A Posting Lull

Some may have noticed a distinct lack of posts appearing here of late. There is good reason for this and for once it's not that I'm being lazy. I've been thoroughly snowed under by the competing commitments of SES training, study, arranging new club ski gear and lessons for the encroaching season, and still trying to have the occasional adventure in between. While staying up until 2am most nights before it all resumes again a few hours later, time to write about any of this has been limited.

Fortunately, Jessica from Words and Wilds has been on most of the same trips as me, and is documenting them on her blog! The most recent of these includes a few of her excellent photos, depicting me being crushed by waves while trying to surf in a most unfamiliar way. It's a good read and includes some pretty photos of people floundering in the waves.

"Ring of Fire" in North Hobart

Since moving up to Canberra early in 2013, I've been enjoying the Hobart food scene vicariously through a few friends and a blog. An increasingly common theme from both appeared to be burger restaurants. A few of them had been popping up before I left, but their numbers seemed to be exploding in my absence. I love burgers and was keen to try out some of these new arrivals.

Love is a burning thing

And it makes a fiery ring

So when I journeyed south for a few days, it seemed only fitting that I visit one of them while I had the chance. Catching up with a friend to loiter around some of our old North Hobart haunts, it seemed only fitting to check out The Burger Haus. Now, I'm a big chilli lover so a burger called "Ring of Fire" with optional extra Death Sauce was one that had to be tasted.

Bound by wild desire

I fell into a ring of fire

There's a row of small bottles at home, their contents varying from a few mild sauces barely stronger than tabasco to fiery concoctions made from Trinidad Scorpions that are only to be applied to dishes with great caution. I've been known to apply them liberally and with gay abandon, so the prospect of a burger mild enough to be served to the public didn't worry me in the slightest.

The taste of love is sweet

When hearts like ours meet

Indeed, the delicious burger I consumed proved no great challenge, with a pleasant tingling heat overlaying the array of other flavours. Talking to the staff afterwards, they told me that they make them hotter if requested. Next time perhaps, for I hadn't the stomach space remaining to add another burger just to get a chilli fix. But North Hobart is also home to The Winston, itself home to some reputedly spicy buffalo wings. You can get various heats of them, the hottest being "Nuclear" buffalo wings. A plate of nuclear wings sounded perfect to gnaw on over a game of pool, but for rumours of a hotter option not listed on the menu. My friend (and fellow chilli-seeker) had been listening to these rumours for months and was keen to find out the truth. A dish not listed because it's too hot for most people to handle? He was right; how could we refuse?

I fell for you like a child

Oh, but the fire went wild

Before we could have the chance to refuse, we first had to convince the bartender to let us order Death Wings. Negotiations, wheedling and pleading were all required before an order could even be placed. A plate of Death Wings had been out of the question, but we'd each be permitted to try one, with a few merely nuclear wings to fill the rest of the plate. Roughly the size and appearance of a medjool date, the Death Wing looked innocent enough when it arrived, but its appearance drew the intention of every bar regular and member of staff. I took a careful bite. It was certainly hot, but unbearably so? Not at all. I finished pulling the last of the meat off the bone and licked off some sauce. To be honest, I was a little disap-

I fell into a burning ring of fire

I went down, down, down and the flames went higher

The Death Wing sauce, it seems, has a delay before the real heat kicks in. When it did hit, it was an intensity of burn I'd never even come close to experiencing before. Mouth and throat seemingly afire, I gulped at the pint of milk the bar staff thrust at my face. They'd been prepared but milk wasn't enough, not even close. Always before when I'd eaten chilli, it ended. Eventually there was a barrier that I could push through and the pain would start to fade beyond. This burn kept building. Pins and needles were assaulting my arms and lips. Fire was spreading everywhere. Dimly through the burning fog, I saw my left arm curling up against my will.

And it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire

The ring of fire

I had thought myself strong in the face of chilli. I had thought myself capable of tackling any spicy dish set down before me. As the fire stretched out to half an hour before the first hint it might be about to peak, I knew that I had met my match in the Winston Death Wings. An hour of sculling pints of milk in a bar and I could think clearly. Eventually I felt like I might be able to drive. Of course, any night like this would usually end with me and my friend dueling at midnight. But we'd been defeated already, struck down by a few teaspoons of sauce.

The ring of fire

The ring of fire