It’s been almost two weeks since I took on the Paqui One Chip Challenge (2020 version). Despite the relatively short span, it’s felt a lot closer to a month. That shows how much it’s been on my mind this entire time. No, it’s not because of shame for not “winning” the challenge. I dove into this fully expecting the reality of tapping out. I was braced for and anticipating some fabulous fire tornado that would consume and shatter my limits.

And it’s not for redemption either. Not this time. I’ll admit that I love finding a new hot sauce that blows away my tongue. Fire inferno and forehead sweats. Powering through the pain to finish it off. My wife looking at me, shaking her head with amused pity. All the while, I know that whatever this new sauce is, it too will be conquered. Probably sooner than later. Sure, redemption is satisfying, but so is the feeling of breaking through new barriers and “leveling up.”

But with the Paqui chip? Nope, none of that. This time it was different. It wasn’t the heat or defeat that I couldn’t let go of. It actually wasn’t even about the chip or challenge itself. The ultimate fact is, I deliberately and willingly poisoned myself. And it was such a strange experience. Not only did it leave me with unanswered questions, but it planted a seed of thought that I may end up doing it again one more time.

Love of the Burn

Those in my circles know me for eating spicy hot stuff. I’ll admit that I get a kick from watching faces transition from disbelief to horrific fascination as I consume habanero hot sauce like most would ketchup or mustard. I liberally spoon Mrs. Renfro’s Ghost Pepper Salsa all over my chimichangas every chance I get. Love that stuff. There was a time in the past when I regarded the heat level of this Renfro’s salsa as a true challenge. Today, I eat it like, well, ketchup.

Even though I’m no stranger to fiery hot sauces and salsas, I know I’m not at a contest-winning champion-level either. Not yet. Oh, I’m sure I could go the distance and have a lot of fun in pepper-eating events. But the most of a fresh-grown Carolina Reaper pepper I’ve been able to handle without flinching (so far) is about a quarter-teaspoon (minced) over two bites of a hot dog. Spicy! I’m eagerly waiting for my plant to grow me some more.

So how does one go from gingerly nibbling a Carolina Reaper to facing the Paqui One Chip Challenge? Honestly, it pretty much comes down to opportunity and a shrug. My wife found several Paqui One Chip boxes on clearance ($2 bucks!) at a grocery store and decided to get me one. She previously overheard me talking about the One Chip Challenge and thought I might want to give it a go. The other reason I decided to crunch down on that menacing corn chip was that I didn’t take it seriously enough.

I’ve had plenty of hot sauces containing the Carolina Reaper pepper as an ingredient. The bottle labels love painting pictures of fire, pain, or death, but the heat contained (typically) falls short of the advertised hype. Combine that disillusionment with the fact that I had devoured a 2-oz bag of Ghost pepper-flavored Paqui tortilla chips two weeks prior. It was absolutely delicious, right up there with my Renfro’s salsa. I didn’t even break a sweat, and I wished I had more to eat.

And yes, I understand there is a Scoville schism between the Ghost and Reaper peppers. But surely the One Chip Challenge chip couldn’t be that much worse, right? Surely, I wasn’t so woefully unprepared as all those who recorded and uploaded their exaggerated One Chip Challenge attempts to YouTube, right? It’s never too soon to laugh, so join along with me. Haha, hahaha. Such good fun. But the truth is, the Paqui One Chip Challenge didn’t humble me the way I was expecting it to.

One Paqui Chip

From my initial two-minute recording, one might believe that I succeeded without a single tear. During the twenty-something seconds of thoughtful chewing, I’m pondering two things. First, this chip is seriously dry. A sip of water just to wash it down would have been nice; it was that dry. Second, I wasn’t getting any heat. Not initially, at least. My reaction was nothing like what one might expect from having watched One Chip Challenge videos on the internet. (Note: I actually didn’t watch any 2020 challenges until after I had suffered mine).

This entire time, my wife and eight-year-old kid are watching in horror as if I had swallowed a glob of molten glass. It probably didn’t help that the chip looked dusty-black and threatening. Soon enough, the heat bloomed in my mouth and got the nod. However, it lacked the expected intensity. I’ve eaten food from a local Thai restaurant that felt just as hot. Their menu lists “Thai-spicy” as the hottest at heat level four. But if you ask for off-menu spicy, they can go up to a ten. I usually choose six, and it’s legit.

Six and a half minutes after eating the Paqui chip, I tap out, complete with runny nose and moist eyes. But that had little to do with the manageable spicy-fire in my mouth. Instead, surprisingly, it was my stomach. Some highly irregular (for me) pain had developed at the bottom of my esophagus. I assumed that it would persist, so I poured a glass milk and a (separate) bowl of peanut butter pretzels to call it quits. No shame. I had things to do, and holding out didn’t sound very useful.

In retrospect, I could have lasted longer. Maybe? Maybe if I didn’t eat the chip on an empty stomach? That was probably the second-worst decision I made that afternoon.

The Mistake

With my Paqui One Chip Challenge done, stomach pain comfortably muted by milk and snacks, I went about my business of making dinner. Over the next thirty minutes of prep and cooking, I couldn’t help but think about the chip. My mouth hadn’t burned as I had hoped. No sweating or lightheadedness or numb lips/teeth. No hiccups or headaches or involuntary drooling. None of the things that I might have expected (and was eager for) to happen, happened. Stomach pain instead? Super lame.

