“Quite literally. This thing has been mashed to death,” he deadpans.
“Yeah, maybe it’s time to add the other bits,” I say, nodding to the ingredients I’ve placed around the chopping board for him.
“All of this needs to go in here?”
“Yep.”
“At once?”
“Go for it.”
He hesitates, before he reaches for the chopped onion and throws it in.
“Okay?”
“I’ll stop you if it’s not,” I promise him.
He nods in agreement before adding the coriander and then reaching for the chili.
“This is going to be hot,” he warns.
“Have you tried the chilies?” I ask, resting back against the counter and watching him.
“Uh, no. Should I?”
“If you want to know how much to add to ensure you don’t make it too hot, then yeah, you really should.”
“Haven’t you tried them?” he counters.
“I’m not the one making the guac,” I point out, raising my brow.
“Okay,” he says, pinching a few bits of the chopped chili and throwing it into his mouth. “That’s not so bad,” he says confidently. But then, his eyes widen and his chin drops. “I lied. I lied. It’s bad.”
I can’t help but burst out laughing as he begins fanning his open mouth with his hand.
“How? It came from the same bag as the one I tried.”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles, his eyes watering.
Rushing over to the fridge, I grab a gallon of milk and pour him a glass.
“Here,” I say, passing it over and watching him swallow every drop.
“Wow, that was intense,” he confesses before wiping his mouth. “Wait. You don’t believe me.”
“What?” I gasp. “I never said that.”
“You don’t need to; I can see it in your eyes.”
“I just…I don’t understand how that one could be so bad. The others were just warm, you know?”
“Uh-huh, I know. That wasn’t warm,” he says, pointing at the chopped-up chili. “It was fire.”
Having chopped them all not so long ago, I lick my finger. There’s heat there, but nothing too bad.
“Try it, if you don’t believe me.”
“It’s not?—”
