#30 - Scoville Scale

We were standing at the intersection of Broadway and 47^th Street, in front of a GAP store, when Mindy said, “Oh, I know a place you might like.”

It was the last day of our weekend trip to Kansas City. We had come to see the Christmas lights at Country Club Plaza, to shop, and to eat at Arthur Bryant’s. By Sunday morning we’d accomplished all three goals, and over a continental breakfast at the hotel that morning, had tried to drum up enthusiasm about spending another day away from home. In the end, we decided to head back to the Plaza, with hopes that after wandering around a bit, we might stumble upon something interesting.

Mindy put a hand out in front of me, gesturing for me to stop walking. Checking the street signs, she rubbed her chin theatrically, thinking. “I wonder…” She said.

I pulled out my iPhone. “What are we looking for?” I asked.

She grabbed my wrist and began dragging me south along Broadway. “It’s a surprise. If it’s still there, I mean.” She said.

A decade earlier, Mindy had graduated from dental school at UMKC, and her fond memories of the city at Christmas had been a motive for our weekend getaway. Over the years, we’d driven through Kansas City many times – always on our way to other places. It had become a running joke between us. “We really ought to stop and explore sometime. Maybe visit your old stomping grounds.” I had said again and again. She would roll her eyes. “Sure.”

But we had finally made it happen, and I could tell she was enjoying showing me around. Much had changed, but there was enough of the familiar to trigger lots of old memories for her. In just the first two days she’d told me a number of stories about her college days that I’d never heard. It was helping to round out my image of who she was before I met her.

“All right – “ I said, “I’m following you.”

We walked south for a block. She stopped abruptly, sighed, and said, “No, no, no.” Taking me by the hand again, she reversed our course and headed north. “Sorry.” She said.

“We can look it up on my phone.” I offered.

“I think I’ve got it now.” She said, confidently.

It was a nice day for early December; sunny and calm. Cool, but not cold. We continued north for several blocks. I kept track of the street numbers as we passed; 47^th again, then 46^th and 44^th.

At 43^rd street she paused, rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand, and then, like a psychic having just received a message from the mysterious beyond, she darted to her right, dragging me behind her.

“Mindy?” I said. “I’m not complaining – but, are you still sure about where we're going?”

She didn’t slow down. “Yep.” She said.

I followed in silence, a few paces behind her. Occasionally, she glanced over her shoulder to give me a wink, a nod, or some other small encouragement. “We’re getting closer!” She assured me.

I had lost track of which street we were on, but the scenery was changing. Instead of the tall hotels and tidy shops of the Plaza area, we were now surrounded by older looking structures. The sidewalks were narrower and the trees were getting taller, aged and leafless. Mindy stopped in her tracks. She turned and smiled.

“I see it.” She said.

At the end of the block, an A-frame stood with a roof painted in bold red and white stripes; a garish, retro-transplant from the 1950s. On the steep slant of its roof, chipped blue lettering advertised the name of the place: Sweet Jim’s Spicy KC BBQ.

“Sweet Jim’s?” I said, catching up to her.

“You bet!” Mindy said. “Can’t get too much B-B-Q while you’re in K-C. This place is legendary.”

Dinner the night before had also been barbecue. I wasn’t really in the mood again, but I didn’t want to spoil her excitement. As we approached the entrance, she became very animated.

“I don’t want to hype it too much – but back in college, this place was awesome. They’ve got a bunch of different sauces to choose from, including – “ She lowered her chin and gave me a very evil look, like a werewolf about to pounce on its prey. “Ghost Sauce.”

“Sounds scary.” I said.

Jim’s was a dive. The floors looked like they hadn’t been swept since Mindy was in college. We were a bit early for lunch, but there were already customers filling most of the dozen or so tables in the place. The clientele was diverse; lots of white guys wearing jackets and ties, a Hispanic family, a few white-haired folks catching an early meal, and at one table, eating alone, sat one of the biggest men I’ve ever seen. Even sitting down he was nearly as tall as Mindy.

We ordered Jim’s Sampler Platter from a handwritten menu above the cash register. Ribs, brisket, pulled pork, and a sausage link to share. The black woman at the register acknowledged our order with an “Mmm-hm.”

“I think that’s the same woman that worked here ten years ago!” Mindy whispered as we sat down at an empty table.

At the center of each table was a small wooden holder with a handle – similar to a tool box – but with six compartments to hold squeeze bottles filled with different flavors of barbecue sauce. Mindy excitedly pulled the holder close to her and said, “Here you go – this is what I love about this place.” She began pulling out each bottle and reading the labels. “Sweet molasses. KC Classic. Mustard-based.”

