jalapeño hand

My fingers smell like strawberry yogurt, bleach, and mustard. This is because in the last half hour, I have soaked them in strawberry yogurt, bleach, and mustard. I have given myself jalapeño hand, which is the Internet’s cute name for the capsaicin burn you get if you don’t wear a glove while you cut hot peppers. I scoured dozens of websites looking for a cure, and each one begins with the disclaimer that preventatively wearing gloves is the best cure. Fuck. That. Nobody googles this problem before it happens. You either wear gloves or you don’t, and I don’t need this condescension right now, while my hand burns itself off my arm.

    Here’s how it happened: I am cooking 4 things at once: Monday’s lunch, chickpeas in the pressure cooker, a tomato and leek quiche, and chickpea and corn fritters. I have too many dishes spread out, too little counter space.

    I know that I should wear a glove, but I don’t have any cuts on my hand (I stupidly think), and I also don’t have any gloves. I take my time too, really getting every last seed and rib out, slicing the pepper into tiny pieces so they don’t burn my mouth.

    I dump them in my cast iron with the corn and red pepper, stir, check on the quiche, try to find a new place to set the beans. The back of my pinky tingles. I wash my hands, like, so good. Still hurts, so I run to my bathroom and spray bactine on it. Relief followed by even more pain. But I can’t let the corn burn because then what’s all this for anyway? I feel the pain again, unthinkingly put my pinky in my mouth, nearly vomit in the sink as the “pain relieving” spray burns my tongue.

    I try to just ignore it, finish what I’ve set out to do without my left hand. That works for a little bit, but then the pain spreads from the back of my left pinky to the pads of every single finger on my left hand. Hellfire, like I’m grabbing a sheet pan out of the oven without a glove. This is when I perform my first search, scream at Siri--WHAT DO I DO IF I GET JALAPENO ON MY SKIN? She makes me unlock my phone. Milk is the answer, and sinking my hand into that bowl is like cold heaven. I eat dinner without my hand, adding ice cubes to keep it cold.

    But the ice cubes dilute the fat or whatever in the skim milk that is saving my skin from falling off. So I pour a new bowl, adding half and half--because that’s something?

    C gets home from the gym, doesn’t even notice the bowl of cream my hand is in until I point it out to him. (He’s not a very observant man.) Then he makes fun of me, asking me why I am milking my fingers. Later, he brings me an ice cream sandwich, throws it to (AT) me as my hand is in a bowl of milk and half and half on my stomach. I jump, the milk goes everywhere. He thinks this is very funny. I laugh after I yell.

    The milk has a residual soothing power as I try to fall asleep, but then the pain is back with a vengeance. This is where the mustard comes in. Some blogger swears it will work. I trust her, she is wrong.

    I don’t want to try the bleach, but Alton Brown says it’s ok, so there you go. It smells.

    Then there’s that expired Dannon strawberry yogurt that I bought for C and he “forgot” to eat. I put one in a Ziploc freezer bag, jam my hand inside, squeeze the little strawberry pieces, and moan out loud.

    I wonder if I can fall asleep with my hand in this plastic container inside a plastic bag, wonder what it will smell like in the morning, willing to find out. Then the yogurt warms up and is useless. It is 2 in the morning.

    I give up, rinse off my hand, pop a bunch more Ibuprofen, tell myself to suck it up. The burn is there, but much quieter. My kitchen smells like death. My hand smells like strawberry yogurt, with notes of French’s yellow and Clorox. Relief.