The Apple, er… Cheese Doesn’t Fall Far From the Tree

Nate is spending a few days here and he likes to cook when he’s here. I try to help out and NOT be the nervous father when he lights multiple gas burners on the stove at once. Dude’s gotta learn, am I right?

Tonight’s recipe was macaroni and habanero cheese. Let that sink in a minute. Not just the plain ol’ Kraft Mac and Cheese. No, sir. Nate decided to go full-tilt with the habanero cheese he got at Giant Eagle last night.

Did it taste good? Yes. Was it hotter than hell? For me, yes. Mind you, I DO eat spicy food with some degree of regularity, but I’ve never crossed that line between the edible and any second-degree-burn-inducing cheese. And yes, I know there are lots of allegedly edible things that are far, far worse. I prefer not to think about. I already have nightmares and I certainly don’t need more.

He made a big bunch of it, too, so there’s leftovers. As George W. Bush would say, “Na Ga Da It!” (“Not gonna do it,” for the uneducated in historical Dana Carvey SNL bits or the extremely young.)

However, it DID remind me of an unfortunate encounter that Nate’s mom, Beth Geyer, had with habanero cheese back in June, 2016. Just thinking about her hilarious essay made me laugh all over again. I’m reprinting it below.


Guest Blog – Evil Twin of the Sub Divine -or- Chernobyl on a Bun

by Beth Geyer


Allow me to introduce you to this little asshole. I’d apologize in advance for the language but it’s already too late for that and I refuse to use the backspace.

My family’s pizza shop had this magical oven-toasted sub aptly named the Sub Divine. It was a glorious gold standard for hot subs everywhere. I miss it and every now and then I crave it so much that I replicate it at home. Usually with rousing success. I have, after all, 14 yrs experience making them.

I dropped the ball today, though. As I type this, my nose is still running and I’m positive I’m working through a mild stroke. Bear with me.

I looooooove spicy food. Love it. Always have. But I knew that if I substituted the shredded cheddar for habanero cheese, I better tread lightly. I thought I sliced it up thin enough for both pieces of bread (I had no sub buns) that I could avoid feeling like I was biting on Satan’s hairy undercarriage but failed spectacularly. In the picture you’ll see the delicious sandwich before I wrapped it in foil and baked it. Do not be fooled by it’s innocent look; I still can’t feel the roof of my mouth.

I knew after the first bite that something was wrong. The pain was almost immediate and was soon followed by shaking. I breathed through each bite like I was in labor and powered through half of it with sheer will and the power of prayer. I’d spent too much time creating this masterpiece to give up like a little bitch.

Alas, after half of the sandwich disappeared, so did my will to live. It was me or the sandwich and I chose me.

My tongue isn’t currently working properly and after blowing my nose and washing my face with cold water, I was able to stumble outside for fresh air, mumbling “Nothing about me feels good about any of that”.

This mofo ended up just being a bunch of toppings encased wall-to-wall in pure hatred.

I couldn’t even tell you if it was good or not. I *think* I tasted banana peppers and pepperoni at first but it was short-lived. After that, all I could taste was hell fire and every mistake I’ve ever made in my life.

Probably the worst part of all of this is the fact that I’ll have to relive the pain all over again tomorrow.

Look at that sandwich… was a simpler time and I was but a 35 yr old girl full of hope and wonder. Now Satan himself is holding a Fight Club meeting in my stomach and no one is the winner.

The lovely and talented Beth Geyer posted this on Facebook [on June 9, 2016] and it had me laughing.  Well done, Beth!