Pain in a bottle

At Sunset:

Our table: half-dozen buffalo wings, Level 5.

Immediate neighbouring table: half-dozen buffalo wings, Level 30!

Ok, I'm not sure how Sunset's Levels compare with the official Scoville-scale that runs into the millions of units, but To*ny was already being (as Wayne described) "dramatic" over his Level 5 wing. At the next table the two Aussies, after some of their own dramatics, plunged into their Level 30s, while making sure everyone around them knew the magnitude of the feat they were attempting.

We were an easy mark for them to ham up to, right up to them offering one of us (i.e., To*ny, though Wayne was seriously assessing his own level of bravado) a wing, but failing which came round with their plate and gave each of us a finger dip of evil red sauce just to savour on the tips of our tongues. As a dutiful audience, we absolutely and publicly confirmed to the other diners in the restaurant that just a smudge of Level 30 was unadulterated liquid pain in a bottle.

It starts out with no sensation, then as the seconds tick by the intensity of the burn builds up until all consciousness collapses into a single shard of focus on the points of direct contact between lips, tongue and throat and the liquid sauce that probably originated from Seletar Airport's jet fuel supplies. Both June and To*ny reported temporary auditory dysfunction, though that was not my experience.

Amy, HP and Mel were content to just sit back and watch our self-immolation.

I think our confirmation of the two guys' insanity gratified them more than both the cert they received and having their names pasted on the Wall honouring those who have completed the challenge. There is no bravery without an incredulous audience to witnesses the performance.

Congrats, Mr Black Dog and buddy! You've inspired Wayne to come back next time and try Level 6!