One of the fine Mexican establishments I frequent in desolate areas of town gave me a whole takeout-cupful of their salsa habanero, and I had been using it on my signature cheeseburgers as a perfect finishing accent, when eventually and sadly it ran out.
I picked up a bottle of alleged "habanero" salsa and it seemed to be mostly food coloring and vinegar ... tasty for some uses, but not for the signature cheeseburger.
My Mexican friends have served habanero salsa at many parties, and despite the blatant warning of its bright yellow-orange coloring, it has the exactly right amount of fieriness that never overwhelms.
So, I decided to make my own.
Putting aside that habanero chilis are reputed to be the hottest in the world, chilis can vary in hotness not only from species to species but even from chili to chili. There is no way to predict it, only to respect it. Not having calloused hands, for instance I always wear gloves when chopping them, I always makes plans to handle chilis on days when I am not wearing my contact lenses, etc. The oil can linger for six hours or more.
For authenticity, I went directly to Rick Bayless as one never needs to go further. His recipe calls for roasting six to seven habanero chilis with a few cloves of garlic (roasting enhances and mellows flavors), then blending with a little water and salt, and voila.
I let it mix and mingle in the fridge overnight and then gave it a taste by dipping a little bit of a chip in it, not scooping up a chunk, but just a light film of salsa on the chip.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
Clearly, this was made from a more than potent set of chilis!
I dipped the tip of my little finger in it and gave it another taste.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
I can count on my hand the times in my life I have had something that spicy in my mouth, usually by accident, that burns not like chilis, but like particularly angry battery acid; a fire than no balmy creamy drink or emetic can quell.
Hm.
Undeterred, I made the signature cheeseburger, and in the critical layer I added five drops, DROPS MIND YOU, of the Death Salsa. The background sensation of warmth and well-being during and after the consumption of the burger rivalled that of ... well ... you make up the metaphor.
Clearly I was on to something.
Martin, my friend who, beyond that fabulous distinction, is also an accomplished classical cellist, connoisseur of fine food, wine and women (if his stunning girlfriend is any indication), is of Mexican descent and therefore shares my passion for the cuisine. Who better to appreciate my creation?
Friday night I brought him a couple of ounces carefully wrapped in a bag, like an illicit substance. "Try this," I said, "But be careful, because THIS is AUTHORITATIVE."
I went on a little about it just to make sure my point was clear, and that night he went on his way to make dinner, eager to try out the Death Salsa.
He made fish, I think, and opened the package and sniffed ... roasted chili and garlic ... mmmmm ... wonderful ... and he started to add it parsemoniously to his dish as instructed, when he thought, "Why be stingy? ... How bad could it be? ... After all, I'M MEXICAN!"
So he didn't exactly slather it on, but he spooned-on a goodly amount.
He took the first ample bite and chewed and relished the flavors and thought, "Okay, a little heat, this is nice, kind of a background thing, I really don't know what the big ..."
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
I think it took awhile to get over, LOL.