by Carolyn Paradis

Created on: April 17, 2008

Before going to college I worked as a cook in a restaurant in the nearest town to home. The place was originally owned by an infamous character, who, it was rumored, had murdered his wife and gotten away with it for lack of proof. That is not part of my story, just a little gossip to pass along.

This man sold the place to a very nice family from Uganda. They had escaped the brutal dictatorship by converting the family funds to airline tickets, then cashing them in once they were safe in Canada.

The family had owned hotels and restaurants in India, then Uganda, now Canada. They were eager to try Canadian food, and would gather after closing hours in the dining room, and enjoy turkey dinners, steak, roast beef, even hamburgers. Eventually they began to miss the spicier fare they were used to. One elderly uncle presented me with a packet of chili powder from Uganda, and asked me to make him some very hot chili.

I didn't know how they prepared the dish in Uganda, so I just made my usual big pot full of tomato sauce, kidney beans, baked beans, ground beef, mushrooms, vegetables, and spices. I added a generous amount of the special chili powder. Unfortunately, I didn't taste the final product, as a large group had just arrived for dinner.

The family arrived, children, aunties, uncles, grandparents and maybe even great grandparents. Proudly I served the salads, rice pilaf and a huge tureen full of chili. I went back to the kitchen and awaited my kudos. Instead, I heard loud crashing sounds and the sound of running feet, and bathroom doors banging open. Aghast, I ran to the dining room.

Only one very old gentleman remained at the table. He was scooping up rice and chili and gobbling it, smacking his lips and going "aaahhhh". He didn't speak English, but held up his hand in the 'okay' gesture. Chairs were tipped over, some thrown 10 feet from the table. I could hear children wailing in the bathrooms.

Finally the youngest of my bosses came out of the men's room, wiping his eyes and gasping. When he could speak, he said, "Didn't anyone tell you that Ugandan chili powder is about 100 times stronger than the stuff in Canada?"

Everyone lived, no thanks to me. No, they never asked for chili again. Actually they never came to eat there again.

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