Vincent Benitez had been living in Italy for four years. Two of those years had been spent married to Thomas Lawrence.
From the very beginning, they’d had an unspoken agreement: Vincent wouldn’t cook Mexican food at home. Thomas knew that Mexican cuisine was in a league of its own when it came to heat, and his Italian stomach was completely unprepared for it.
But today, Vincent couldn’t resist.
He stood at the hob with his shirt sleeves rolled up, and a thick, spicy, decidedly hot aroma had been wafting through the kitchen for some time. His favourite dish – chilli relleno – was sizzling in the frying pan.
Thomas walked into the kitchen with an empty teacup. He placed it in the sink, turned on the tap, washed it, and carefully put it away in the cupboard. Only then did he sit down at the table and sniff cautiously.
Thomas: It smells… too spicy. What are you cooking in there?
Vincent turned around with a guilty but happy smile.
Vincent: I know you were against it… But today I couldn’t help myself. I’ve made chilli relleno. It’s one of my absolute favourite dishes from my childhood.
Thomas (suspiciously): Oooh...
A couple of minutes later, Vincent placed a plate in front of him. Two large peppers, stuffed, smothered in a creamy sauce and garnished with pomegranate seeds. It looked beautiful. Dangerously beautiful.
Vincent: It’s chilli relleno with tomatillo sauce. Have a go.
Thomas picked up his fork, cut off a small piece and carefully put it in his mouth.
For the first three seconds, everything was fine.
In the fourth second, his eyes widened slightly.
In the fifth, he realised he’d made a mistake.
The heat hit him suddenly and mercilessly. Thomas froze, trying to keep a straight face. He chewed slowly, trying not to show that he was seething inside. His eyes betrayed him, glistening.
Thomas (in a strained voice): …Yes. I’m fine.
Vincent narrowed his eyes, looking closely at his husband.
Vincent: Your eyes are red.
Thomas stood up silently, walked over to the fridge, took out a carton of milk and began drinking straight from the carton, without pouring it into a glass.
Vincent couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing.
Vincent: Hahaha! Sorry… I really didn’t think it would be so… intense for you.
Thomas put the milk back in the fridge, wiped his mouth with his hand and looked at Vincent with a slight reproach.
Thomas: Make as much chilli as you like for yourself. But don’t offer it to me again. It’s not food. It’s… it’s divine punishment.
Vincent was still smiling, shaking his head.
Vincent: I’d forgotten that you Europeans eat like angels. Everything’s delicate, sweet, without chilli…
Thomas returned to the table, sighed heavily and muttered quietly.
Thomas: Next time, just make pasta, please.
