Whipped Sour Cream

I was making a Chile Relleno
Casserole.

I'd found these absolutely beautiful
poblano chiles at a roadside market.
I brought them home. I'm not sure
why I was so thrilled. I'm not sure
why I bought them. But, at the time,
it seemed the only thing to do. Was I
possessed? Was it a haunting of some
kind? Maybe something from a past
life...which seems worrisome, in retrospect.

Did I have a fling with Montezuma?!

I even decided to make homemade ricotta cheese. It's an incredibly easy
thing to do and the results make it so worth while.

So, there I was, Miss M. Stewart. It's a wonder I didn't decide to mosaic
the fish pond with bits of tie-died eggshell.

I ended up making this casserole using the market-bought poblanos
and my home-made ricotta, plus other minor ingredients...this is not a
recipe blog, People! Go get your own.

But now, I swear, I'm typing this with fingers on fire!

After I roasted the peppers, I had to clean them. So, I put a rubber glove
on my left hand. But, BUT I left my right hand exposed! Why? What was
I thinking? Or, what was I NOT thinking? I DON'T KNOW, BUT I NEVER
WANT TO FORGET THE GLOVES AGAIN AND NEITHER DO YOU IF
YOU'RE READING THIS!!!

So, we just ate the concoction, the Chile Relleno Casserole. It was good, but
OMG! My fingers wouldn't stop burning! When we first sat down I mentioned
to The Man that I thought I had a problem. By the time we'd served ourselves
I had my thumb and forefinger stuck in a dollop of sour cream that sat atop
my casserole. I don't know what possessed me. But, I suddenly couldn't
resist the allure of the white blob of cool cream. My fingers just dove in.
I'm so glad The Queen wasn't there.

My eyes flashed up to The Man. Was he watching? Did he notice? I mean,
how could he not? I'm carrying on normal conversation but my fingers are
twiddling in the sour cream. Even HE must notice the strangeness. But, oh,
awwww...it felt sooooo good.

"So, dear, how was your day?"...squish...squish.

Then, The Man says, "This is hot!"

I say, "Do you mean spicy-hot or temperature-hot?"

He says, "Spicy!"

I look at my soothed fingers in the white goo. "Oh really," I say, "You're the one
who likes spicy food."

He says, "Yeah, but, this is really hot!"

I look up at him and the whites of his eyes are purple.

Now, I'm online looking for remedies for burning fingers, wondering how I'm
supposed to sleep tonight.

One site said use rubbing alcohol, another said milk, another said bleach.

For me, it's Herb Albert or die.

Dear Blog,

If we survive the night, I'll let you know.
Something tells me, the worst is yet to come.

Love,
Fire Fingers