All in all, I felt underwhelmed and slightly disappointed. So it didn’t occur to me that it could be a very bad idea to sample the whiskey I was including as a sauce ingredient for dinner. It didn’t take much. It wasn’t even a teaspoon. As the sip warmed its way down my throat, I heard this distant little voice inside murmur a warning. But that was swept away as my body froze, my mind directing full attention to the chaos rapidly unfolding in my stomach. Oops.

The effect of the whiskey was like dumping white gas on a camp fire. I stood in place for the next minute or so, curiously focusing on these developing sensations. I’ve never, ever had this level of unbelievably intense stomach pain and discomfort happen from spicy food before in my life. Imagine a mutant beaver, with power drills for teeth and napalm for saliva, gnawing at the top section of the inside of your stomach in a grinding, twisting way. Yeah, that kind of pain train.

I calmly put my utensils down, set the Instapot to ‘Keep Warm,’ and covered the rest of the food. My body was sending certified warning signs, and no amount of milk or bread was going to save me at this point. That whiskey triggered some kind of allergic reaction with the Paqui chip? Even though I didn’t immediately feel the physical urge to, I knew (mentally) it was time for a tactical purge. I made my way to the bathroom, never imagining that my reality was about to bend in just a few short minutes.

Round 5 KO

As I knelt down and lifted the lid, I tried to remember the last time I had been in this position. A decade? More? I’m not known for failing constitution saving throws. Either way, it took maybe half a minute for my body to understand my intent. The purge process was clean, swift, and practically silent. I checked the toilet for signs of internal damage (e.g. blood). There were none (it looked like thin Cream of Wheat, if you’re wondering). And that’s about when I started hallucinating. Hard.

It was a combination of vertigo, light halos everywhere, and shifting patterns warping in and out of my peripheral vision. The bathroom door, a mere meter away, looked ridiculously far, as if I were viewing it through a telescope. There were more light sources than there should have been, each pulsing to its own tempo. The walls and sink cabinets kept fluctuating colors, unable to decide on a shade. The shower curtain looked like it was made of sculpted wax, and breathing.

As time and space dilated around be, my upper abs clenched tight, almost protruding from my chest. A little concerning. However, the rest of my stomach felt oddly calm, and it wasn’t convulsing or trying to heave. I’d be ok; I just had to finish the ride. When the hallucinations and muscle contractions finally subsided, my head, chest, and back were radiating heat and drenched with sweat. I washed up and left the bathroom for a quick change into fresh clothing. Suffice to say, I felt physically drained.

Unknown Answers

When I returned to the kitchen and looked at the Instapot, the display showed 18 minutes. I didn’t think I was in the bathroom for more than five, maybe six?! Based on how long the Instapot had sat there in warm mode, I must have been hallucinating for at least a solid 11 minutes. Crazy! Neither my wife nor kid had any idea what went on. I’d tell them later. I continued cooking dinner, my mind swirling with questions.

I knew I wasn’t allergic to the whiskey (Glenlivet French Oak Reserve 15 Yr). Was I allergic to something in the chip? A strange idea, because I was fine for the half hour after tapping out. Up until the point of sipping the whiskey, that is. Or did the chip simply steamroll my system? That’s a tough one, because I’ve had spicy foods light my mouth on fire and burn. Like, really burn, including common side effects from eating hot. I didn’t get any of that with the Paqui chip, and I chewed that sucker up good.

How could such a small amount of whiskey with the Paqui chip trigger my body to react like it had been poisoned? Why did the hallucinations start only after I finished purging and not before? And why did my stomach pain focus in just the one spot? And that’s the other thing. My stomach has always had a greater, more stable tolerance to heat/spice than my mouth. So why, and how, did the roles reverse this time? Was it a fluke, or have I encountered some newly-developed digestive quirk?

All of these questions remain a mystery. For now.

Epilogue

I’ve been eating seriously spicy foods for years. More than long enough to have developed the practice of cautiously sampling any new (to me) hot sauce, salsa, pepper, or hot-whatever. Labels tend to be mostly art and marketing, so you never know when a hot sauce is going to pack a real punch. The Paqui chip ended up as an exception because, well, that’s what it’s all about. You eat the entire chip at once. No test nibbles and no drinking candles (i.e. Homer and Guatemalan insanity peppers)!

The Paqui One Chip Challenge has a clear warning on the box for a reason. There is nothing natural or moderate about the amount of spice that coats this chip. I don’t doubt stories of hospitalization or long-lasting ill effects. However, it all depends on each individual; the dose makes the poison. Some may say I got off light, given that I felt fine the next day and resumed my normal level of spicy consumption. No lingering discomfort. No flaming cheerio. But then again, eating hot is a lifestyle for me.

People may think that we (those who seek out and eat really spicy things) are insane. They might be right. But the truth is, we’re not too different from other thrill-seekers. The pain and adrenaline rush from eating fiery food is addictive. Sure, it may burn like death for the moment, but it (mostly) won’t kill you. You’ll never catch me skydiving or bungee-jumping. Ever. But go another round with the Paqui One Chip Challenge? Oh, it’s on.