Last night I stared death in the face. I was struggling to breathe, was coughing helplessly and was genuinely worried for my health. The cause of this dramatic turmoil can be traced to a certain chilli pepper, which had lodged itself in my windpipe. Allow me to set the scene.
On a chilly December evening, I embarked upon yet another hockey social with the University of Bristol Men’s Hockey Club (UBMHC). The occasion was the ‘Fresher’s Meal’ which was to take place in the ‘Brass Pig’, very near to the university complex. Despite the temptation to go for dinner in halls an hour before the meal, I resisted. As a result, my hunger was nearly tangible, as a group of us boarded the bus that would take us across the Downs and into the city.
The atmosphere inside was excitable. A whole floor had been booked out and everyone seemed intent on meeting all the other freshers and having a good time. Personally, I was more excited for my pizza. I had ordered the ‘Diablo’, a very intimidating pizza and one that I had partly ordered to appear tough and chivalrous in front of the vast number of females present. Alas, how misguided was I to believe that I could conquer the ‘Diablo’ without a fight; how could I assume such a stance of audacity without questioning the power of the demon I was faced with; how could I, an experienced pizza critic, fail to predict the consequences of spicy toppings in the unchartered territory of a restaurant I had formerly never set foot in?
Due to the overwhelming numbers of hungry students, the pizzas were staggered in their arrival. I was a starving lion in the savanna, and when the antelope reared its horns, I pounced. I really attacked this pizza; within three minutes I was nearly halfway through. From the first bite, I could tell that it was spicy; in fact, it was very spicy. I decided that eating quickly was the best solution. And then disaster struck. So furiously was I devouring this pizza, that one sneaky chilli managed to escape down the wrong pipe. The following minutes were touch and go; the laughter of onlookers turned to fear and weeping as I struggled to squeeze the air in and out of my lungs, whilst the evil chilli quickly set to work on burning my throat from the inside. My voice was hoarse and words inaudible, my face was the dark maroon colour of my UBMHC tie. Medics were summoned and professional opinions sought, but for half an hour, nothing seemed to work.
Finally, a bought of laughter allowed me to remove the remnants of the chilli and I was freed from the burning chokehold of the devil. I was able to enjoy the rest of the evening and continued in much higher spirits. The hours since have given me time for reflection and I believe I have uncovered the moral of this adventure:
Never again will I underestimate an item of food that could jeopardise the enjoyment or speed of consumption of my meal.
