Cholula

I have dabbled, dallied, and danced with many a hot sauce out there in my time, but it's always Cholula that I return to again and again. It's so tasty, I can actually drink it from the bottle - which is how it should be. My feelings on hot sauces, and my fellow man's incongrous quest to apparently seek out the most pain-inflicting sauce they can, has already been expressed on the Transylvania Gentlemen blog:

Frank Sinatra once said, regarding show-offs who try to turn drinking into a macho competition, "Why knock yourself out? Don't try to be a big hero with it. For what?" I feel the same about hot sauce and barbecue spices. Liquor stores are filled with frat-boy hot sauces whose names and labels liken their products to nuclear waste, satan, hell, torture, pain, death, etc. and I think the whole trend is beyond retarded. Yes, I'm tough enough to eat any raw peppers that top the Scoville Scale, but I'm also tough enough to carve the Black Flag logo into my arm - but the question remains, why the hell would I want to? Why would I want to eat a hot sauce that leaves me unable to taste anything else for the rest of the meal? It's about as useful and desirable a practice as, say, huffing toluene. Which is to say, nil.