She pulled one of the bottles out and held it up for me to see.

“Jim’s Devil Sauce.” I read from the label.

“And this one’s not even the hottest.” She said, returning the bottle to the holder.

“Which one do you like?” I asked. And then I said, “Wait, let me guess.”

“It’s easy.” She said, leaning in with her elbows on the table.

“The molasses one.” I guessed. I knew she liked anything sweet.

“Yeah. You know me well.” She said. “But Kyle liked the Devil Sauce. He even tried the Ghost Sauce once.”

Kyle had been Mindy’s college boyfriend. They had even been engaged briefly, until he broke it off a few months before I met her. The only time it really bothered me to hear about him was when she brought him up randomly, referencing him for no particular reason, as if he inhabited some area of her consciousness very near the surface.

There was a short but noticeable break in the conversation. Her gaze dropped to the table for a half-beat, and then she looked into my eyes. “Which one do you want to try?” She asked.

I pulled the holder away from her, examining the squeeze bottles. “I suppose I have to try the ‘Devil Sauce’.” I turned each bottle, reading the labels. “Where’s the ‘Ghost Sauce’?” I asked.

“I think…” Mindy said, looking over her shoulder toward the menu on the wall. “You have ask for it.” She laughed, “It’s super hot – like, people have had go to the hospital.”

“No way.” I said.

“No, that’s an exaggeration. But – “ She stopped herself from saying something. “People during college told me it’s pretty unbearable.” She finished.

I had a good idea who these ‘people’ were. Kyle, of course. It annoyed me when she brought him up in conversation, but it annoyed me even more when she purposefully refrained from saying his name, as if my fragile ego needed protecting.

When the waitress arrived with the platter and two empty plates, I asked her to bring over some Ghost Sauce. She nodded and walked away. When she returned, she brought a small cup of very dark – almost black – sauce, as well as a ballpoint pen, and what appeared to be a legal document.

“Sign the form, sir.” She said, flatly.

The document was a waiver, releasing Sweet Jim’s of any legal responsibility in the event that a customer suffered ill effects from consuming the Ghost Sauce.

“Oh, gosh.” Mindy said, her eyes widening. “I don’t remember that.”

I signed the form and handed it to the waitress. As she shuffled away, the two of us stared down at the small cup of black barbecue sauce.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Mindy said, shaking her head in disbelief.

I didn’t respond. I pulled a thin slice of brisket from the platter between us and dipped the edge into the cup. Lifting it to my nose, I took a sniff. It was difficult to distinguish the sauce from the meat. All I got was a whiff of smokiness that smelled quite delicious.

“They wouldn’t serve this stuff if it was really dangerous.” I said. “Right?”

“My question, though, is why would you even want to take the chance?” Mindy said. She had also picked up a slice of brisket with her fingers. She popped it into her mouth.

“Hey, if Kyle could handle it, I can.” I said, trying to sound light-hearted, but not completely succeeding. I put the brisket in my mouth and began chewing.

Mindy slid her hand across the table and touched my forearm.

“I know it sort of bothers you when I mention past boyfriends. I’ll try not to do that.” She said.

I couldn’t respond. There was a sharp, chemical-burn sensation at the back of my throat. Without warning, I sneezed, and the sensation exploded into my sinuses. I started coughing – and almost instantly, felt sweat forming on my face.

“Charlie, are you okay?” Mindy asked.

“I…I’m – “ I tried to speak, but my voice came out as a rasp. Another round of coughing started. The burning had spread throughout my whole mouth. I grabbed my glass of iced tea and began chugging it. But this wasn’t helpful – the cool liquid felt like fuel to the fire. Not knowing what else to do, I kept drinking. Tears formed in my eyes.

Suddenly the waitress was standing beside me. She dropped a plate of sliced white bread on the table.

“Sweetheart, eat you a piece a-this.” She said.

I grabbed a slice of bread and stuffed the whole thing in my mouth. The waitress picked up the cup of Ghost Sauce and said, “Think you’ve had enough.”

The bread was starting to work. As long as it was in my mouth, the burning was minimized. I started alternating; sip of tea, bite of bread, sip of tea, bite of bread. Finally, I was able to speak again.

“Wow. That’s hot.” I said. “That’s hellish.” I grabbed a napkin and wiped the sweat from my face.

Mindy was laughing. She had started on the ribs, gripping one in front of her mouth, two-handed, like an ear of corn.

“And thanks.” I said. “Thanks for not talking about your old boyfriends.” 

*     *     *     *     * 

To learn more about the Scoville Scale, read the original Wikipedia article HERE.