The parking lot is strangely silent tonight. I am little more present in this moment than I have been for awhile. The van door crunches and I wait a few seconds before the engine comes to life. It’s a deserted space of time.
Tonight was one of the lasts…
Ten years ago I started a tradition. The Pepper Party. The idea for the party sprang out of a convergence of extraordinary fate. My birthday and the end of exams have coincided on the same week each year. I decided this was cause for a party. Since so many other youth events were filled with pizza, hotdogs, and other edible paraphernalia – I thought why not make it a Mexican fiesta. It’s really easy for me to make tex-mex food so away we went.
There have been a few constants in this ten year old tradition:
Each year I make something called: Carne Del Diablo (Devil’s Meat) This is basically the hottest beef stew/chilli that I can make. Usually, I throw half a dozen habanero peppers in with two packages of stew beef or carne asada next comes 6 teaspoons of cayenne, 5 or 6 jalapenos, a tin of tomato paste, vinegar and sugar. Stew this all day. The result is a concoction that really rips you apart both going in and coming out (perfect for all those skiers taking off over their semester break).
Each year Garry Siebert eats too much Carne Del Diablo and pays for it on the can the next day. He always calls me to tell me how grateful he is for the trip to the can.
Each year some kid comes walking up to the counter with the biggest “I-can-eat-the-hottest-thing-on-the-planet” attitude. Each year that kid meets his match about half way through a burrito – of his/her own making I might add.
Each year I throw out some more rare ethnic food (deep fried plantain, ginger rice drink, hand-made tortilla, pinto beans, even pinolillo) along with touchy stuff like guacamole and refried beans.
So this year was no different.
Garry and I musta built about 8 or nine blenders of iced cappuccinos.
We had a giant foosball tourney which me and Michael won. (At one point I had to lift my shirt to reveal my belly in order to distract the other team.)
It was fun.
It was the last one.
The last one I will do here most likely.
Don’t get me wrong – I don’t particularly feel nostalgically attached to this to the point of grieving the loss. No such stupid obsession for me.
It is just an uncomfortably odd feeling for this to be one of the lasts.
Next year at this time I may not even remember that this ‘event’ existed habitually during this week for so many years. In fact I am counting on forgetting all about it.
What I will miss are things like: the way Garry and I would giggle with excited glee each time some poor unwitting soul would munch down on one of those, “pieces of Satan” as Garry calls them.
I’ll miss the palpable sense of relief apparent in the room after the kids have survived the pressure of exam week.
I’ll miss being able to love kids this way…
