There was this foodie who was utterly obsessed with finding the spiciest curry in all the world. He had traveled to literally every single restaurant and hobby-chef’s kitchen, yet couldn’t find a single curry worthy of his tongue. He had one last hope though. The final restaurant he had yet to try. The one known for a curry of legendary spiciness.
The owner, a small old woman, came out to greet him. Not wanting to waste a minute delaying his goal, he demanded she serve him her spiciest curry, so she did. It was certainly a delicious and spicy curry, but still it didn’t satisfy his desires. Supremely frustrated after years of disappointment, he started to scream and yell at the woman for serving him such a pathetically benign dish. Filled with rage, he laid into the woman, making fun of how she looked, smelled, and most devastatingly, how she cooked.
Her eye twitched with anger, but she remained calm and told him that there was one more dish she could cook for him that might satisfy his craving for spiciness. He asked her why she didn’t serve him this curry on first request, so she explained that she promised herself she would never make it again, because it was simply too hot and dangerous. It was a spicy curry made from the corns on her feet.
Intrigued, he demanded she make it for him, so she did. With the first bite, his eyes instantly watered. Not just from the intense heat, but from tears of sheer happiness. This was truly the spiciest curry in the world. He had found it. Before he could even swallow the first bite, his heart stopped. It had killed him.
The man opened his eyes and he was in hell – the Devil towering over him. You see, the man wasn’t a good man. He deserved his place, doomed to the underworld. The Devil, curious about the details of the man’s demise, asked him how he could have possible died from eating curry. The man explained that this was no ordinary curry. It was a curry spicier than the devil could ever even imagine. The Devil laughed, “it is I who cook the spiciest curry.”
Once again intrigued, the man requested to try the Devil’s curry, so the Devil obliged. Surprisingly, the Devil’s curry didn’t even come close to matching the woman’s corn curry’s deadly spiciness. The Devil tried again and again, but every time he failed at impressing the man. “How is this possible? What kind of curry was this?”
“I can tell you this. She didn’t make it with love. She made it with anger in her heart. If that’s not enough, the main ingredients were the corns on her feet.”
The Devil sighed, understanding immediately.
“Hell hath no curry like a woman’s corn.”
Joe Cabello 