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, theyād had an unspoken agreement: Vincent wouldnāt 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 couldnāt 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 ā chilli relleno ā 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 smellsā¦ too spicy. What are you cooking in there?
Vincent turned around with a guilty but happy smile.
Vincent: I know you were against itā¦ But today I couldnāt help myself. Iāve made chilli relleno. Itās 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: Itās 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 heād 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): ā¦Yes. Iām 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 couldnāt help himself and burst out laughing.
Vincent: Hahaha! Sorryā¦ I really didnāt think it would be soā¦ 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 donāt offer it to me again. Itās not food. Itāsā¦ itās divine punishment.
Vincent was still smiling, shaking his head.
Vincent: Iād forgotten that you Europeans eat like angels. Everythingās delicate, sweet, without chilliā¦
Thomas returned to the table, sighed heavily and muttered quietly.
Thomas: Next time, just make pasta, please.
