Craic On

A tasty meal is like the hunt for Red October. I just have to keep going with the drive to hit that sweet, or in my case, that hot spot. Not everyone shares my ambition but I keep going, undeterred by the disappointment of having no taste buds and little saliva left. “That is the hottest chilli you will ever have. You just need to shave a tiny bit off and that will do you,” said the log man as he handed over Jamaican Bonnet. I couldn’t help but wonder if his booming voice was born of too many chillies. He is the loudest person I know. “Wonderful,” I said, gripping the bag. “Good girl,” he said and headed off towards his wheelbarrow. One good turn deserves another, so before I went to chemo, I knocked up a cheeky little soup, made out of leftovers, with just a tad of chilli, a pinch of salt, a sprinkle of cayenne pepper, a hint of ginger and a mini amount of garlic. I thought I was rather modest in my ambitions, but not only did I outstrip my own expectations, I stripped out the lining of my lucky recipient’