulder, I’d wear it. There is no smell that sets my mouth to watering and my stomach to grumbling like mesquite or apple wood slowly smoldering. Every time I chop chipotles for a recipe, I end up licking the adobo sauce off my fingers. I know it’s going to burn, but I do it anyway. Then, when the burning finally subsides, I usually drag my fingertip over the cutting board for one more smoky, firey taste.
Chipotle Tabasco isn’t as hot as chipotles themselves or as regular Tabasco. It’s more of a very kicky condiment. I keep imagining other things it would be delicious on. Today, I’m thinking french fries.