TOM PARKER BOWLES, son of Prince Charles’ wife Camilla, is a respected British food critic, with columns in The Mail on Sunday, “Night and Day” and Tatler. He is also the author of E is for Eating: An Alphabet of Greed. He lives in London.

I realize that beery bravado was the main culprit but I do remember (very vaguely) thinking what the point was in going on a search for the hottest sauces in the world if I didn't try at least a spatter. I imagine myself stepping up to the challenge, a brave knight fighting for the pride of his homeland.
            â€˜Bollocks to that,' says my ever-sensitive friend. â€˜You were a sweaty mess, and the whole crowd was waiting to see you go down in a blaze of unglory.'
            Apparently, the braying masses whooped for joy when I took on the challenge. And the crowd grew bigger still, as at least a dozen hot-sauce maestros gathered expectantly to have a laugh at the English fool. The bottle appeared once more, named Salsa Para Pendejos.
            Now it's one thing drunkenly agreeing to try a drop of this liquid fire but quite another to risk putting myself in hospital before I've finished at The Fiery Foods Show. I took the straw, touched it to my palm so there was a dot no bigger than a comma. A few in the crowd voiced their disappointment.
            Ignoring the heckles, I touched the tip of my tongue to the dot of sauce on my hand, probably taking no more than a quarter of the punctuation mark blob. The crowd grew silent, craning their necks to get a better view.
--from A Year of Eating Dangerously

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Excerpts

I realize that beery bravado was the main culprit but I do remember (very vaguely) thinking what the point was in going on a search for the hottest sauces in the world if I didn’t try at least a spatter. I imagine myself stepping up to the challenge, a brave knight fighting for the pride of his homeland.
            ‘Bollocks to that,’ says my ever-sensitive friend. ‘You were a sweaty mess, and the whole crowd was waiting to see you go down in a blaze of unglory.’
            Apparently, the braying masses whooped for joy when I took on the challenge. And the crowd grew bigger still, as at least a dozen hot-sauce maestros gathered expectantly to have a laugh at the English fool. The bottle appeared once more, named Salsa Para Pendejos.
            Now it’s one thing drunkenly agreeing to try a drop of this liquid fire but quite another to risk putting myself in hospital before I’ve finished at The Fiery Foods Show. I took the straw, touched it to my palm so there was a dot no bigger than a comma. A few in the crowd voiced their disappointment.
            Ignoring the heckles, I touched the tip of my tongue to the dot of sauce on my hand, probably taking no more than a quarter of the punctuation mark blob. The crowd grew silent, craning their necks to get a better view.
--from A Year of Eating Dangerously

Excerpted from The Year of Eating Dangerously: A Global Adventure in Search of Culinary Extremes by Tom Parker Bowles
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.